Maybe Someday (32 page)

I open my laptop and pull up my messages to Sydney, then send her a quick hello to see if she’s online. We haven’t had a chance to discuss the fact that I asked her to move out, and I hate not knowing if she’s okay. I know it’s wrong to be messaging her at this point, but it seems even more wrong to leave things unsaid.

She returns my message almost immediately, and the tone of it already relieves some of my worry. I don’t know why I always expect she’ll respond unreasonably, because she’s never once shown a lack of maturity or regard for my situation.

Sydney: Yeah, I’m here. How’s Maggie?

Me: She’s good. She’ll be discharged this afternoon.

Sydney: That’s good. I’ve been worried.

Me: Thank you, by the way. For your help last night.

Sydney: I wasn’t much help. I felt like I was in the way more than anything.

Me: You weren’t. There’s no telling what could have happened if you hadn’t found her.

I wait a moment for her to respond, but she doesn’t. I guess we’ve reached the point in this conversation where one of us needs to bring up what we both know must be discussed. I feel responsible for this entire situation with her, so I bite the bullet and lay it out there.

Me: Do you have a minute? I really have some things I’d like to say to you.

Sydney: Yes, and likewise.

I glance up at Maggie again, and she’s still asleep in the same position. Having this conversation with Sydney in her presence, as innocent as it is, makes me uneasy. I take my laptop and walk out of the hospital room and into the empty hallway. I sit on the floor beside the door to Maggie’s room and reopen my laptop.

Me: The main thing I’ve appreciated about our time together over the last couple of months is the fact that we’ve been upfront and consistent with each other. With that being said, I don’t want you to leave with the wrong idea about why I need you to move out. I don’t want you to think you did anything wrong.

Sydney: I don’t need an explanation. I’ve more than worn out my welcome, and you have enough to stress about without adding me into the mix. Warren found an apartment for me this morning, but it isn’t available for a few days. Is it okay if I stay here until then?

Me: Of course. When I said I needed you to move, I didn’t literally mean today. I just meant soon. Before things become too hard for me to continue to walk away.

Sydney: I’m sorry, Ridge. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

I know she’s referring to the way we feel about each other. I know exactly what she means, because I didn’t mean for it to happen, either. In fact, I’ve done everything I could to stop it from happening, but somehow my heart never got the message. If I know it wasn’t intentional on my part, I know it wasn’t intentional on her part, so she has nothing to apologize for.

Me: Why are you apologizing? Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, Sydney. Hell, I’m not even sure it’s
my
fault.

Sydney: Well, usually when something goes wrong, someone is at fault.

Me: Things didn’t go wrong with us. That’s our problem. Things are way too right between us. We make sense. Everything about you feels so right, but—

I pause for a few moments to gather my thoughts, because I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. I inhale, then type out the best way to describe how I feel about our entire situation.

Me: There isn’t a doubt in my mind that we could be perfect for each other’s life, Sydney. It’s our lives that aren’t perfect for us.

Several minutes pass without a response. I don’t know if I crossed the line with my comments, but however she’s reacting to them, I needed to say what I had to say before I could let her go. I’m beginning to close my laptop when another message pops up from her.

Sydney: If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this whole experience, it’s that my ability to trust wasn’t completely broken by Hunter and Tori like I initially thought. You’ve always been upfront with me about how you feel. We’ve never skirted around the truth. If anything, we’ve worked together to find a way to change our course. I want to thank you for that. Thank you so much for showing me that guys like you actually exist, and not everyone is a Hunter.

She somehow has a way of making me sound so much more innocent than I actually am. I’m not nearly as strong as she thinks I am.

Me: Don’t thank me, Sydney. You shouldn’t thank me, because I failed miserably at trying not to fall in love with you.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and hit send. Saying what I’ve just said to her fills me with more guilt than the night I kissed her. Words can sometimes have a far greater effect on a heart than a kiss.

Sydney: I failed first.

I read her last message, and the finality of our imminent good-bye hits me full-force. I feel it in every single part of me, and I’m shocked at the reaction I’m having to it. I lean my head against the wall behind me and try to imagine my world before Sydney entered it. It was a good world. A consistent world. But then she came along and shook my world upside down as if it were a fragile, breakable snow globe. Now that she’s leaving, it feels as if the snow is about to settle, and my whole world will be upright and still and consistent again. As much as that should make me feel at ease, it actually terrifies me. I’m scared to death that I’ll never again feel any of the things I felt during the little time she’s been in my world.

Anyone who has made this much of an impact deserves a proper good-bye.

I stand and walk back into Maggie’s hospital room. She’s still asleep, so I walk over to her bed, give her a light kiss on the forehead, and leave her a note explaining that I’m heading to the apartment to pack a few things before she’s released.

Then I leave to go and give the other half of my heart a proper good-bye.

• • •

I’m outside Sydney’s bedroom door, preparing to knock. We’ve said everything that needs to be said and even a lot that probably shouldn’t have been said, but I can’t not see her one last time before I go. She’ll be gone by the time I get back from San Antonio. I have no plans to contact her after today, so the fact that I know this is definitely good-bye is pressing on the walls of my chest, and it fucking hurts like hell.

