Well, this is the final part of this story! Please review!
Rights to SM.
But you had to go and mess it up
The morning Fitz was deployed I went out for coffee. The shop was on the dinky side, but in a good way. It helped that it was the only Starbucks on the east side of town, and Dutch Bro's hadn't creeped in yet. (Thank God, those things multiply like rabbits, I swear.) So for the time being Starbucks had all the caffeine addicts to itself.
Including me.
As alway the line was long, so when I finally ordered my usual and gave the Barista my name, she frowned at me like, move it. I shuffled out of the way to stand by the wall, but a different Barista called out, "Wait!"
Her coworker glared at her so she pulled me aside by the pastries. "Is something wrong?" I asked.
"No, no nothing's wrong, it's just—" The Barista lifted a drink up and glanced at me. "You are Sophie right?"
"Yes?"
She nodded. "Did you order a 16oz half sweet hazelnut latte just now?"
"Yeah..." What was going on?
"That's your usual, right?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
A sunny smile lit up the Barista's face as she handed me the drink. "This was ordered for you a few minutes ago. The guy also had me tape this onto it," she pointed to a note. I just blinked at her, my mind running circles. Did Keefe do this? He's so sweet...
"Hang on," the Barista said. "I'll get you your money back." As she skipped to the cash register I flipped open the note to find a small inscription written in black ink, practically meaningless. Anonymous:
Trust me.
A faint ringing began in my ears as I realized who ordered this coffee. I took the change from the Barista, said my thanks, and walked away numb.
Fitzroy Avery Vacker.
Isn't that all he'd ever asked for? My complete confidence, faith, and above all else—trust. When had that bond between us broken? Did I ever really trust him? No, of course I had, but what wedged itself between us?
I crumpled the note in my fist and stuffed it into the side pocket of my wallet where all receipts go to die. Questioning the past will only make my doubts in the present worse, and my future fears grow. Fitz chose the military and duty to his family over me, and in return I closed my heart so that he could not take anymore pieces of it.
Fitz is not allowed to crawl back into my heart, I will not let him.
Now
"God, why do I have so many keys?" I mutter to myself trying to open the apartment door. It's super late, and after my unexpected run in with Fitz, all I want is to sleep. Now. Plus I'm freezing.
I settle for nocking on the door quietly in an attempt to get Keefe to open it, but when nothing happens I start banging.
Thump Thump Thump
"Keefe! Open the darn door, I know you're awake!" Miraculously I hear the locks being undone, and the door swing wide open.
Keefe pulls me inside and folds me into his arms, closing the door behind us with his foot. He just holds me or a moment, and I nearly fall asleep standing there, but he speaks softly into my ear. "I was beginning to worry, are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm okay."
"Do you want to talk?" The sincerity in his crystalline eyes stirs affection in my chest.
I sniff. "Not right now, I'm kinda cold and super tired. Let's just go to bed." I start to walk toward the bedroom, stepping out of my shoes on the way there, and toss my jacket on the bed-stand. I climb into the sheets and get comfortable, my body relaxing and giving into dreams. But before sleep takes me completely, I see Keefe leaning against the door frame, with a crease worrying his forehead and weighing down his brow.
I'll deal with this tomorrow, I think, as soft darkness takes me.
I dream of a car ride. It's dark, the only light is from the headlights illuminating the uneven road. Raindrops are swept away by wind shield wipers. I watch from the backseat as the driver swerves to miss a gigantic pot hole that would have blown out a tire. Out if the corner of my eye I spot a duffle bag, and realize there is a pair of crutches laying beneath my feet.
If I had feet. Apparently in this dream I'm a bystander, only meant to observe what my brain conjures up, not participate in it. I find a sort of comfort in that thought.
"Tired?" A warm voice asks. It takes me a moment to place, but I quickly realize it belongs to Biana. She also happens to be driving the car, which would explain the stomach churning turns she's been making. Seriously Biana, the breaks are there for a reason.
"Yeah, it's been a long night." A second voice replies from the passenger seat. I instantly recognize Fitz's accent, and his words are crisp despite the exhaustion in them.
Biana's grip on the wheel changes as she prepares to turn. "You can sleep if you want," She says. "We have a ways to go yet."
