He turns to me once the car has stopped.

But he doesn’t look at me.

I, however, can’t look away.

I see you, Josh.

“You stood by me through all of my bullshit baggage and insecurities and I should’ve told you because I know you would’ve been there for me but I couldn’t. I couldn’t express how I felt because I don’t think I let myself feel any of it. I pushed back everything I felt because I didn’t want to admit it—that watching a man I love, a man I looked up to my entire life give up hope and just…” He sniffs once, his eyes wide as he tries to push back the tears. “He just gave up, Becca. And that’s where I was all those times I told you I had to be somewhere. I was in his room staring at the walls trying to figure out something to say to him to make him stay. To beg him to try. And I thought my presence was enough. That if he saw me in there he’d somehow want to make it—for me. Because I was his son and he was my dad. And it should’ve been enough. But I’d go in there and it just—it wasn’t enough.

“And then Natalie came and, God, Becca—I didn’t know she was back in town when she was at the hospital. She’d just come back that day and you have to believe me when I tell you that nothing ever, ever, happened with us. And I know it means nothing to you now but I don’t want you to think that I’d ever do anything to hurt you—not intentionally. It’s just the shit with my dad made me think of Tommy and the future and if anything happened to me… Fuck!”

He punches the steering wheel.

And then he breaks.

The boy I love breaks.

And there’s nothing sadder, nothing harder in the world than watching the person you love fall apart right before your eyes—and you can’t say or do anything to change it.

“I just want Tommy to have everything and I thought I was doing the right thing, even if I hated doing it. Even if I hated having her there. Even if I hated her. I just wanted to do the right thing. And I got so selfish—so caught up in the bullshit of my life that I didn’t think about you. I should’ve thought about you because you’re the only thing that makes sense. Having you here, with me, is the only thing that makes sense and I can’t have it. I can’t have you. And I don’t deserve you. I never did. And I’m so fucking sorry, Becca.”

My cries match his.

Not because he’s sorry.

Or because I forgive him.

But because I see him.

“And I feel so pathetic right now because I know about you, Becca. I know about your life and everything you’ve been through and, fuck, my issues are so fucking insignificant in comparison. And I just—I know it means nothing. Not anymore. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s over between us and I have to let you go because you’re my drug, and I’m your poison.”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes.

He shakes his head. “I just need you to know that I loved you. I loved you the first moment I saw you with my son. And I’m still in love with you now. There are so many things in my future that absolutely terrify me, but loving you for the rest of it isn’t one of them.”

I face the front of the car, my eyes wide, and my heart bleeding for him.

Without another word, he pulls back on the road and continues the drive home.

I grab my journal from my notepad, the one Nurse Linda gave me, and I do what she told me to do. I write down what I want to say—but can’t, and when he pulls into the driveway, the same one we’ve spent so many days in falling in love, I tear out the page and hand it to him.

He starts to open it but I cover his hand. “Later,” I mouth.

Then I open the door, but he grasps my wrist gently, making me face him. He’s looking down at the note, flipping it between his fingers. “It was good, right?” he whispers. “For a while… you and me… coasting?”

I nod, my eyes filling with tears again.

He sighs. Then stares straight ahead, his jaw set and his lips pressed tight. “I hate him, you know that right?”

He turns to me to gauge my reaction. “Who?” I mouth.

“The guy who’s going to win you over. The one you meet at some Starbucks on campus. The one who’ll take a picture of his stupid coffee and upload it to his stupid Twitter and hashtag ‘Frappuccino’ like it’s some fucking cure for world hunger. He’ll walk to the exit with his phone in his hand and that’s when he’ll see you sitting at the table with your laptop in front of you and he’ll see you for the first time the way I’ve often seen you… with your brow bunched and your bottom lip between your teeth. And he’ll know right away that it’s not because you’re confused. It’s because you’re focused. And he’ll know because he can see it in your eyes—the passion and the heart in what you do. But not just that, he’ll see your eyes. He’ll see your emerald eyes, Becca, and he’ll want to ask you a thousand questions, and then a thousand more, just so he can be around you. So he can spend a second longer getting lost in your eyes and you’ll love that about him. You’ll love that he pays attention to you and makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. Because to him, you are. And two weeks later, he’ll take a photo of you taking a photo of him and he’ll post it on Twitter and hash tag ‘mybeautifulgirlfriend’ and you’ll fall even deeper in love with him.”

I wipe my tears, my hand pressed against my heart trying to ease the pain.