If I were to look at my situation from an outsider’s point of view, I would be telling myself to forget about Sydney’s feelings, that my loyalty should lie solely with Maggie. I would be telling myself to leave and that Sydney doesn’t deserve a good-bye, even after all we’ve been through.

Is life really that black-and-white, though? Can a simple right or wrong define my situation? Do Sydney’s feelings not count in this mix somewhere despite my loyalty to Maggie? It doesn’t seem right just to let her go. But it’s unfair to Maggie
not
to just let her go.

I don’t know how I ever got myself into this mess to begin with, but I know the only way to end it is to break off all contact with Sydney. I knew the moment I held her hand last night that there wasn’t a flaw in the world that could have stopped my heart from feeling what it was feeling.

I’m not proud of the fact that Maggie doesn’t make up all of my heart anymore. I fought it. I fought it hard, because I didn’t want it to happen. Now that the fight is finally coming to an end, I’m not even sure if I’m winning or losing. I’m not even sure which side I’m rooting for, much less which side I was on.

I knock lightly on Sydney’s door, then place my palms flat against the doorframe and look down, half of me hoping she refuses to open it and half of me restraining myself from breaking down the damn door to get to her.

Within seconds, we’re face-to-face for what I know is the last time. Her blue eyes are wide with fear and surprise and maybe even a small amount of relief when she sees me standing in front of her. She doesn’t know how to feel about seeing me here, but her confusion is comforting. It’s good to know I’m not alone in this, that we’re both sharing the same mixture of emotions. We’re in this together.

Sydney and me.

We’re just two completely confused souls, scared of a much unwanted yet crucial goodbye.

19.

Sydney

Be still, heart. Please, be still.

I don’t want him to be standing here in front of me. I don’t want him to be looking at me, wearing the expression that mirrors my own feelings. I don’t want him to hurt like I’m hurting. I don’t want him to miss me like I’ll miss him. I don’t want him to be falling for me like I’ve been falling for him.

I want him to be with Maggie right now. I want him to
want
to be with Maggie right now, because it would make this so much easier knowing our feelings were less a reflection of each other’s and more like a one-way mirror. If this weren’t so hard for him, it would make it easier for me to forget him, easier to accept his choice. Instead, it makes my heart hurt twice as much knowing that our good-bye is hurting him just as much as it’s hurting me.

It’s
killing
me, because nothing and no one could ever fit my life the way I know he could. I feel as though I’m willingly forking over my one chance for an exceptional life, and in return, I’m accepting a mediocre version without Ridge in it. My father’s words ring in my head, and I’m beginning to wonder if he had a point after all.
A life of mediocrity is a waste of a life.

Our eyes remain in their silent embrace for several moments, until we both break our gaze, allowing ourselves to take in every last thing about each other.

His eyes scroll carefully over my face as if he’s committing me to memory. His memory is the last place I want to be.

I would give anything to always be in his present.

I lean my head against my open bedroom door and stare at his hands still gripping the doorframe. The same hands I’ll never see play a guitar again. The same hands that will never hold mine again. The same hands that will never again touch me and hold me in order to listen to me sing.

The same hands that are suddenly reaching for me, wrapping themselves around me, gripping my back in an embrace so tight I don’t know if I could break away even if I tried. But I’m not trying to break away. I’m reciprocating. I’m hugging him with just as much desperation. I find solace against his chest while his cheek presses against the top of my head. With each heavy, uncontrolled breath that passes through his lungs, my own breaths try to keep pace. However, mine are coming in much shorter gasps, thanks to the tears that are working their way out of me.

My sadness is consuming me, and I don’t even try to hold it in as I cry huge tears of grief. I’m crying tears over the death of something that never even had the chance to live.

The death of
us.

Ridge and I remain clasped together for several minutes. So many minutes that I’m trying not to count, for fear that we’ve been standing here way too long for it to be an appropriate embrace. Apparently, he notices this, too, because he slides his hands up my back and to my shoulders, then pulls away from me. I lift my face from his shirt and wipe at my eyes before looking back up at him.

Once we make eye contact again, he removes his hands from my shoulders and tentatively places them on either side of my face. His eyes study mine for several moments, and the way he’s looking at me makes me hate myself, because I love it so much.

I love the way he’s looking at me as if I’m the only thing that matters right now. I’m the only one he sees. He’s the only one
I
see. My thoughts once again lead back to some of the lyrics he wrote.

It’s making me feel like I want to be the only man that you ever see.

His gaze flickers between my mouth and my eyes, almost as if he can’t decide if he wants to kiss me, stare at me, or talk to me.

“Sydney,” he whispers.

I gasp and clutch a hand to my chest. My heart just disintegrated at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t . . . speak . . . well,” he says with a quiet and unsure voice.

Oh, my heart.
Hearing him speak is almost too much to take in. Each word that meets my ears is enough to bring me to my knees, and it’s not even the sound of his voice or the quality of his speech. It’s the fact that he’s choosing this moment to speak for the first time in fifteen years.

He pauses before finishing what he needs to say and it gives my heart and my lungs a moment to catch up with the rest of me. He sounds exactly as I imagined he would sound after hearing his laughter so many times. His voice is slightly deeper than his laughter, but somewhat out of focus. His voice reminds me of a photograph in a way. I can understand his words, but they’re out of focus. It’s as if I’m looking at a picture and the subject is recognizable, but not in focus . . . similar to his words.