"I can't," Fitz's voice is somber. "I don't want visit any ghosts tonight."
Biana hums. "When was the last time you slept?"
"Sunday."
"Fitz, that was three days ago."
"Believe me Biana, I rather be sleep deprived then face my nightmares."
Biana replies with silence, probably not knowing the right response to that kind of statement. My heart goes out to him, I know what it's like to live with night terrors.
Biana taps the steering wheel with her thumb and states, "Coincidence that Sophie happened to be there at Shari's."
Fitz turns his head toward Biana. "Yeah," he says. "Big coincidence."
"How did you know she'd be there?"
"I didn't."
"Really," she drawls. "Did she know you were coming home?"
"Not unless you or our parents said something."
Biana wrings her hands on the steering wheel. "I didn't, and I'm sure Dad wouldn't of said anything. But Mom... She was really excited to hear that you were coming home."
"I bet."
A longer silence follows and the cab begins to fill with tension. Neither of them brake it until Biana pauses the car at a stop sign and turns to Fitz. "Spill. What did Sophie say?"
Fitz groans and tugs a hand through his hair. "Do we have to talk about this?"
"Yes."
"Fine," he sighs. "At first it was a complete disaster, she literally ran away from me."
"Oof."
"Yeah. Anyway in her hurry she left behind her coat, and I was like, I should return this to her, she'll freeze without it. So, I went after her and gave it back." Fitz makes gestures as he tells his story, and in a way it's enduring to see the wild motions in action again. "After I returned it, I didn't really know what to say, you know? I haven't spoken to her in years. So I'd decided not to linger but..."
"But what, Fitz?" Biana prods softly.
He inhales. "She stopped me from walking away." He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, but seems to decide against saying what's exactly on his mind. Instead he aims for nonchalance. "We talked. Then we decided to go back to Shari's because it was cold, and not long after you showed up. That's all."
"That's all? End of story?" Biana says.
Fitz shrugs. "What else do you want to know?"
"Uh, everything? Like how did it feel to see her again, what did you talk about, was she happy to see you? Come on Fitz, I need details."
"Biana, drop it," he sighs and says in a smaller voice, "Please."
Fitz doesn't utter anything else for the rest of the car ride, and the only conversation to be heard is between the brakes squeaking and the engine wheezing. But as Biana turns onto the Vacker's long driveway Fitz quietly admits: "It felt like breathing again."
Was it all too much, or just not enough
I wake the next morning in a cold sweat. I stare at the celling fan make lazy circles, my eyes dry and listless. The dream (vision?) replays in my head on repeat, Fitz's words echoing. It felt like breathing again. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat but fail. My insides are twisting themselves in to a knot as I roll out of Keefe's arms and swing my feet onto the floor. The cold wood chills my feet as I silently stand and make my way to the kitchen. Water. I need water.
The drink does nothing to quell the unease growing in my stomach, and my thoughts churn out of control until they get stuck on a single phrase. Trust me.
Trust me.
My breathing becomes shallow as I set down my glass. I look at the coffee pot my parents gave me last year, then to my purse sitting on the counter. The purse contains everything vital I might need out side of the apartment, it's like a survival pack really. It also includes my wallet. And my wallet holds cash, cards, loose change, and business slips. Important mementos I refuse to lose.
I find myself pulling out the fake leather thing and thumbing through its contents, until my fingers land on a crumpled note. I stop breathing as I smooth out the wrinkles, knowing exactly what it says before even seeing the words.
Trust me. Fitz's voice whispers.
I choke up. When we broke things off I thought it was because I trusted him too much, and vice versa. I practically shared my life with the guy and he just decided to run off to the Marines. He let me down. But now I begin to play a dangerous game of 'what if.'
What if the issue was never too much trust, but not enough? What if I had hadn't been so stubborn and let go of my insecurities and trusted him. Fitz must've had a plan, he wouldn't of come up with that decision off the cuff, and if I had listened... where would I be now? In his arms? Would we have gotten married before he left?
Abrupt hands pat my shoulders and bring my ramblings to a screeching halt.
"Boo," Keefe says in my ear making me jump. His hands return to steady me, the touch intended for comfort, but I shied away.
"Sophie, what's wrong?" Keefe asks reaching for my hand.
