Page 27 of Rewriting the Story

I quickly wipe the tear from my eye before I look at her.

“We’re okay,” Hads tells her before I can speak.

“Okay…” Paige eyes us skeptically. “Do you want to help Ella and I build a moat?” Her smile lights up this entire beach.

“Yeah,” Hads says, grabbing my hand. “We do.”

10

“Seeing someone you used to know is always my least favorite interaction. Yes, I remember you. Yes, I no longer know who you are since I last saw you. Yes, I used to know how you took your coffee. Yes, I still remember what you’re allergic to. Yes, you meant a lot to me and you still do but somehow we’re here—the two of us staring at one another as if we’re trying to memorize one another one final time.” —Our Best Kept Secret, Henry Hayes

Asanaudiobookplayssoftly through my car speakers, I find myself not paying attention to a single word thenarrator is saying.

Is this the stupidest thing I’ve ever done? Am I being a complete idiot for thinking by going down here and surrounding myself with these people again, that somehow, it will magically fix my writing?

It could, but it’s not a guarantee.

My mind wanders back to the last time I was in this big of a funk. It was right after the big falling out, and I don’t think there was ever a time before then—at least in my adult life—where I had felt so obsolete. Nothing really made much sense to me after Amelia left.

After that, I had a hard time getting out of bed in the morning. I had never felt heartbreak like that before, and going through it once was enough.

But there’s a part of me that will always wonder about the what-ifs with her. If she had just talked to me, would we still be together? Would we both be happy? Maybe she is. Maybe she found happiness in England after she destroyed every ounce of mine.

If she’s here with a plus-one, I’ll have my answer.

But even so, I’m still nervous—not just about seeing her, but about seeing everyone. It’s been years since I’ve seen Grant and Oliver, and I barely met Leo in college. I can’t imagine how this dynamic is going to work, but knowing the guys and how they’ve acted toward me, it will be fine.

The nerves still linger, though. I know they won’t go away until I actually see them.

And Oliver is gettingmarried. This almost feels like some sort of fever dream. I figured he and Paige would be together for the long haul, but now that it’s actually here, part of me feels like I missed out on this wonderful thing I could have been a part of.

These people are like family. It’s always been that way, but now more than ever, it rings true. Not only have they all stuck by one another, but they continue to doso.

That’s what I’ve been yearning for these past few years: being able to have that closeness with a group of people. We all fit together in our own weird way back then, and it worked somehow. When Amelia left, I didn't have anything connecting me to them besides some loose threads. When I lost that closeness, it was like running over a speed bump going way too fast.

No amount of success or money could compare to how rich I felt having such wonderful people around me. That’s all any human craves, right? We all yearn to build connections and find our people because when it all comes down to it, when death finds us in the end, we’ll remember the memories we had with our favorite people. All the other stuff—money, social status, all of it—will mean absolutely nothing.

And that’s what I’ve been missing all this time. So, maybe these next few weeks will give that back to me, only to rip it from me again. Or maybe it will somehow all work out. Maybe the words will flow from my mind again, and I’ll be able to continue living out my dream.

So many questions float through my mind, and I have no answers.

If this book can’t get written, my publisher will drop me, and maybe I could try being an independent author—I definitely have enough ideas—but sometimes, I worry about what the point of all this is.

If I have nobody by my side cheering me on, if I have nobody to celebrate the milestones with, then why bother at all? Why bother writing stories if my fingers can’t seem to type anything? Why not just get a boring, nine-to-five office job with a pension and good health insurance? Why continue to chase my dream if all its showing me is that I’m not cut out for this?

This book officially terrifies me, and I only have a tiny sliver of hope that maybe these next two weeks will help. I’m sure putting myself and my emotions through the ringer will help—it did back when I wrote my first one. Not only did I completely shelve the fantasy novel I wasworking on, but I channeled all my sad energy into a book about a couple who fell apart and somehow had enough strength to come back together.

I was one hundred percent projecting all of my own feelings into each character, and I know that’s not really what you’re supposed to do, but in the end, it helped me a lot. I threw all of my shitty feelings onto my characters, let them deal with it, and in the end, it all worked out. One of these days, I’ll be able to confidently say it all worked out for me, but that hasn't happened yet.

Mitch would tell me it's because I haven't actually dealt with my feelings, and he’s probably right, but that’s what this trip is all about. This is basically exposure therapy. I’m confronting something and eventually, I’ll forget why I was so nervous in the first place.

Though, I’m downplaying it. This is absolutely going to be more complicated than I want it to be. Nothing ever comes easy where Amelia is concerned, and I’m sure that hasn't changed.

By the time I pull into the hotel, my mind is a mess, and I have to rewind my audiobook. I grab my suitcases from the back of my forerunner before I pull my phone out and message the guys.

Henry: What room number are we again?

Grant: Don't worry, you’ll see us.