He felt the pressure of her hand lift from him and again he was all alone. Adrift. There was nothing more that he wanted than to stretch out in the sand with his head in her lap and the gentle reassurance that somehow things would get better. Somehow they would make it through this. Somehow she could forgive him.
Her words weren't true because Wes knew it wasn't okay. None of it was okay. What he'd done was unspeakably wrong. And whether Sydney was strong enough to deal with the hand that life had dealt her or not, Wes hadn't needed to make things harder. In any aspect.
There were days he wished he had never met Sydney at college. Then he wouldn't have had to leave. It would be two less people to miss. It would be a lonely existence, but grieving the living was nearly as hard as grieving the dead.
It took effort to stand. He was lightheaded and weak. Hungry and tired. He swayed on his feet for a moment before he reached down a hand to help Sydney off of the ground. "I appreciate what you did for me," he said, his words barely louder than a whisper. "I didn't deserve it."
Instead of waiting for her reply, he took several long steps away, head down, and guided himself back to the boat.