I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't feel well." I start stuffing things back inside my purse. I don't have it in me to see his facial expression right now.
He huffs. "Sophie, you can trust me with anything. Just talk to me." His words make my insides freeze. Fitz had probably said that to me about a million times. I slowly look up, daring to meet his eyes and find them understanding. And very concerned.
I plaster on a small smile, and discreetly pocket Fitz's note.
"I just have a headache, Keefe. Nothing that ibuprofen can't fix." I go to the medicine cabinet to retrieve my supposed headache's cure as if it could cover up the lie. I feel Keefe's eyes follow me, not allowing me off the hook. I'm unscrewing the bottle when Keefe speaks again. "Did something happen last night?"
"I went for a walk."
He narrows his eyes. "Come on, Foster, you and I both know that's not what I meant."
"Well, what do you want to know?" I swallow a pill.
"Why are you so moody? Did you run into trouble on your walk?"
I shrug. "Not really."
Keefe's eyebrows quirk up.
"Seriously!" I exclaim. "Nothing bad happened. I was perfectly safe."
His eyebrows rose into his floppy bangs.
I sighed. "Keefe, there's no reason to worry, okay? Please just let it go."
"Sophie, you sound like Alden, which is exactly why I know something is up. Please don't bottle your emotions, if you need to talk I'm here for you." His voice got quieter. "I'm always here for you."
"I know." I ball my fist around the note in my pocket.
Keefe takes a step closer and gently twines my free hand with his. "Please tell me. You can tell me anything."
Not this.
I know that now. It's like Keefe is quoting a book, or reenacting a memory from an alternate universe. Except something's off, no that's the wrong word. More... eerie. Like he's speaking words another was intended to tell me. Deja vu settles over me like a thick fog.
"I'm sorry." I sputter, letting go of his hand and begin to turn away. "I need to think, please—"
"Sophie, no wait." Keefe whirls me around to face him. He searches me eyes. "Seriously, whats wrong? You can trust me, I promise."
That's the second time he's said 'trust me' in one morning. The universe I'm currently suffering in apparently has a cruel sense of humor because the irony cannot be clearer. Oxygen suddenly becomes absent and I can't breath.
I gasp.
"Foster?"His hands grip my biceps and shake me gently. "Sophie, what's wrong?"
I start hyperventilating as panic slams into my chest.
Keefe's worry escalates to a whole new level.
"Outside," I gasp and my knees go weak, but before I can even begin to fall, Keefe scoops me into his arms. This is wrong too, I think vaguely. He quickly heads for our small balcony and cradles me to his chest with one arm as he opens the sliding glass door.
Once I feel the chilly breeze hit my face I hop out of his arms and lean on the balcony for support. I gulp greedy breaths of cool air and will my heart to calm, and my head to clear.
Trust me.
The words bounce around in my brain as an old ache returns with vengeance. Last night I dug up too many memories, and now they threaten to swallow me. A hollow thought pops into my brain. All I wanted was closure with Fitz so I could move on, and if I'm feeling this way now, then I never truly let go.
Even after last night, the Fitz shaped hole in my heart is still there and growing. I thought Keefe had filled it years ago, but maybe not. Maybe Keefe was the bandages holding me together, and I'm bleeding through. I admit the words I've denied for too long: My heart is still broken over Fitz Vacker.
I let the tears come.
I feel Keefe's gentle arms slowly wrap around me from behind, and his head settles on top of mine. I sob. It's almost as if I can feel him wrapping gauze around my heart, and a sense of calm washes over me. I can't fall apart if Keefe is here to hold me together. The thought makes me smile through my tears.
Evening's come and gone, and Keefe went to bed without me, hardly able to keep his eyes open for a second longer. After my emotional morning, Keefe decided to cheer me up and give me a distraction. We watched the entire first season of Galavant, a hilarious medieval musical so wholesome that you get sucked in. I highly recommend it, please watch, laugh, and cringe as the story plays out.
Like right now. Stop reading my sob story and binge it, you won't be disappointed.
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(Did you watch it? No? Fine read on.)
ANYway: Keefe and I spent the rest of the day eating mass amounts of Fruit Loops, watching Galavant, and generally doing nothing—yet we both were exhausted by the time eleven o'clock rolled past.
