Page 59 of The Tryst

Christ, the thought of losing Holland nearly takes my legs out from under me. I know that if I do this, she’s gone forever. There are no third chances.

“Kat,” I start, but she cuts me off again.

“No, Trey. You need to go tell her that it’s over. She deserves that much. If you’re going to wallow in this pitiful self-flagellation, don’t drag her down with you.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut and I’m robbed of air. Abby steps closer, her hand on my arm. “Trey, we love you. We want you to be happy. But you need to make a decision. Either fight for Holland or let her go.”

I look between my sisters, weighing their words. The truth is, I don’t want to let Holland go. But the thought of facing her, oftrying to reconcile my love for her versus the guilt I’m carrying, terrifies me. It feels impossible. I’m being pulled in two different directions, and I don’t know which way to turn.

“I need to think,” I mutter, turning away from them. I hear Kat sigh, and Abby squeezes my arm before letting go. I walk back to the hay bales, lifting another one and throwing it onto the stack, trying to drown out the noise in my head with the rhythm of work.

The physical exertion helps, but only a little. Grief and guilt press down on me and I can’t shake the sensation that I’m drowning. I know Kat is right. I can’t keep Holland in limbo, waiting for me to come to my senses. The guilt oppressing me is twofold—guilt for Wade and guilt for Holland. I need to make a decision, one way or the other.

The workday drags on, each minute feeling like an hour. By the time we finish, my muscles ache and I’m drenched in sweat. I want to go home, take a hot shower and crawl into bed.

But Kat’s words keep echoing in my head. If I can’t make a decision, it’s not fair to keep Holland waiting, to keep stringing her along while I sort out my feelings. I need to talk to her, to tell her how I feel, even if it means letting her go.

♦

I took thetime to go home and shower before tracking Holland down. A simple text.Can we talk? Where are you?

Her response was short.I’m at my mom’s house.

When I pull into the driveway, I find her sitting on the porch. It transports me back to the first time I broke up with her, right here in this very same spot.

Except she doesn’t rush out to greet me with the fresh optimism of true love. She knows what’s coming and her expression is stoic as I approach.

I don’t sit down next to her but instead put my booted foot on the bottom step and tuck my hands in my pockets so she can’t see they’re shaking. I try to gather my thoughts because no matter how hard I tried to put together a cohesive explanation of my feelings, it was and remains jumbled.

The one thing I know is that I have to be honest with her. She deserves that much.

“How are you doing?” she asks, expression a bit reserved. She’s already making a break.

I glance off to the side, note that her mom’s house paint is peeling. “I went to the barn today. Did some work.”

Holland remains quiet. I turn to face her. “Kat told me that I need to let you go.”

She jerks slightly but clasps her hands in her lap, head tilted to hear more.

“She said I can’t string you along. That I have to make a decision and if I can’t let go of this guilt over what happened to Wade, the best thing I can do for you is let you go.”

“And what do you think?” she asks.

“I think a million different things in the span of a minute, Holland. Or at least, that’s how it feels. I know it’s hard for anyone to understand the responsibility I’m taking for Wade’s death, but I can’t get past it. I mean, I could live with the guilt of hurting him, and the guilt for getting the girl he wanted and taking happiness for myself. But… I can’t live with the stark reality that had you and I not reconnected, he’d be alive.”

“So you’re going to let me go and that will be your punishment?” Her tone is derisive, the first indication she’s angry.

“Something like that,” I admit. “Forgiving myself is easier said than done. The only thing I know is that I love you, and I don’t want to lose you, but I also don’t know how to make you happy with this poison in my gut. I’m afraid I will resent you ifI’m forced to rush past this, and I can’t let that happen. You don’t deserve that.”

“I guess I don’t understand what you have to forgive yourself for. There’s not one person in your family who believes you’re responsible for what happened to Wade. We all blame the one person who caused this, and he paid the price because he’s dead too. I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

“Because I’m flawed,” I say, almost as if it’s a guess about why my conscience won’t let me free of this doubt. “I can’t stop thinking about the chain of events,” I say, my voice breaking. “You came back, I went after you, we fell in love again, Wade found out, and he stormed out of the house. If I hadn’t pushed him, he wouldn’t have been on that road. It’s my fault. It’s so simple.”

Tears spill down Holland’s cheeks, and she shakes her head fiercely. “You’re right. You’re flawed. That is flawed thinking. This is all in your head.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, taking a step back. “I can’t look at you without thinking about what happened to Wade.”

Holland flinches and lowers her gaze. “Then your decision should be easy.”

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