I never should have kissed her. If I'd just gone with my gut, that moment never would have happened. I wouldn't have grown weak from her touch, or mesmerized by her parted lips, or completely captivated by her taste. But I swear, the moment I kissed her and saw the hope flare to life on her face, somewhere in the back of my head, I heard myself mutter the dreaded word, "oops." Because, even though I was too submerged in the moment to really fathom my own doubt, I knew this was leading nowhere. I kissed her because I wanted to. Plain and simple... and stupid.

It's been three days now and I can hardly look at myself in the mirror. I've been busy with physical therapy and prosthetic adjustments lately, but in my free time, I've been holed up in my room feeling like a total moron and working up the ability to confront Lynn. I've never been good with confrontation, especially when I know that what I have to say might shatter the person.

I'm leaving soon. I'm moving away. The moment I can escape, that will be exactly what I'm gonna do. If anything happened between Lynn and I now, it'd be over before it hardly began. Why allow ourselves to get attached to each other only to have to rip ourselves apart in a few months? Personally, I'd rather save us both the pain. Especially Lynn. She's already more emotionally invested and I hate the thought of giving her false hope.

Which is exactly what I did three days ago. I'm such an idiot.

And now she must be more confused than ever because I haven't spoken to her in days. I guess I'm just avoiding the inevitable. I'm being selfish really, but I keep telling myself that I'm doing it for her. As long as I don't come right out and tell her that I don't feel the same way, then she can pretend that the possibility does exist.

The thing is, I do see love being a possibility in the future. The idea itself doesn't even freak me out. Loving Lynn would be easy. But, there is no future for us. She's got another year of high school and I plan to be long gone way before that year is over. Maybe if things were different I'd be willing to wait for her, but I can't just rot away in this old town anymore. There's too much negativity bleeding into the good and it's suffocating me. I have to escape. And the sooner the better.

But, enough about the future. I've got issues that need to be addressed now, and on the top of that list is Lynn. I can't hold off any longer without labeling myself as a complete coward. Popping on my carbon fiber leg, I grab my keys and head to my car.

The last memory I have of Lynn is of us canoodling in the hammock with the tinkling of water ripples cascading beneath. I remember the feel of her hair between my fingers as I played with the strands. We hadn't spoken, too focused on enjoying the quiet and the feel of each other. It's still mind-boggling. To think that just a few weeks ago, Lynn and I were merely friends and now I can't seem to scrub the pleasure of her kisses from my memory.

Oh man, her lips had been soft. So soft. And to feel her labored breathing as it fanned across my face had been surprisingly intimate. I wish I could say that her tongue tasted like bubble gum and minty freshness, but how often do people get that lucky? Truthfully, she tasted salty, most likely from the fries we'd had earlier—meaning I probably tasted the same—but it didn't matter. The emotional shock and delight overwhelmed the lesser attributes of the kiss. It wasn't perfect and I think that's what made it special. It was raw and real and passionate.

And now I want to kiss her again.

I turn the volume up on the radio, trying to drown out my thoughts. The less I think, the easier this entire confrontation will be. I don't do well when I try to plan out a speech. I just gotta let it flow. I have to be genuine and upfront and hope I don't break her heart in the process.

Pulling up outside her home, I swear the place has never looked so intimidating. It stares at me, daring me to step foot on its grounds. I swear the windows are smirking at me, anxious to watch me fail.

I make my way to the front door and ring the doorbell. Footsteps sound from the other side and I shove my hands in my pockets so I don't look so fidgety. With their vehicle in the driveway, I'm expecting one of her parents to open the door, but as it widens, I find myself face-to-face with Lynn herself.

She's never been one to cake on the make-up, but I can instantly recognize the absence of it on her face. Usually her eyes are rimmed with a thin ring of black and her lashes are painted to look longer and darker. Her cheeks lack the typical hint of pink and her hair is a heap of tangles stacked in a bun at the peak of her head. I've never seen her look so untidy before.

"Hey," I greet, narrowing my eyes as I scrutinize her appearance. I know it's rather bold—and maybe arrogant—of me to assume, but part of me wonders if her disheveled appearance is my fault. Strangely enough, even though she might be hurting, I don't think I've ever seen her look so beautiful. So vulnerable.

Swinging my gaze to the side, I focus on a nearby tree as I clear my throat, fighting to regain my composure. I have to stay strong in order to do what's right by her. Glancing back her way, I find her leaned up against the door frame as she waits for me to speak.

"I'm sorry."

It's the only thing I can think of to say and the only thing that really matters. My excuses don't matter. I can't defend myself in this scenario because I know I'm in the wrong. Besides, if she remains angry with me even after I've apologized, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe in her anger, she can learn to let me go.