So now I sit bleary eyed, stalking mindlessly through Biana's Instagram. I've scrolled into really old posts from like two years ago, marveling at how short my hair was. All of a sudden Fitz's name flashes across my screen. I stop and take a closer look at the post. It's a video. I narrow my eyes and click play, sitting up straighter as I do. In it I'm laughing, and Biana is singing happy birthday while Keefe is backs her up on the Kazoo. We must've been drunk as skunks, because I don't remember any of this. The caption above the post reads:
Happy Birthday Fitz! We miss you!
I swallow hard. I wonder what Fitz had thought when he read that post. Was he angry? Sad? Happy to be loved? I'm sure he at least felt appreciated, like he'd have a family upon his return.
What did he think when he saw me?
I shake my head and swipe at my runny nose. I shouldn't be thinking about this, it hurts too much. My lips pucker in an attempt to stop the ridiculous tears. Deep breath in. Exhale.
I let my brain wonder.
The cedar chest my mom gave to me for my 25th birthday catches my eye. Or more so what it contains. I stand and crouch before it, considering the literal can of worms I'm about to open.
I lift the lid quietly because Keefe does not need to wake up to find me wallowing again.
Inside the chest there's all kinds of random crap on the surface, but underneath is the treasure I've tried so hard to burry. A bramble jersey. Several obscure gifts. An envelope crammed with letters. A red stuffed dragon he'd given me for safe keeping because war is no place for stuffed animals. A small box safe guarding a necklace.
I carefully dig up the box and sit back on my heels.
I open the box and pinch a thin gold chain, dropping it and the attached pendants into my palm. The metal warms, like a gentle caress from the giver himself.
It's me, he whispers.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "I know," my words are mumbled. My thumb traces the original pendent, a delicate gem crafted to form a tiny heart. The remaining additions to the necklace I put there myself after we broke up—Two rings I typically wore on my thumbs. They were a gift from him too. All of his gifts meant something, his consideration and thoughtfulness shining through even the simplest of gestures.
I unclasp the chain and remove the rings, sliding them back onto their old home. I clench and unclench my hands testing out the feel of them on my thumbs. The necklace is next, its fragile weight resting against my collar bones.
In this moment my storm of thoughts ebb and a warm comfort settles over me. Not the calm blue waves I feel from Keefe's presence, but a golden sort of restoration. The light lifts me up and up until I'm wrapped in it's honey embrace.
I blink, hardly daring to breathe. Then I remove the necklace and the rings, returning them to their dark and lonely box. My heart folds in on itself. Keefe will never know about this, my run in with Fitz, or the reason for my meltdown. Tomorrow I put this all behind me.
I close the cedar chest.
...
Yeah we got so close, so close to love
—Two weeks later—
I sift through the sad selection of cereal in the cabinet again. I yell over my shoulder in the direction of the living room. "Keefe! Did you eat the rest of the Cheerios?" I hear a muffled curse. He pokes his head around the corner.
"Yes?" He says, guilt weighing down his voice. A caught sort of smile pulls at his cheeks. I am not amused. His lips droop and he shuffles to my side, checking the cabinet himself. "There might not be any Cheerios," He says. "But there are Wheat Thins!"
"Keefe, if you do not hand those over right now, I will kick your shins."
He bows. "No need for that, my lady."
I snatch the crackers out of his hands and glare. "Groveling will get you nowhere."
"For you, anything." He smirks.
I roll my eyes and flop on couch, my head resting on the arm rest. Keefe follows with a banana in hand and lifts up my legs to sit where they were. For a few minutes we don't talk. I munch on Wheat thins and gain carbs as Keefe slowly eats his banana, savoring the potassium.
"So," I break the silence between bites. "What are we doing today?"
He glances at me. "What do you want to do?"
"Well," I begin. "It's Saturday and we have no school work because we just survived finals."
"Yes, and?"
"Hmm... We could meet up with Dex, I haven't heard from him in a while anyway." I stand to retrieve my phone from the counter, but Keefe hurtles over the couch to block my path. "Keefe, what are you doing?"
He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. "Sophie..." He says slowly. Uh oh, I think. Confession alert. "I need to tell you something that I've been avoiding for the past week or so." He pauses and looks down at my speculative expression and grimaces. "The Vackers are hosting an all day... hangout thing for friends and family."
