Page 71 of Crocodile Tears
She snorted. “Well, that’s too fucking bad because I’ve got something I need to ask you.”
“There she is,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Open your door,” she told me.
“What?”
“Open your door,” she repeated like I was a disobedient dog.
I rolled my eyes as I unlocked my front door. “I swear to God, if you sent me a fruit basket?—”
But when I opened it, I found my little sister standing there, looking up at me. “Who sends a fruit basket? That’s so lame.” She lifted a plastic bag of snacks, and I spied a packet of Skittles and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos amongst it. “I brought you something that isn’t boiled chicken and broccoli.” My eyes welled, emotions I’d been battling to keep at bay brimming over, and then she landed the killing blow when she said, “I thought you might need a hug.”
I let out a half laugh, half sob, and she dropped the bag of snacks to hug me so tightly she might’ve cracked a rib. And I cried my heart out into my sister’s shoulder in the threshold of my apartment.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dove
Working all day until my fingers bled and sobbing all night into my pillow seemed to be part of a long-standing Lachlan family tradition—work until we were too tired to feel all the pain.
After two weeks apart, I wanted to wish I’d never known Deacon. I wanted to erase every single memory that we’d shared. But he was so intertwined with all of my formative years that erasing him meant erasingme. Deacon Harrow, that stupid, handsome, insufferable dork, was inextricably linked to my soul.
I hated him for making me be the one to call it for what it was. I hated that I’d had to be the voice of reason. But there was just no way we could be together. Especially not now at the height of his fame. Even if I could bear the scrutiny of living in such a bright spotlight, despised by every fangirl and media outlet in existence, I didn’t want to put my family through the ringer for it too.
I thought of little Simon, fear coursing through me that something could happen to my perfect little nephew because some psycho had broken into the zoo. All my worst fears swirled through me. I couldn’t drag my family into this maelstrom.
Maybe one day if I quit my job and moved far from Prickle Island. Maybe one day if Deacon became a relic of a different era and—no.I couldn’t go down this path of what-ifs and maybes. This reality was the only one that I had.
And I wouldn’t let Deacon grow to slowly resent me, wouldn’t let him see the way I couldn’t keep up with his life—red carpets and parties and events and paparazzi—until he wished he’d never shared his heart with me. And I definitely wouldn’t watch him throw away the things he loved most, his incredible art and talent and voice, just because he thought he loved me more. He’d come to resent that one day too.
No, the only way forward was apart. I’d known it that night in his apartment, in every time my stomach had fluttered with butterflies but I’d pulled away. I’d had good reasons for keeping him at arm’s length after all.
Maybe one day when we were old and gray, we could have a chance at a life together . . . but by then he’d probably be married to some beautiful celebrity who could handle his fame, and I’d have to watch from the shadows as he loved her, married her, had children with her, all splashed across every front page to torture me for the rest of my life. The thought brought more tears to my eyes.
Everything hurt. Everything reminded me of him. I couldn’t watch my favorite shows because they were his too. I couldn’t focus on my new interim director role because it washischarity. I couldn’t look at Eddie the toucan because Deacon had once held him. I couldn’t evenwash my handswithout seeing the scar on my palm and starting to blubber again at the way he’d keptthat coin all these years . . . and that he hadn’t been wearing the necklace in his latest paparazzi photos.
I shouldn’t have looked. I should’ve buried my head in the sand. Maybe I was a sadist or just trapped in the horror of watching this train crash, but I kept checking my news feed with rapt terror, and what I saw made my heart shatter all over again.
The news about Deacon and I had swiftly shifted after two weeks—the headlines now saying how gracious Ivy was for taking a cheater like him back after his “one-night stand” with me. I didn’t know how he’d done it. He was a better actor than I ever knew—smiling in paparazzi photos, holding Ivy’s hand as they left posh restaurants together, taking off a necklace he’d worn for fifteen years as if sending a personal message directly to me:I’m really letting you go.
It shouldn’t have hurt how quickly he’d moved on, even if it was all pretend, especially since I was the one who’d ended things between us. The narrative had swiftly been turned back into one that favored Deacon again. His new PR team was apparently worth their weight in gold. My name dropped out of the headlines as quickly as it had arrived there. Some tech wizard had worked some serious SEO magic. Now, the top search when I typed in my name and Deacon Harrow were articles about the Lucky Role Conservation Trust and their hunt for a permanent director. It was as if the past few weeks had never happened. The only tangible aftermath was my broken heart.
Hannah and I sat on rocking chairs while Finch and Frankie gently swung back and forth on the porch swing, holding Simon and sniffing his glorious head.
“I think we might need to have one of these ourselves one day,” Finch murmured.
“I think so too,” Frankie agreed, leaning farther into her.
“After I make you my wife,” Finch added, kissing Frankie’s hair.
“Hey! No love talk,” Hannah piped up, snapping a finger at the two of them. “Don’t make me get the spray bottle.”
I let out a half-hearted laugh. “I appreciate the loyalty, but youarestill allowed to be in love in front of me. I’m doing just fine.”
Finch guffawed. “Yeah, I know that kind of just fine. I wouldn’t wish that kind of just fine on my worst enemy.”
“There’s nothing that can be done.” I gritted my teeth, shoulders bunching around my ears. “I’ll get over it eventually.”
