𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝑺𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 | ✔

7 | Goodbye

I dedicate this to Sianaraiprakash because I missed her birthday. <3 Hope it was a good one!

Five years ago

HANDS IN LAP, she smiled down at the table, everything in its place; from the candlestick in the center of the table, match nearby, to the rose beside her silverware. It was the same one as that night, still crippled and torn. It would be poetic, she briefly thought, if he had brought his rose also. 

Either way, everything was falling into place. 

Squirming in her seat, she watched the double doors, ready for a new chapter of her life. This was her last chance to be with him, so she was going to make it count. Moments later, though, she'd glance down at her phone, her smile faltering. It was now 6:05 pm; he was late by five minutes. 

As soon as the question arose, however, she shrugged it off. Bridger wouldn't be like her father. He wouldn't get drunk before the visit and die in some tragic accident. 

Amora clutched her phone and her smile returned. When all was said and done, she'd be thanking her friend, no doubt. If it wasn't for Willow, she wouldn't be at the restaurant, waiting for her future husband. If not for her, she'd likely be at home, dwelling on what could have been.

I like the rain too, Bridger. I always di-

That was when her phone rang. 

Her brows knit, Amora read off the unknown number and sighed. If she wasn't in such a splendid mood, she would have ignored it. After testing her voice, she answered. "Hey, uh, I think you've got the wrong number."

"I don't think I do." The deep voice was hoarse. "You're Amora, yeah?"

"Yeah..." Her heart was beginning to pound. "Why?"

"Well, something's happened." Their response was calculated. "Something bad."

"Who are you?" Amora snapped, watching the double doors. He was going to walk in any second. 

"I'm his father. He gave us your number," the man mumbled with a sniffle. "I just thought you should know."

"What happened?" she pressed. In the next beat, she was on her feet, marching outside. The evening's chill air greeted her. "Answer me right now."

"Car accident."

She paused, taking it in, then mumbled a goodbye and hung up. As she paced the streets, hugging herself, she shivered in her sleeveless black dress. It was more than she could afford, and now it was completely worthless. 

He was supposed to be here by now. He was supposed to have walked in, smiled her way, and had the time of his life. Now, that wasn't going to happen. 

That night, she had seen his last smile; his last smirk. 

That night, they had planned out the date of his death. 

It was all her fault. 

As if on cue, her phone chirped to life, and she sniffled, looking down. At the caller ID, she gritted her teeth. No, it's all her fault. 

"Amora?" came her friend's chirpy voice. "How's it going? Is he there?"

She could hear her smile. "No, and now he never will," she sneered. "And that's on you." 

There was an uneasy silence. 

"What are you talking about?" Willow asked sheepishly. 

"He's dead." 

"No, that's... just stupid." Her voice was barely incoherent. "He can't possibly be dead, Amora. That's just... it's impossible."

"Well, you're wrong, and now you'll have to live with this for the rest of your life," she said, holding back choice words. In the next moment, she had hung up, blocking her number.