"So, Dex is there?"
Keefe seems surprised by my question. "Yeah, I mean wherever Biana goes he goes."
I laugh, "Married people are weird."
He laughs too, and its like a weight has lifted off him. He thinks he just dodged a major bullet, but he hasn't. Not at all.
"So..." I draw out the word and put my hands on my hips. "Why am I only hearing about this party now?"
Keefe's smile freezes. He stays silent, digging himself into a bigger hole. I ask a different question. "Was I not invited or something? Did you want to spare my feelings?"
"No! No, nothing like that. We were both invited."
I soften my words. "So why didn't you tell me about it? The Vackers are my friends too."
"I know," he takes one of my hands. "Sophie if you want to go to this party we will, you just need to know something first." He squeezes my hand to brace himself, or me, maybe we both need bracing.
I already know what he's about to say.
"Fitz came home." Yup.
"Oh." I don't bother sounding surprised.
"Yeah." Keefe gently hugs me to his side. "That's why I didn't want to tell you, I know how much he hurt you when he left, and I didn't want to see you in pain again."
Despite his sweet words, I bristle. "But don't you think I would have liked the choice of going? I am an adult Keefe, I'm highly capable of making decisions for myself."
"Of course you are Foster, I wasn't trying—"
"You know what? We're going to that party." I shake my head and walk away. Wait, I have to say one more thing. I turn around to face a stammering Keefe. "Actually I'm going to the party. I don't care if you go, just find your own ride." I slam the bedroom door closed behind me.
I breath for a moment.
Inhale, Exhale.
Oh my gosh. I haven't been this angry in a long time, but it wasn't just anger. I felt guilty too. I should have told Keefe about my run in with Fitz, because this never would have happened. My brain screams at me, telling me that Keefe lied too, he didn't even mention the party.
The realization slams into me like a semi truck. Even if I had told Keefe about Fitz... He wouldn't have told me about the party. He would've used the exact same excuse, especially if he knew Fitz was the reason for my meltdown. Okay, now I'm angry.
I walk into my closet and throw on Autumn worthy clothes and ankle boots. My hair is thrown into a high pony tail, because I'm feeling confident and pissed off, dam it. (Oh the references XD). The makeup goes quick, mascara, dab of eye liner, and lipgloss. No blush, I'm flushed plenty right now.
Keefe looks stunned as I stomp across the apartment to the front door, snagging my purse off the table.
I leave without a backward glance.
...
The event is in full swing when I arrive. People are laughing in small groups, little kids are weaving between their parents's legs. It's all so full of chaotic energy that I have to take a deep breath before merging with the crowd. The Vackers are known for their parties, and in the last few years they've been lacking events but they're apparently kicking Fitz's homecoming off with a bang.
I see a few familiar faces amongst the crowd, but I shy away from conversation, instead steering toward the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. Hot chocolate and cider are set up on the counter with a field of assorted mugs to choose from. I recognize a few, a faint smile pulling at my lips from the memories.
I spot my favorite color in the mix and rescue the mug. It's a happy teal, and looks well loved by the Vackers. I pour hot chocolate into it, swirl whipped cream on top, and sprinkle cinnamon on to finish.
The first sip is heaven. I sigh. Maybe this party won't be so bad after all.
"Sophie Foster? Is that you?" I hear a voice gasp behind me. I turn to find Della Vacker staring at me, tears glittering in her eyes. A motherly smile breaks across her face as she envelopes me in a hug, squeezing tight. "Good gracious, girl! I haven't seen you in years, how are you?"
I pull away from her embrace and grin. "Oh, I'm alright. Rolling with the punches life keeps throwing my way. How are you?"
Della gets misty eyed again. "Happy. And relieved, I'm just so grateful he came home alive." She dabs her eyes and sniffs. "Oh, Sophie, what am I saying? We're all a mess. Especially Fitz, he's been so distant lately, taking long walks all alone, or practically locking himself in the library. And the fact that he's skipping his therapy sessions doesn't help in the least, I just—" She huffs a defeated little breath. "He's always been an introvert but now he's practically reclusive." I nod and place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"He needs space to process," I say. "Time heals all wounds, this one included."
