Page 80 of Westward

I could tell myself it was because I wanted to be well-informed, but I knew exactly why I went to the international news.

Because he didn’t live here anymore.

Cursing myself, I nearly closed out of it when a small article to the side caught my attention, and the blood drained from my face.

I stood there as tourists walked past me, heading towards the small shops on Main Street, and my thumb hovered over the article.

Prominent Society Couple Dead in Small Commuter Plane Crash.

I looked at the name, bile coating my tongue, and clicked the article.

Dread coated my skin because the thumbnail had been too small for me to see exactly who it was, but I knew that last name.

And so did a majority of England.

I swallowed hard and immediately regretted the relief that poured over me when I realized that yes, it was his last name.

But it wasn’t him.

His parents were dead. A small plane crash that was going from the city to their private residence in the country.

My lower lip shook as I continued to read, and I realized that I had stopped, my thumb hovering over one name.

Survived by their son, Rush.

And their granddaughter.

A single tear slid down my cheek, and I closed the app before immediately opening my contacts, my thumb glancing over his name.

I let out a shaky breath, opening my text app without thinking, knowing it was a mistake.

It had been years. He probably didn’t even remember me.

But I typed anyway.

Me

I’m so sorry, Rush. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.

I stood there as people walked past me, their thoughts on their own lives, and did my best to be patient, and that’s something I never was.

But those three dots never popped up, and my text was left unread.

So I slid my phone into my back pocket and put my past right where it belonged, behind me.

Rush probably didn’t even recognize my number.

After all, it had been eleven years.

The exact same age as his daughter.

I was but a memory. A mistake.

And I needed to get myself together. Life continued to move around me, my family and friends falling for their perfect partner. Maybe it was time for me to take a stand. To actually give my heart to someone.

But it was bruised, pieced together with tape and lies.

Because I had given my heart to someone before. And he had shattered it into a million pieces.

And I wasn’t sure there was enough patience in the world for me to ever want to do that again.