Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

I close my eyes, feeling every ounce of my regret in a deep sigh. “I couldn’t be that for her,” I say softly.

“Then you never should have promised it.” He looks in the direction where Jordy left. “You may not love her, but I know you care about her, and Brayden, you owe my daughter a conversation. It might not fix anything, but it will at least give her a chance to be heard, and maybe find some closure.”

“But Nina…” I trail off, knowing that his niece is hardly his concern. That she hasn’t been the concern of anyone in her family. But I’m surprised by the compassion I see in his eyes.

“Her mom is taking care of it.”

“Are you sure? Because Poppy seems to make everything worse when it comes to Nina.”

“I know,” Dan admits. “I think there are a lot of conversations that need to be had for any kind of healing to take place.”

I pause, then nod. This is probably the most Dan has ever said to me—or to anyone, that I can recall. But at this moment, I realize he probably knows more about the family than any of us.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say. I start to reach out my hand to shake his, but falter when his hand remains at his side. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one who needs those words,” he says.

I find Jordy in another corner of the ship, sitting on a chair and desperately trying to hide that she’s crying. Curious glances turn her way, but not one person has offered to help. I want to ask what their problem is, if they find the tears of a grieving woman that entertaining. But I’m the asshole who made her cry.

This is my fault.

I take the seat closest to her, then scoot it even closer. She doesn’t move away, but the way her crying stills lets me know she’s aware of my presence. I reach for her hand, but she jerks it away.

“You don’t get to touch me,” she hisses. But she doesn’t leave, either. I wait, staying at her side while she stares out at the ocean from where we sit. “You could have picked…” She stops herself, shaking her head with a sardonic laugh. “No, I guess it doesn’t matter who you picked. It never should have happened.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I should have done a lot of things differently.”

“I just … I had plans,” she says, her eyes filling with tears as she meets mine. “Before we met, I had all these damn plans for my life. I was going to go places, see the world, figure myself out before I settled into a career. College was just a pitstop while I summoned my courage to leave. Then we had that one night…” She looks up at the sky, as if cursing the heavens. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant. Not then, and not ever. I didn’t even want to be a mother. But I fell in love with her, or at least the idea of her, only to have her yanked away. It shouldn’t have been like this. What the fuck did I do to deserve this?”

“You didn’t do anything,” I tell her. I dare to lean forward to take her hand again. This time she lets me, clutching my hand as if I’m going to keep her from drowning. But I can’t save her anymore. “And you would have been a wonderful mother.”

“That’s the thing, Brayden, I wouldn’t have. Is it unfair to say I was relieved when it happened? I was devastated. But a small part of me felt like a huge amount of pressure had just left my shoulders. When they told me I couldn’t have kids, well…” She looks at me now, her forehead furrowed in grief. “I was so sad for you. I loved how excited you were to become a father, and how sweet you took care of me.” She squeezes my hand while I remain silent. There’s so much I want to say, but right now, I know my role is to listen. “That’s the thing about you, Bray. You were always so good to me. The way you visited so often, or sent me care packages to let me know you were thinking of me. How you’d rub my belly and talk to our little bean.”

I smile at this, even if I feel the hole that’s been torn in my heart since the day we lost our daughter.

“Then you asked me to marry you, and…” She looks away, a sob choking in her throat. I hold her hand tight, and she doesn’t let go, even as her shoulders shake. My heart breaks for her in this moment, and for me too. Amidst the hard parts of our relationship, there were also a lot of good parts. I know I loved her, at least in some sense of the word. I could have even married her, had I not met a woman who showed me what I needed.

“I never should have asked you,” I say softly. “Neither one of us was ready. We barely knew each other. We weren’t even in love.”

“I know,” she says, looking at me a bit sadly. “But I was glad you did, and for a while, it was easy to believe you really loved me, and that I loved you.” She takes her hand back and then folds herself into the chair. She always does this when she’s uncomfortable—makes herself as small as possible like she can’t take up space. I know damn well it has to do with how she was raised, how her mother made her believe that she had to be perfect to be worthy. Now we’re having this conversation, admitting all the things our relationship lacked, and she’s here making herself small.

“You deserve someone who believes you are the brightest part of their world,” I tell her. She laughs, rolling her eyes at this.

“I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who has that kind of patience.”

“You’re not impossible to love,” I say forcefully. “I know because I loved you. Maybe not the way I should have, but there are a lot of things about you that are easy to love, and it’s time you actually believed that.”

“If I were so easy to love, why is it hard for you now? If you hadn’t found…” She stumbles over the words, then catches herself. “If you hadn’t found her, could you have stayed with me?”

“I probably would have,” I admit. “But not for the reasons you want me to. It would be to fulfill a duty, to keep the promise I made to you.” I look her in the eyes, searching her dark iris for some truth. “Would you have been happy if I did?”

She’s silent for a moment, breathing in and out as she doesn’t break eye contact. Then her mouth forms a small smile.

“No,” she says softly. She drops her head in her hands for a moment, then brushes her hair off her face. “Isn’t that so odd? We were strangers when we found out I was pregnant. I didn’t even know your last name. When you asked me to marry you, and then kept our engagement after we lost the baby, I knew you weren’t the right person for me, and that I wasn’t right for you. You’re a family man, through and through. Me, I can’t wait to escape my hometown, to see new places and try new things. Being with you tied me down. Even when you agreed to entertain the idea of New York, I knew it wasn’t for you. I knew, and I held you to it anyway, because I wanted at least a portion of my dream, even if it meant making you give up yours.” She sighs then, and starts to hug herself into a tighter ball. But it’s like she sees herself, and she cautiously unfolds, sitting on the chair with her arms draped over each arm rest. She looks up at the ceiling and lets out a deep, audible breath—like she’s releasing every single bit of grief from her soul.

“Damn, we needed this conversation,” she says. She looks at me then, and her mouth twists slightly. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a fucking asshole.” She’s grinning now, and I laugh out loud.

“Jordy, I never deserved you,” I say.