Della looks incredibly morose despite my encouragement. "I'm afraid Fitz may need more than just time." She becomes tense as she says her next words. "He needs someone to be there for him. To help him put his missing pieces back together. Someone he trusts, but he hardly speaks to anyone. Not me, nor Biana or Alden. What kind of mother am I if I'm unable to comfort my own child?"
"Oh Della," I pull her in for another hug. "You're doing everything you possibly can."
I hear a sudden voice behind me. "What is Mom doing everything she possibly can for, exactly?"
I whirl around and come nose to nose with Biana. She's speculative, but the mirth dancing in her eyes is unmistakable. Della discreetly swipes her tears from her cheeks and tells her daughter, "Nothing to worry about sweetheart. I haven't quite gotten the chance to say hello to the Endals, I'll see you two girls at dinner." Biana and I watch Della float away to greet the Endals, as if the smile plastered on her bright face was real.
Biana leans toward me and asks, "So, what did Mom say about Fitz?"
I pluck an eyelash. "She's worried about him."
"Aren't we all," Biana scoffs as she crosses her arms. "But why was she talking to you?"
"Because..." I drift off unable to finish the sentence. Why did Della speak to me about Fitz's behavior?
Biana raises an eyebrow, expecting me to finish my sentence. So I try, keeping my tone calm and quiet in an attempt to not broadcast the topic of our conversation. "Della told me about his purposeful isolation, and how it seems nothing can bring him back." I swallow, preparing my next words. "And I think she wants me to talk to him."
Surprisingly enough, Biana seems to agree. "Okay," she says, and hesitantly asks, "do you want me to show you his hideout?"
"He's not at the party?" I glance at the crowd.
"Oh no, we couldn't get him here for anything in the world. This party technically is for him, but in reality its to reassure people the infamous 'Vacker Family' is perfectly fine. No, he's hiding in the gardens."
"It's freezing outside."
"And the reason no one will find him. Come on," she grabs my wrist and leads me out the back door.
The moon is out, it's shining face is the first thing that catches my eye as I step outside. Biana immediately veers left and stops short of a worn path beside the lake. "Why did we stop?" I ask.
"Because, he won't talk if I'm there. I've tried, but it's useless." She points down the moonlit path. "Follow the path, you'll find him eventually. But remember, he really really doesn't want to be found, so just be... gentle."
"Right, thanks for the tip."
"Anytime," she says and squeezes my hand before returning to the party. I watch her go, contemplating chasing after her because I'm too chicken to face her brother. No, I think. I have to do this, if not for me then for the Vackers. I spin on my heel and follow Biana's instructions.
The path ends at a grove of deciduous trees, located near the southern most end of the property. I've been walking for at least half an hour at this point, but Fitz is no where to be seen. Doubts have begun to creep into my mind about this seemingly pointless venture, and my fingers have gone clammy. But it's gorgeous out here, the night sky revealing it's mysterious beauty in the absence of daylight.
I forge onward.
The trees cast shadows that dance in the fragile breeze. I feel like a shadow myself, drifting under the moon as I search. The trees begin to thin and I see a ledge, the property's end. And there, sitting at the edge is Fitz. From my vantage point his side profile glows silver, and he seems almost angelic. Too beautiful to be human.
He doesn't hear my approach, or he chooses to not acknowledge my presence. I hope the latter is the case. If it were, then he's the selfish boy I've believed him to be. I halt a few paces from him and clear my throat. He doesn't react. I tap his shoulder he and finches, startled, as he removes an earbud.
"What—" Fitz cuts off when he realizes who disturbed him. His eyes go wide. "Sophie?" He whispers. "What are you dong here?"
I glower. "Apparently there's a certain veteran who's returned home. His parents are hosting a celebration party and I was invited."
Fitz has the decency to look sheepish. "I'm sorry, I should be there."
"But?"
He shrugs. "People are hard."
Well, I understand that aversion. I sigh and sit beside him, criss crossing my legs. He stuffs his earbuds in a pocket and turns to me, his face sharp angles in the soft moonlight. I can see unshaven stubble shadowing his jaw, a rarity in of itself, he's normally so put together.
