The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,254

stubbornness kicks in, and I never do it.

But tonight, I can’t stop thinking about it. The urge hasn’t subsided yet. Maybe it’s a sign that my anger is dissipating and I’m ready to forgive her? I’m not exactly sure, but I furrow my brows, take a deep breath. and compose a text with two simple words—CALL ME—and I send it before I have a chance to change my mind.

Forty-Four

Ayla

* * *

I’m exhausted, and the last thing I want to do tonight is read, but I have to sign off on this proof by tomorrow, and I have two more chapters to get through. I should’ve done this weeks ago, but all this jet setting and dealing with Rhett has left me drained.

Tonight I’m in Miami, staying at the Fontainebleau in a room with a view of the rolling Atlantic. A group of local readers took me out for drinks and salsa dancing tonight. My feet are covered in blisters and my head is still buzzing from the liquor and loud music, but I had a blast.

I flip to the next page of my book, to the part where Reed asks Ariana to marry him and professes his undying devotion. He presents her with a ring. It isn’t a diamond. She’s not into that. It’s just a simple gold band meant to symbolize eternity. Their initials are carved on the inside along with the date they met.

The proposal is simple and sweet because I imagined Rhett—the old Rhett—would’ve stuck to something simple and sweet. He was no frills. Straightforward. He didn’t make grand gestures because he didn’t need to.

The words on the page feel fresh again, every emotion still raw and magnified. The joy. The sorrow. The hope that no longer resides in my heart.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand to my right, and I glance over, bleary-eyed, to see a short text message displayed across the screen.

There’s a hitch in my breath, and for a second I think I’m imagining it.

Next to Rhett’s name are the words, “Call me.”

My heart races and flutters, and I feel myself getting all worked up, like my body has no idea if it should be happy or sad or nervous.

I read the message again, biting my thumbnail as I try to steady my breathing.

This is going to hurt, but I have to ignore it.

I have to ignore him.

It’s the right thing to do—to end this once and for all, because I’m not getting through to him. We’re not on the same page.

I have no choice but to love the memory of him, the version of Rhett Carson that no longer exists. So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll love him quietly, from afar, because what choice do I have? We can’t keep going in circles.

And he’s right. I won’t survive him again.

Forty-Five

Rhett

* * *

Ayla’s second to last book tour stop happens to be in Minneapolis at the same time as my game in St. Paul, and I decide I have to see her. This could be the last time our paths will ever cross, and if I don’t tell her what I need to tell her now, I might never get the chance again.

The second I’m showered and heading out of the guest locker rooms, I text her. It’s late, and she’s probably in bed, but I don’t care. I tell her I’m in town, and I know she is too. I tell her I could get to her within an hour. I tell her to listen to what I have to say, and if she never wants to see me again after that, I’ll let her go once and for all. I tell her I’ve been thinking—about her, about us, but mostly about her. And I tell her I’ve come to a conclusion.

It takes twenty minutes, but she responds with: JUST THIS ONCE. DO NOT KISS ME. DO NOT TOUCH ME.

I tell her I can’t promise I won’t try to kiss her, but I can promise I’ll be gentler this time. She says nothing, only texts me her hotel information, and as promised, I show up at her door an hour later.

Her arms are folded across her chest, and she keeps a careful distance from me. She’s guarded, and I realize I have my work cut out for me. I want to tell her this is just as hard for me as it is for her, but it’s not about me tonight.

It’s about us.

“It’s hard for me to accept the fact that you’re his

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