Page 167 of Let You Love Me

“The football injury?” the nurse asks, her tone soft.

“Yeah.” I swallow.

“I was just headed there. Visiting hours are over for tonight, but I can ask if he’s up to one more. And you are?”

Oh God, what if he doesn’t want to see me?

“Lane Turner,” I say, my voice feeble.

“I’ll see what I can do.” My hopes plummet the further she gets down the hall. The thought of going home without laying eyes on him and telling him how fucking sorry I am is unthinkable. If I could go back and redo things, I would. I’d tell him everything from the beginning. But I can’t, and so I’ll do anything to make things right, no matter how long it takes.

When I spot the nurse returning, I hurry toward her, meeting her halfway as she glances at me with sympathy in her eyes, and I know.

He doesn’t want to see me.

The knowledge shouldn’t surprise me, but it hits me in the chest all the same.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse starts, her gaze soft.

I nod, unable to speak through the lump in my throat.

“He went through quite the ordeal. He’s probably just tired,” she says.

“Yeah,” I murmur, even though I know better. Teagan isn’t just tired; it’s personal, and I can’t say I blame him.

I stay in the waiting room until dusk falls and night settles over the city like a heavy cloak. I can’t go home until I see him, and yet I know at some point I might have to. There’s a real possibility Teagan and I are finished. Done.

He might never want to speak to me again.

You lied straight to my face when I asked if you and Chance were ever together.

I hang my head in my hands, willing the sharpness of the memories to fade and hating myself a little more when they don’t.

I’d been so scared of what the truth might do to my family, I never stopped for one second to think of what it would do to me.

And now it’s too late.

A sob rips through the back of my throat. Tears drip down my cheeks.

Because of me, Teagan is lying in a hospital bed alone, hurt and heartbroken.

I destroyed everything.

I wallow in my grief a little more, replaying the entire scene over and over again in my head.

I’d come to talk to my father to voice my suspicions about Chance. Little did I know they’d already beaten me there.

I remember the smug look on Chance’s face, the agony in Teagan’s eyes.

There’s a special kind of pain in knowing you were the one to break the heart of the person you love. It’s a special kind of torture with no escape route.

The knowledge of it wraps around you, squeezing like a boa constrictor, and stealing the air from your lungs. But instead of dying, I’m here, living with the pain of it instead.

The hours pass slowly. It’s around three a.m. when a middle-aged couple hustles into the waiting room, heading directly for the nurses’ station, and I wonder if it could be Teagan’s parents. If I look close enough, there’s a resemblance there. But then, maybe I’m seeing things.

Regardless, I feel a pang of longing for the woman as I hear her prattle on in a hushed tone, clearly worried as her husband takes her hand and sits beside her.

Sometime after six a.m., I nod off, but I’m awakened with a jolt at the scent of coffee and commotion a few rows down.

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