"I like you," I go on to say when she makes no move to respond. "I really do. I'd like nothing more than for this to work, but—" I pause, bending my head slightly so as to gain a clearer view of her probing gaze, "I think it's best that we stop before we get too invested." I scrunch my brows in question. "Don't you?"

She folds her arms over her chest and stretches her back 'til she's at her full height, her eyes watching me with keen consideration.

"Does it really matter how I answer that?" she asks. "Would my answer change anything?"

I consider this for a moment, not entirely sure what she wants me to say. Saying yes just gives her hope again, but no would eliminate the possibility of us ever having a future as more than friends. Honestly, I'm not even sure what's best, but once I get my thoughts and emotions figured out, I'd like knowing that I didn't totally shut her down and lose the opportunity for something beautiful between us.

"Maybe," I shrug. "But would you really want to be with someone who can't promise to ever feel the same way about you that you do them?"

Lifting a single shoulder, she smirks. "Maybe."

I laugh. "Seems we've got a lot of uncertainty hanging between us."

"So it seems."

She's being civil with me, but uncharacteristically stiff. I'm not a fan of this Lynn. The Lynn who's so diplomatic and serious. I'm used to the joking Lynn. The Lynn who turns ever scenario into a lighthearted experience. And the thing that has my stomach churning is that fact that I made her this way.

I don't share her feelings, so it's easy for me to shrug all of this away and suggest she just move on. As much as I don't want to, it wouldn't kill me to let her go if I knew it was for the best. Lynn, on the other hand, loves me. I'm not even sure how that might feel and I certainly wasn't considering her feelings the other evening when I kissed her without any intention of following through on forming some kind of relationship with her.

Dillon had suggested I just take the plunge and enjoy the time we do have left, but this is one of those moments when I actually disagreed with his advice. I don't want to play with Lynn's feelings. Even if I was totally upfront about my feelings toward her, it wouldn't feel right to try and make something work knowing it'd be all for nothing. But maybe Dillon was right. Maybe Lynn deserves a chance.

I want to scream at all my internal confusion. My nerves feel jittery with the need to do the right thing while simultaneously battling the desire to take a chance and risk heartbreak. Is a broken heart worth the brief stint of euphoria?

As much as I try to convince myself otherwise, I can't deny a niggling in my gut telling me not to mess around with Lynn. As strong and capable as Lynn is, she's also fragile and vulnerable. But aren't all humans fragile? Even the ones who put up walls. It's not that they're stronger than the rest; it's that they protect themselves from being put in situations where they might break. I'm one of those. I avoid emotional danger to prevent despair. Maybe it's a learned attribute. I saw how my father's choices devastated my mother and I locked myself behind walls of protection so I'd never have to suffer like that.

Glancing at Lynn's somber face, I'm not sure if my next words are selfish or generous. Am I protecting myself or Lynn? With all the confusion, I can't even decipher my own intentions, but I forge ahead and do what I feel needs done.

I end it.

I eliminate the possibility of a future between Lynn and me, no matter how short it might have been. And as much as I long for the chance to keep our friendship intact and strong, I refuse to stoop so low as to suggest such a thing just after shredding her heart to pieces.

I've never seen Lynn cry before. As many times as I tormented her in the past, she never broke. Until now.

As I watch her eyes swell with tears, I feel the violent urge to vomit. My throat is burning with acid and regret and I have to swallow repeatedly to keep myself together. I've never watched a person crumble apart before my very eyes, but at this moment, I'm not sure which one of us is suffering more. The one with the broken heart or the one who caused it? Seeing the pain written into the lines of Lynn's face makes me feel like a monster.

Why had my conscience convinced me that this was the right thing? I always thought that doing the right thing would bring relief, but I've never felt so dejected in my life. No one speaks about the pain of being the heartbreaker. But right now, I'd like nothing better than to tug Lynn into my arms and beg for forgiveness. Or better yet, just rewind this entire encounter and start fresh.

Guilt. That's what I feel as I watch a single tear slip over the soft contour of Lynn's cheek. It clings to the edge of her chin as if waiting for rescue before giving up and diving off into oblivion. I know how that tear feels. Like its free-falling into the very darkest place on earth. A place so brutal and forgotten that it might as well be hell.

Gloom settles over me, strangling me, but it's already too late. I can't take back what I've said without looking like an indecisive, unstable imbecile. So I simply lift my hand to Lynn's cheek and lightly brush the tear trail away. Then I pull her into my arms, offering as much comfort as possible and hoping that my embrace will hold her together.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper into her hair, my chest constricting as a wave of emotion smothers me.

I feel the small quake of her shoulders and I realize where I went wrong. She'd given me her heart and I'd dropped it. The thing is, hearts are not bouncy-balls. They don't rebound without some level of bruising, cracking, or scaring. And no matter how tightly I hold her against me, my arms can't fix it. The damage is done.

