Page 115 of When Stars Collide
The wind did me dirty the minute I opened the door. One sharp gust blew my hair in my face as another proceeded to lift my dress up Marilyn Monroe style. Not wanting to expose myself to the world, one hand swooped down to take care of the dress situation while the other hand brushed my hair out of my eyes so I could see where I was going. Thankfully, it was a warm breeze. I guess there was something to be said about looking on the bright side.
I didn’t know where I was going. But being outside was better than sitting in the bar, and that was good enough for me.All I could do was walk, hoping it would be enough to clear my head. A long, concrete walkway led from the inn to the parking lot. At the end of the walkway, positioned on either side of it, stood large, rectangular, concrete planters. Inside of those planters, bright purple and pink petunias greeted the inn’s guests. Figuring it was as good a place as any, I sat down at the edge of one of the planters, taking in the scent of a nearby lilac bush. If I had a choice, I would smell lilacs all day long. It was an oddity to catch a whiff of the organic lilac scent in New York, and it was just one more thing I missed living in the city.
Sighing, I closed my eyes. Living in New York with Phineas, Jo, and my career felt right; everything made sense there. It made sense for me to be there, to only ever want to be there. But every time I set foot back in Virginia, something grabbed onto me, creating a hollowness in my heart that I carried with me back to New York.
It’s not something, it’s someone.
Behind me, I heard the door to the inn open and close. Footsteps, cautious at first, moved down the walkway in my direction, stopping behind me. Elle—it had to be.
“Why is this so hard?” My voice came out choked, reflecting the tears in my eyes. Without expecting a response from her, I proceeded. “I’ve always had everything all figured out, but not this. I never thought I would be in this situation, having to make a choice between two people I care about. I’m confused, lost. Yes, that’s it. I’m lost. Except I fear there’s no right way to put myself back on course again.”
At this point, I wanted Elle to say something Elle-like, hopeful and uplifting. But all that met me was silence, which did nothing but make the knot in my stomach tighten.
“You can say anything any time. Even a, ‘Mena, you’re being ridiculous!’ would suffice.”
“You’re not being ridiculous.” The voice that answered was familiar, but certainly didn’t belong to Elle. My body stiffened and my heart fell into my stomach as I turned my head to see Peter standing just feet behind me.
“Damn it, Peter! I thought you were Elle. You could have at least announced yourself before letting me ramble on like an idiot.”
“And you could have at least looked over your shoulder before launching into your soliloquy.”
He was right, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Half from frustration, half from embarrassment, I threw a hand up in the air, meaning to have it come crashing down on the soil next to me. Instead, I completely missed my intended target, and my hand came barreling down against the planter. “Oh, double damn it!” I cradled my injured hand against my stomach, breathing through the pain that was shooting up my fingers and into my arm.
“Are you all right?” Although he made a valiant effort, I could still make out the laughter he was trying to hold in.
“No, I’m not all right. I broke my hand.”
Peter sat down next to me, reaching out his hand. “Let me see it.”
I looked up at him and back down to his outstretched hand, hesitant to take it, relenting only after, “Mena, please,” came out as barely a whisper under his breath. Slowly, more from pain than hesitation, I placed my injured extremity in his.
“Move your fingers.” he commanded, eyes fixated on every muscle, tendon, and joint in my hand as I moved it. “Good. Now make a fist.”
I eyed him, grimacing through the pain. “Do you really want me to do that?”
“Punch me and you may break your hand for real. But for now, I think it’s fine. It’s just going to have a nice bruise.
“Are you sure?” I removed my hand from Peter’s grasp, flexing my fingers.
“Look, you can ask Luke to look at it if you want to, but I’ve seen a broken hand before, and yours doesn’t appear broken to me.”
“Oh, yeah. You broke your hand in high school after falling on the ice playing hockey.”
“You remember.” His eyes gleamed as he smiled.
I nodded. “I remember a lot of things. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”
Peter’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mena.”
Closing my eyes, I willed myself not to cry. “You don’t have to be sorry, Peter.”
“I do, though.” He turned to face me, and I told myself not to look at him, as doing so would surely shatter the remnants of my heart that remained scattered inside of my chest. “You’re in pain because of me. That’s never what I wanted. I thought I was doing the right thing, stepping aside to let you move on with the life you worked so hard for, but I was wrong. All I did was rip my own heart out and cause you nothing but heartache in return. And for that, I truly am sorry.”
Any effort I’d made to keep my tears in check was in vain the second I caught sight of the agony in his eyes. His tears gutted me. They always had.
“I just want you to know that no matter what happens, whatever path you choose, I will always be there for you in whatever capacity you want me to be.” He lifted his hand to touch my cheek, certain at first, but then growing more hesitant when his insecurities took over. I leaned into his touch, providing him with the reassurance he needed. “You’ll find your way back on course. I know you will.”Peter’s fingertips grazed my cheek as he leaned down and lightly placed his lips against my forehead. His touch sent a shockwave through my system, both intense and comforting in its familiarity. He must have felt it, too, because his lips lingered for longer than most people would deem appropriate. Still, it felt all too soon when he finally drew back.
“Thank you, Peter.”
