Page 68 of Untruly With You

It’s an easy enough question to answer, considering thefact that I stayed up all night researching my father’s disease. “Over time, it'll rob him of his ability to move, to speak, to breathe.” I pause for a moment to swallow the lump in my throat. “There's no cure, Laine. He’s—He’s going to deteriorate. He’s already well on his way.”

“That’s horrible,” she mutters, spinning her rings with trembling fingers.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Yeah, it’s…not great.” The understatement is painfully clear to us both.

Laine takes a half-step forward, reaching out for me. Her fingers graze my elbow. I flinch, and her arm drops back down, dead weight. “It’s awful. But you can't just give up your dreams because of it,” she says after a painfully long pause.

I squeeze my eyes shut, clinging to any whisper of duty and guilt.

She continues on, her cadence even faster than her usual. “You worked so hard to get that job at Imagineer Books. It’s your chance to make a real impact on young readers, just like you wanted.”

Meeting her gaze, I see the turmoil within me reflected back. “This is my family. My father. I can't leave them when they need me the most. Not again. Not like when Duke died.”

She takes another step closer, her voice gentle now, but no less determined. “You don't have to leave your family. You can travel back and forth between New York and Montana. Maybe you can do your job remotely, or you could at least try to negotiate a flexible arrangement. I’m sure you have options.”

I shake my head. “It's not that simple, Laine. This isn't something I can do halfway. My dad's illness will require my time and energy. I need to be there for him. It’s time for me to grow up.”

Frustration and desperation tinge Laine’s voice. “You're giving up a part of yourself, a dream you've had for years. I don’t want to see you just throw that away.”

Gritting my teeth, I feel my will to stay in West River shred to pieces with every word Laine says. “I can't be in two places at once. My family needs me, free of distractions.”

Recognition flashes across Laine’s face. She, just as I already have, realizes that our paths are diverging. Her eyes flutter, and I can see her thoughts whirring, searching for a solution. “Well, I can help too. I’ll fly to Montana every month, every couple of weeks. I can help drive Hank to appointments and help around the ranch.”

My chest burns at her offer. I shouldn’t be surprised, given how spontaneous Laine is, that she would want to drop everything, change everything, for me and my family at the drop of a hat.

I can’t—I won’t—ask Laine to leave her life in the city to suffer alongside us. The next years with Hank, however many there will be, will be miserable for him—and for my family as we sit by, helpless. So, I think of anything I can to get her to leave, to continue on with her exciting, colorful life and leave me behind in my world of gray.

“It’s not like what we had was real,” I mutter. The lie is acrid against my tongue.

Laine’s mouth opens just enough for a shocked gasp to slip past her bare lips. “But at the lake,” she stammers, “you said you wanted to be with me. That you wanted it—us—to be real.”

Swallowing the dryness in my throat, I double-down. “I just got caught up in the charade.”

“We don’t have to date,” Laine says, an edge of panic and frustration to her voice. “I can come visit whenever you need an extra hand. Just as a friend.”

Don’t sentence her to that, I beg of myself, squeezing my eyesshut. I can’t even look at her. “I don’t need impulsiveness or indecisiveness right now. What I need is stability.”

“So…you don’t need me,” she says through clenched teeth.

I open my eyes to see a tear spill over the edge of her lashes, streaking down one cheek. It takes everything in me to not wipe it away, to resist the urge to grab Laine, hold her, tell her the truth. Tell her that if I was being selfish, I would ask her to stay with me. That in the dark days ahead, she could be my light, as she always has been. I would tell her she’sexactlywhat I need.

But I can’t ask her to face my darkness. I can’t risk dimming her light.

Laine has always been an open book, so easy to read. And now, I study the shock and hurt written across her face.

“You’re my best friend, Sutton,” Laine uttered.

I lock my jaw the way I’ve seen Hank and Wells do time and time again. “I’m sorry.” Finally, at least one morsel of truth.

With effort, Laine straightens, lifting her chin higher. The corners of her mouth pinch. “I guess I should go back to New York.”

Though it pains me, I say, “That’s probably for the best.” After all, I can only deny the pull to be with Laine for so long. If she asked me to go back with her, how long could I resist that selfish, hungry part of me that aches to be hers?

As Laine walks away, I cover my mouth with my hand, physically restraining myself from stopping her.

31

LAINE

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