Pulling back, I take in her watery eyes and red-tipped nose. She smiles up at me—a broken smile—and then nods once as if accepting that this is it for us. She grabs the edge of her sleeve and wipes the moisture away from beneath her eyes before taking a step back.

"My friends are coming over tonight and will be here soon," she says, her voice edging toward robotic even though it's still thick with tears. "So I should get inside. Gotta finish prepping snacks and all that."

"Right." I nod stiffly, understanding that this is her way of escaping the awkward that has wrapped its clammy hands around us. "Yeah, okay."

I go to turn around but stop myself. Planting a hand on the door so Lynn can't close it, I take a step forward.

"It was all real, you know?" I say softly, willing for her to believe me. "Everything about that day, it was all real."

With a sad smile, she simply nods. "Yeah. I know."

———

I give Lynn an entire week to adjust even though I'm antsy to check in with her. I need to hear confirmation that she's okay. When I finally give myself permission to contact her, my calls are ignored and my texts receive only simple, vague responses. She's not ready for me, that much is clear.

I've been spending most of my time with Dillon, but he's wisely refrained from questioning me about Lynn. He knows what happened, and though I'm sure he's shaking his head at me on the inside, he's never once implied that he's disappointed in my decision.

With the summer quickly coming to an end, I'm finding myself growing both excited by the possibilities for the future and frantic to make things right with Lynn before I lose the chance. Physical therapy has been going well, and though I'm still getting adjustments done on my prosthetic, my prosthetist has assured me he'll refer me to a good facility in whatever location I choose. I should be getting my permanent prosthetic within the next three months and then I'll be free from this hole.

Since my accident, I've associated Galena with darkness. This place holds so much negativity now that I find myself anxious to escape. But then Lynn pushed her way into my life, and though obnoxious at first, she somehow became that hovering light over the pit I'd crawled into. Now, I just have to find the motivation to crawl out of my depression and take hold of the good things in life.

I've decided that there might only be one way to do that.

Checking the name and address on my phone, I square my shoulders and make my way to the front door of the quaint taupe colored Bungalow. It's after five, so I'm hoping that someone's home by now. I'm not sure if I'd have the courage to come back again if my plan fails this time.

Ringing the bell, I wait. It feels like an eternity as I stand here, my heart rattling in my chest. My breathing is ragged, and with each breath, my esophagus seems to shrink just a little. I wipe at my forehead, the combination of summer heat and anxiety causing speckles of perspiration to dot my hairline.

And then I hear footfalls approaching.

It's happening. This moment is actually happening. I shake off my nerves, shoving my hands into my pockets as I shift from one foot to the other. This was stupid. She'll take one look at my face and slam the door on me. There's no way this could end well. No way.

But then the door opens, and as I stand there taking in the young woman gazing back at me, I freeze. My throat has closed up completely now, my tongue a dried ball of cotton in my mouth. I'm nearly desperate for a drink, but with a quiet cough and a nervous clearing of my throat, I mutter a simple, 'hello'.

"Hi," the woman says, her tone kind and soft.

I don't know how to respond. She's a symbol of broken strength. A piece of art that's significant because of the story woven into each painful streak. I can see the sorrow draped across her shoulders just in the way they droop. It's unnatural for someone of her age to be so weighed down. My heart breaks for her.

"Can I help you?"

The concern laced into her question is unexpected. She looks genuinely worried for me as her eyes explore my sober face. When she smiles encouragingly at me, I find the shell shielding the world of my grief begin to shatter.

I lose it.

A sob lodges in my throat and I fumble to pinch the bridge of my nose, desperate to keep my emotions in check. I will not break. I can't let this woman see me fall apart because I have no right to do so. Not in front of her.

"Are you okay?" she asks, but I simply shake my head, ignoring her question.

"I'm so sorry," I mutter, dropping my head and digging my fingers into my temple to ward off the throb of pent-up emotion. "I'm so sorry."

"What? Why—"

Realization dawns across her face as she cuts herself off. The small smile slips from her expression as her eyes frantically search my eyes for verification. Devastation lands abruptly as the truth sinks into the lines of her face and I watch her bring a hand to her mouth.

"Jamie," she whispers behind her fingers, moisture gathering in her eyes. "You're Jamie Gallagher."

I nod, choking back my remorse. "Yes, Mrs. Everett," I say, my throat so tight that I can barely utter the words. "I'm—" My voice cracks and I pause to gain control. Straightening my spine, I clear the emotion from my throat, but a tear still slips through the gaps of my eyelashes as I speak the dreaded truth. "I'm Jamie Gallagher... and I killed your son."

---

Oh man, that ending. :(  

Tell me your thoughts. I'm dying to know how you feel about this chapter and about Jamie.