What I didn't mention the other day is that Lucas's story is only part of my fourth book. Woven through his narrative is the story of Meg Painter, a young woman who knows all about unrequited love. Her heart opened for a boy when she was ten years old, and it's taken him a decade to realize that he may love her too. But it just might be too late.
As she walked away from Dawson, Meg suffered the weight of what she knew to be true press so heavy against her chest she struggled to breathe. It was suffocating, and she fought the realization of her feelings for him in futile frustration until the moment her heart finally gave way and split open along the seam, an overripe peach rending its flesh. She hadn’t known that it could burst like that. Or that the fissure wouldn’t mend with time--that it would continue to leak.
That death by devotion is a slow, aching bleed.