“Don’t you ever wish for more than a memory?” I ask without turning around.

Her quiet cries amplify with my question, and I wait for her answer. “I wish for everything, but it doesn’t mean I can have it.”

I walk out of the room and head for the door. I walk out because I can’t bear to hear any more. I leave because I can’t fight for someone who is so unwilling to fight for herself … for us. It nearly kills me, but I walk away.

I pull on my boots and walk out of the house without looking back. It’s the only way I can do it. I hurry to my truck and crank the engine. I throw it in gear, but something catches my eye before I start backing up. Lily and Gage are in their driveway running circles around a stoic Audrey, tossing the basketball back and forth. Her arms are crossed, and her glaring eyes are trained on me.

“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself.

As I’m backing away, I see Adam standing on his porch, shaking his head at me. Yeah, I guess he called it. I’m just hoping he has the decency to skip the “I told you so” bullshit.

I didn’t see it before, but now it’s clear to me. This is an unfair fight. It’s a fight I can’t win. I can’t make her choose me over a ghost. No amount of love will erase the memories she has. Instead of competition, there’s obligation. How do I compete with that?

I guess I don’t. No matter how much it hurts, or how much it crushes me, I’m letting her go.

“Tightrope” by Ron Pope

Present Day

THE SLAM OF the door resonates through me with an overwhelming sense of finality. I don’t know how I thought this could end any other way. Honestly, I spent the last few months refusing to look ahead. Cain woke me up. The world had color again. My laughter was true. My love was real.

And now he’s gone, and I have no one to blame but myself.

I grip the edge of my bureau and pray for composure as I hear the front door open again. Her heels click as she walks through the house, and I don’t dare turn around. I allow the tears to fall silently, but I can’t show Audrey.

Her footsteps stop, and I feel her presence in the doorway. She watches me for a time, and I try to push the hatred away. She doesn’t deserve that from me—none of this is her fault.

“Are you ready?” she asks in a curt tone.

“Almost,” I say in an even tone. “Please give me a few minutes, Audrey.”

She’s silent, but she doesn’t leave. I shuffle jewelry, makeup, whatever I can get my hands on, around the bureau, hoping she’ll walk away.

“Tell me this is nothing, Celia. Please tell me it was just a fling.”

I shut my eyes and swallow the whimper in my throat. She doesn’t want to know the truth. Her love, her loyalty, will always be with Lucas.

And so will mine. It’s the only way.

So I grip the ledge with white knuckles and lie to my best friend. “It was only a fling, Audrey. It didn’t mean anything.”

And I feel a part of me disappear with the lie.

Audrey questioned me when I insisted on driving separately, but there’s no way I could keep it together for the entire car ride. So I made up a lie about checking in with my patients. It would be unethical for her to hear the conversations, so she grudgingly relented. Instead of calling patients, I give myself the hour to feel the loss. An hour isn’t nearly long enough to deal with my feelings for Cain Bennett or the fact that we’re over.

As soon as I park the car and step out into the parking lot, she’s at my side, arm looped through mine.

“It feels so good to be back home. I missed you so much, Cece!”

I pat her hand and smile. “I’ve missed you, too, Audrey. You’re not allowed to go away for that long again; I don’t care what your boss says.”

I’m going for cheerful, and I hope I’m pulling it off. I guess I do a fair job, because Audrey seems unfazed as she skips forward. When we walk inside, I turn to her and smile.

“Give me about fifteen minutes alone?”

She tilts her head to the side and nods knowingly. Unfortunately, we both know all too well how this goes. Two months have passed since we’ve stood in this room, but together we’ve made this trek countless times.

I go through the motions, the same as every time before, but I’ve never felt so numb. I’ve never been so hopeless.

I make my way into the room and sit down, but I go unnoticed. I’m invisible, and I use this time to watch. Muttered words, twitching feet, raised scars, and frantic eyes assault me, as always. I reach out and remove the marker from his fingers. I slide my hand into his, and only then does he look up and acknowledge me, if only for a brief second. That’s all I get these days.

“Hello, Lucas.”

He removes his hand from my grasp and reaches for the marker. He continues writing figures, drawing symbols, and computing numbers without ever meeting my eyes. I know what he’ll say. It’s the same seven words every time, without fail.

His fingers stop moving, his eyes close, and he whispers, “Are you going to keep your promise?”

Audrey slides her fork into the whipped cream, through the chocolate filling, and stabs into the buttery crust. She slowly chews the bite, moaning and closing her eyes.

“Oh my gosh,” she says, covering her mouth. “I think I just had a piegasm. You’re gonna regret not getting a piece. Seriously, the coconut cream pie looks like heaven. Who knows, I may even steal a bite.” She winks at me and goes in for another bite.

Ruby’s Pie House is as much a part of our weekly ritual as our visits to Lucas. We always make sure to stop in for a slice of heaven on our way back home. Ruby is known statewide for her pies, and I’ve been known to eat two pieces. They are that good. I’m just not feeling it today. My stomach is heavy, and I have a feeling a dose of sugar would only make it churn angrily.

“I’m not very hungry today. Next time,” I say with a tiny smile.

“What in the hell does hungry have to do with it? This shit is pure gluttony.” Audrey chews slowly, watching me like a science experiment, waiting for the inevitable chemical reaction. I’m trying my hardest not to give it to her. “Lucas looked well today. He seems to be improving, don’t you think?”

I press my lips together and give her a quick nod. Audrey is an eternal optimist where Lucas is concerned. Unfortunately, she wears a heavily tinted pair of rose-colored glasses. She sees only what she wants to see.

Her fork clanks onto her plate, and she crosses her arms. “You don’t agree with me.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.” Before I finish the sentence, she’s shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry, Audrey, but he’s not.”

“He was much calmer today.”

“He spent the entire visit looking over my shoulder. He focused on his hallucinations, not you and me. That’s why he seemed calm. He was distracted.” I hate to argue with Audrey, but sometimes I get tired of pretending.

“He looked clean and well dressed.”

“That’s because it’s Saturday. He agrees to take one shower a week and it happens to be on Friday. We usually visit during the week, so he looks more disheveled.”

I see her irritation rising with every word, but if I have to live in reality, so does she. I’m tired of holding her hand.

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”