Seth hesitated with his hand on the door handle.

"I don't know what we're going to walk into, Devin. He sounded blitzed out of his mind. I think he only answered my phone call because he was that drunk."

"I don't care," I insisted. I'd seen Tate drunk plenty of times. Once or twice even black out drunk. Nothing I could see would scare me away.

Seth looked unconvinced. "I'm just not sure you should come in with me."

He had already tried to convince me to stay at the hotel, but that wasn't happening. He'd pleaded with me to let him go alone when I pounded on his door after he texted me.

I gave him a death stare. If he thought I wasn't going in there, he was crazy.

Seth sighed. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep me out. He looked up at the maroon bar sign hanging above our heads like he was saying a silent prayer before he opened the door. "Whatever happens, I don't think you should take whatever comes out of his mouth... to heart. I'm scared he's going to say things to push you away."

"I can handle it."

Seth nodded, even though he looked stressed.

Even Hilton Head's dive bars were beautiful. This one had muted paintings on the walls and a rectangular shaped bar in the middle of the otherwise simple and dark room. A few people were playing pool in the corner, but it wasn't overly crowded. This wasn't where many vacationers would go. Most likely, it was a local's bar.

Tate was sitting on a corner barstool with a beer bottle and two empty shot glasses in front of him. His hand was wrapped around a full whiskey shot that he was staring into.

He looked up at us solemnly and laughed under his breath before he threw his head back and poured the shot down his throat.

"Why the fuck would you bring her here?" he asked Seth when we approached.

Tate wasn't being a mean or angry drunk. His words held amusement—dark amusement—like he was speaking with a sick twisted sense of humor.

Seth scoffed. "She wasn't going to stay away."

I crossed my arms. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tate picked up his beer and took a long sip. Then he tipped the top of his bottle toward me and punctured me with his gaze. "You know you shouldn't love me. I told you so many goddamn times."

"Tate," Seth started nervously, trying to get him to shut up.

Tate raised his eyebrows, ignoring Seth. "I'm going to break your fucking heart. There's nothing I can do about it."

"You're not," I tried to say. Maybe it came out. I was quietly crying, trying not to make a scene, so who knows what it sounded like.

Tate laughed again. A dark sounding laugh from the back of his throat. "I will. And then I'll have to hear you cry like that every night." He looked between the both of us seriously. "Do you know what that fucking does to a person mentally? Listening to someone sob night after night—from a situation they knowingly put themselves in. No wonder I need therapy."

"Help us understand then," I pleaded and wiped the tears from my eyes. I wasn't going to cry anymore.

"Why? So I can drag you down with me? I'll drive you to depression." Tate stared at my face like he was being tortured.

I looked away. I didn't want to be the source of his pain.

Seth ran his hand over his face. "Tate, let's get you back to the room."

Tate ignored him. "That smile of yours will disappear. And it will be all my fault. Fuck." He laughed. "I'm just like Elliot. That motherfucker and his smug shit. We're the damn same. I don't share. I wouldn't be able to let you go either."

"You should stop talking," Seth warned Tate.

"Which is exactly how I got myself in this position," Tate continued like he didn't hear him. "I take what I want. I do what I want. It's engrained in my fucking psyche. I was born like that. I win at all costs. I'm not some nice guy who's going to let you go even when I know I should. What we were doing before—being best friends—that worked. 'Live in the present; live for right now,' people told me. Well, I tried. That's bullshit. You'll make me the happiest person, and I'll make you the saddest in return. How fucked up is that?"

"Fuck," Seth muttered and sat on the barstool in front of him. "Devin, really, you should go. I'll get him back to the hotel."

"No," I demanded.

Tate just watched us interacting with a ridiculously weird smile on his face. "You're the one who had a hand in this shit," Tate said to Seth. "Telling Devin I love her."

"You do," Seth shot back. "And she loves you."

Tate narrowed his eyes at him before he focused back on me. "Do you believe it's really lying when you lie by omission?"

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Well, it is," he retorted. "I'm lying. You know why? Because I don't want to lose you now that I have you. I didn't want this to end. You even told me not to tell you, though you had no idea what you were really saying. So I was going to keep on lying because I couldn't face it. I haven't been able to face it for weeks. I don't think I'll ever be able to. I can't figure out how." Tate shrugged. "It's like that damn quantum mechanics cat. I can't open the box. Either way, all the ways, I break your heart."

Seth looked at me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Devin, please. You can leave if you can't handle this."

I shook my head vehemently and sat down in my own barstool. I'd tie myself to the chair if that's what it took.

Tate tried to push me further. "What do you need to stay away from me?"

"I'm not going to. I love you."

"You need to hear how much of an asshole I am?"

I held my breath, fighting back tears and trying to remind myself he was saying these things because he was hurting.

He doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean it, I told myself over and over in my head, trying to drown him out.