Oh my god. Fitz Vacker, the golden boy, is falling apart. Or maybe he's already in pieces, and hasn't the first clue on how to rebuild himself.
I understand that too. In fact, I'm in the exact same position.
"I'm out here because the world is too loud." He says. "I have enough voices in my head, I don't need anymore."
I feel my shoulders relax a fraction as he opens up to me. I realize he's grown up. Fitz left me as a child and returned to me as a man. A broken man. I bite my lip and hesitantly ask, "Does isolation quiet the voices, or make them louder?"
Fitz laughs bitterly. "Louder. But at least when I'm alone I only have to follow one conversation."
"What are they saying now?"
His smile drops as he listens for someone only he can hear. His brows crease and he looks up sharply, his eyes boring into mine. "Nothing." His eyes gleam with an emotion I can't quite process. "Soph," he takes my hand and puts it over his heart. I let him. "They're not screaming."
"Not at all?"
"No, they went quiet when you—" He drops my hand. "When you got here."
I stare at him, and an emotion stirs in my chest, rising to the surface. It bubbles and breathes in the brisk autumn breeze, tripping my heart and making it stutter. I have a sudden urge to pull Fitz into my arms and bind all the scattered pieces together. Someone just needs to hold him.
So I do.
My hand first lands on his forearm, and as we make eye contact he silently welcomes the touch. Both of my arms wrap around him, finger tips brushing through the hair curling at his neck. I feel him sob, as he gently clutches my waist, burrowing his forehead in the crook of my neck. My head rests on his shoulder.
We cry together.
And we shutter with teary gulps of air.
Somewhere along the line we begin to sway, side to side, until the tears stop. My heart feels so incredibly full, and at the same time weightless. Like the secrets I've held so close are finally out in the open. I have nothing to hide, and I accept Fitz. Scars and all.
Fitz slowly moves from my now tear soaked shirt collar and faces me. His eyes are puffy, and his cheeks are streaked with tears. I brush them away and cup his jaw. "Fitz, I'm here."
"I know," he replies softly.
"No," I respond fiercely, my voice shaking with emotion. "I'm here for you. Always."
Fresh tears spill over his eyelashes, and my thumb caresses them before they can fall. "Look at me."
His eyes stay resolutely fixed on a weed, and I tilt his chin until his glittering eyes meet mine. I smile through salty tears and lower my voice, "I forgive you."
The omission hangs there, this wonderfully strange phrase that I've been repeating over and over in my head since that night at Shari's. Fitz's small gasp breaks the silence. His face is uncertain. "You—you do?" He stutters.
"Of course."
"But I, Sophie." His hand mirrors mine as his fingers trace my cheek until they're smoothing my baby hairs behind my ear. His hand rests along my jaw, and his other still cradles my waist. "Sophie," his voice is serious. "I've done terrible things, awful, unspeakable things. If I can't begin to forgive myself, then how can you possibly begin to forgive me?"
A good question. My eyelashes itch as I confess. "Fitz, the truth is I forgave you before I even knew I had. I've used anger as a crutch for so long, and I hated you. I loved you and you left me," Fitz's gaze is weighed down by regret, but I lift his head. "I didn't understand then, but I do now."
Fitz's voice is mournful as he asks, "And what do you understand?"
"You wanted me to have the best possible chance at a thriving life." I let that sink in for a moment before continuing. "Not weighed down by Vacker family obligations or labeled with shame for not being 'higher class.' Or with our hungry children as we struggled to put food on the table and pay bills. Fitz," My other hand rises to take his face in my hands. "You left because you thought I'd be better off with someone else."
He inhales shakily and presses a hand to his chest. "What about Keefe? Aren't you in love with him? Biana told me you've been together for years."
I purse my lips and lower my face to my hands. To be perfectly honest, I blocked anything Keefe related out of my thoughts after our fight, but Fitz's words are a sharp reminder of my love for Keefe Sencen. The boy who never left me. The boy who's wrapped me so tight in emotional bandaids that my pieces won't ever fall apart. He loves me, this I am certain of, but he loves the broken version of me. The one who needs him to fill the missing holes in her life.
I don't want to be her anymore. I finally realize the cause of my aching heart, and it's not Fitz.
"Soph," Fitz whispers. "What are you thinking?"
