It’s excruciating.
My lungs sting and my heart aches. As much as I want to bridge the distance that separates us, there’s no way to do it. The yawning chasm is so much more than physical. At this moment, it feels insurmountable.
“Syd?” Demi squeezes my fingers, reclaiming my attention.
“Yeah.” It’s a relief to jerk my eyes from his direction.
As I do, oxygen once again rushes in to fill my lungs. It still hurts, but it’s so much better than not being able to breathe. This is always how it feels when I catch sight of his dark head. The class we have together is torture. Most days, I slink in late and sit as far from him as possible. The moment Millhouse dismisses us, I shoot out of the room, escaping as swiftly as possible. It sucks. I need this semester to be over with. It’ll be so much easier when Brayden and I don’t come into contact with each other three times a week.
“Maybe you should try talking with him again.” When I remain silent, she adds, “It can’t hurt, right?”
Is she kidding?
Of course it can!
I shake my head. “No.” Just remembering the shock and anger that had filled his eyes when he’d puzzled all of the pieces together makes me sick to my stomach. “Nothing I say will alter the past.” I force out the rest through lips that are numb. “And it will never change what my family stole from his.”
As painful as it is to acknowledge that sentiment out loud, it’s the indisputable truth. I can’t bring his father back. In this instance, an apology is woefully inadequate and won’t make it better. The best thing I can do for Brayden is to stay out of his way until graduation. My presence is a constant reminder of what he lost.
“Oh, Syd,” she whispers, voice filling with heavy emotion.
I blink away the moisture that pricks the backs of my eyes. “Let’s just go the long way, all right?”
“Yeah.”
As much as I want to take one last look over my shoulder, I can’t summon the courage to do it.
And honestly, it’s best for both of us if I don’t.
Chapter Forty
Brayden
My gaze stays focused on Sydney until she disappears into the crowd of students marching across campus like ants. There’s a part of me that wants to take off after her and make this right. Instead, my feet stay firmly planted to the earth. Staring at her for any length of time is gut-wrenching. It makes me feel as if my chest is being constricted. Like there’s a thousand-pound weight sitting on it, slowly squeezing the life out of me.
Catching sight of her unexpectedly on campus is always like a punch to the gut. It’s one thing when I can mentally prepare myself to see her in class and another to turn a corner and find her standing in front of me. When the latter happens, the urge to grab hold of her and never let go crashes over me. A couple times, I actually took a step in her direction before coming to my senses and grinding to a halt.
The broken look in her eyes all but kills me. I understand why it’s there, and I also realize I’m the only one who can dull the pain of our shared trauma. I just can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t tell her that everything will be all right. There are too many volatile emotions churning inside me. Ever since I figured out the truth, I’ve asked myself a million times how I didn’t realize it sooner.
Peter Daniels.
The twenty-one-year-old kid who struck my father in a head-on collision. One poor decision is all it took to wipe him clean off the face of this Earth. The thought is like falling to the ground and getting the wind knocked from my lungs. That first moment you lie there, feeling paralyzed. Tears sting your eyes as you attempt to suck in breath. For a second or two, you wonder if you’ll ever draw air into your lungs again. It’s a helpless and painful sensation.
That’s exactly how this feels.
All of our lives would all be different if Peter hadn’t been drinking that night. If he hadn’t decided to climb behind the wheel of his car, I would still have my father. And Sydney would have her brother.
My mind tumbles back to that fateful Sunday morning when we’d met up at the diner and realized that we’d both lost people who were close to us. Maybe I should have dug deeper at that point. At the very least, our conversation should have set off warning bells inside my head. If I had realized the connection sooner, none of this would have happened. I sure as shit wouldn’t have gotten involved with her. I would have forced myself to steer clear. It would have been painful, but nowhere near this level. There’s no damn way I would have fallen in love.