His voice went scary low. "Devin, I don't lov—"

"Tate," Seth growled, cutting him off and slamming a fist on the bar. It made me jump, but Tate didn't flinch. "Don't say shit you don't mean. You'll regret it tomorrow."

Tate rolled his eyes. "I already regret this whole fucking thing."

"I'm not going to give up on you," I whimpered like he was driving a knife through my heart. That was how it felt.

"Don't turn my words around on me," Tate chuckled—a maddening, confusing chuckle that made me want to rip out his vocal cords. "It doesn't matter if you don't give up. One day you'll be depressed and unable to get out of bed. Then you'll suddenly be happy again and fucking some other guy." Tate chugged the rest of his beer. He motioned to the bartender for another before he turned back to me. "One thing's for certain though, when you are, you're going to be wishing it was me. You're going to close your eyes, and all you're going to picture is me. I want you to fantasize, and I hope my name slips from your lips. No one else will ever make you feel as good as I do. I made fucking sure of that."

Seth groaned, rested his elbows on the bar, and buried his face in his hands. "Jesus, Tate. Shut up."

Tate was giving me heartburn. My stomach caved in on itself. The thought of either one of us sleeping with someone else made me want to heave. "I'm not going to be with anyone else."

"Oh, but you will. And I won't care. It's the most depressing shit you could ever think of. Don't you get it? I can't do any of this to you. I'm trying to save you."

"Tell me what's wrong. We can work through it if you will just let me in," I pleaded.

Tate shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "You don't want to hear about the dark shit that goes on in here." He picked up his cold beer. A bead of condensation rolled down it, and Tate ran his finger back up its path, deep in thought. "You know I'm the luckiest shithead on this planet. I'm ranked number one in golf, I have the most beautiful girlfriend who thinks she loves me unconditionally, even though she has no clue what that entails."

"I do love you unconditionally," I said. "No matter what it entails. That's the definition of unconditional. And I know you feel the same way about me."

Tate's face went dark. "No, I don't." But his eyes betrayed him, so he closed them. "Stop fucking reading my eyes." When he opened them again, they were electrified. "I don't. You know why? Because I didn't stay away from you in the first place. If I loved you unconditionally, I would have stayed the hell away from you."

"I don't want you to stay away from me. I feel like the luckiest girl on the planet."

"Yeah well, I've used up all of mine," Tate said sadly. "I can't continue to be this lucky forever, and my odds aren't good this time."

"Your odds of what?" I questioned him. "Your odd of what?" I repeated when he leaned back and smirked. He took way too long of a sip again.

"Seth, take me back," he said matter-of-factly. He pushed his empty beer bottle to the back edge of the bar and stood up. "I'll be outside."

"Devin," Seth sighed when Tate disappeared out the door. "I don't even know what to say."

"Do you know what he's talking about?" I accused him.

"No," Seth replied. "It's not my business. That's way more than he's ever shared with me. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here. This was a mistake."

The Uber ride back to the hotel was silent.

Seth kept checking on me with heavy glances. Tate just looked out the window, lost in his own world.

I was okay. As good as I could be. I didn't know what was going on, but I'd gathered as much as I could.

Everything boiled down to Tate thinking he couldn't make me happy. But it wasn't because he was an athlete. It wasn't because he had an insane schedule with zero down time. It wasn't because he had a relationship phobia.

At a bare minimum, it had something to do with his mother and father. He thought he'd seen his life play out in front of him already. He thought heartbreak was inevitable.

Sadly, heartbreak is always inevitable in a way.

We can't control anything as humans. Some people won't be able to conceive children, some people will get sick, some people will lose their jobs, some people will cheat. All of us make mistakes. I could go on and on. Heartbreak comes in a lot of forms.

How you react and push through is what makes it beautiful.

Then of course, everyone dies—morbid, I know—which also means that everyone's love story (perfect or not; actually they are all imperfect because the perfect love story doesn't exist) comes to an end eventually.

It's the in between that matters. That's where we have chances to shine, to forgive, to love, to rise above, to choose to be happy. We only get to live once, and I think one of everyone's deepest desires is just to matter, to be worth it, to be remembered. Above all else, we just want to be someone to someone.

And I don't think that's morbid at all.

My love story was a paradox. Based on what Tate had said, staying with him would make me unhappy. Except the problem was that no one besides Tate could make me happy.

We walked into the hotel. Each of us tired and weary; silently trudging to the elevator, secretly wishing it was all a bad dream.

When the elevator doors closed, Tate leaned back against the wall and pulled me into him by the waist. He wrapped his arms around me so tight I knew he wanted to hold on to me for forever. Seth turned, trying to give us some fake semblance of privacy.

Before I could say anything, he took my breath away with a kiss that was like no other—heartbreaking and loving, the kind you think you'll never get again.

"Let me go," he whispered.

I clung to his neck and kissed him harder back—the kind where I demanded what I wanted.

"No," I whispered back.