I look up at him, removing my hands from my face. "I need to be whole on my own, Fitz. My heart broke when you got shipped off, and Keefe held me together, but I've yet to heal. I need to put my pieces back together before I continue with any relationship. If I don't, someone could get seriously hurt."
Fitz's smile lines around his eyes crease. "You're incredible, did you know that?"
My heart flutters like the wings of a humming bird. "You're incredible too, with flaws of course." He gives me the tiniest eye roll as I continue my thought. "But you're worth it, Fitz. You're worth the loads of student debt and family squabbles. It's not a burden for anyone to love you, so let them love you. Even if you feel like you don't deserve it. Love is persistent, and I know trust is hard for you, but please open your heart again."
His creased brow and trembling lips are evidence that I hit the mark. "Fitz," I murmur. "There was no one else. And, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but we can find each other again."
Fitz pleads to understand with rapidly blinking eyes. "How can that be possible?"
"We'd take the time to heal, and think things through. Fitz, don't you feel this too?" I place a hand over his chest. "Because I do."
"After all this time?" He blubbers, confusion painted in his dimly lit features.
I nod unable to verbalize the words, and an invisible force draws me in, tempting me to cross the little space between us. I'm a breath away from caving when Fitz suddenly pulls back, taking with him the shards of my heart I've offered.
"We can't," he says, and my heart wilts.
"Why?"
Fitz looks as though he's arguing with himself. "Sophie, don't you know?"
"Know what?" I demand.
He sucks in a breath and leans forward. "Keefe's proposing tonight. To you. It was supposed to be a surprise, but when you came to find me I figured you knew. I thought you needed space or something, I'm sorry, Soph. I should have told you the moment you found me."
I slouch under the weight of this information. Keefe wants to get... married?
Oh.
Oh, no. My brain starts jumping between thousands of moments Keefe has attempted to pop the question. Excitement and shock rushes through me and I realize my fight with Keefe this morning was a huge misunderstanding. But...
"Fitz," and as I speak his eyes find mine. "I don't think a proposal will change the way I feel. Marrying Keefe would just be another bandaid." I shrug.
"Soph—"
I hold up a hand. "Let me explain."
Fitz swallows his next words down and lets me speak. "I loved you. You know this, and now I love Keefe, but he deserves all my love. And I," I pause to clear my throat. "That's something I cannot give him."
"Why?"
"Because I can't love him until I'm an entirely whole person. Possibly in the future, but not now and maybe not ever. He deserves to be with someone whole, Fitz. Someone who can love him without any strings attached. If I married Keefe I would deny him unconditional love, and I would continue to live with a broken heart. Marriage wouldn't be fair for either of us."
Fitz nods, understanding my words. "Will you brake up with him?"
Why lie? "Yes."
"How," he tilts his head, considering. "How will you mend your heart?"
I laugh, my brain flashing through a montage of comedic counseling sessions. "I have no idea. Hopefully with lots of chocolate and reruns of Psych."
He chuckles. "That's an excellent therapy strategy, but I don't think it'll heal the way you're looking for."
"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow playfully.
A shadow of a smile ghosts across his face. "Yeah, I think you need someone to talk to. Yell at. Laugh with. Someone who gets it. Maybe not a counselor, but a friend, or even a drinking buddy. At least, that's what I need. To talk things through. But not yet, I still need time."
A honey sort of feeling spreads across my chest. "Me too. Especially the "needing time" part."
Fitz bites a smile and rests his chin on his palm. "And after you've watched all 8 seasons of Psych and eaten your weight in dark chocolate, what will you do?"
I grin and take his hand. "I talk. Real talk, no more bandaids."
He squeezes my fingers. For a while we're quiet until Fitz gently says, "Thank you, Soph." The unspoken meaning is clear, and I can't check my twitching lips. I return his hand squeeze and respond with warmth lacing my words: "Anytime, Fitz."
And there, sitting beneath the stars I feel my heart begin to mend.
Fitz and I volley short bursts of conversation, the time between spent listening to the wind singing in the trees. The stars glitter above, each one a wish yet to be made.
In this moment life is still, and the world holds it's breath, waiting for us to make a move. To dare ourselves into oblivion.
It seems second chances are real.
The rest of my story, dear reader, is up for your interpretation.