what he’d say if he spoke again. Words had killed them last time. He’d said the wrong things ten years ago, and he was treading dangerously close to doing it again with the cruel ones he was firing off at her now. He couldn’t chance it happening a second time. He walked to the kitchen, picked up his bag, and headed to the door.
She followed him, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. Devastation was written in her eyes. “Are you leaving me?”
He took her hand, peeled it off him, then cupped her shoulders. He ached to swipe his thumb across her cheek, to tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t because he was feeling things he’d never felt before—like his skin had been sliced open. He had no training in how to stem the bleeding.
“No. I’m not walking away,” he said, taking his time with each word. “But I’m pissed that you didn’t tell me, and I'm pissed that you went through something awful and I couldn’t be there for you. And I’m pissed at myself for not having the right words to say. I’m leaving, because I love you, and because I don’t want say another wrong thing. I need to go, Shannon. I really need to go and have some time to deal with this. You’ve had ten years to deal with it. I’ve known for ten minutes.”
He opened the door, and left.
* * *
She collapsed, falling onto the floor, tears spilling into her lap. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to hurt more than she had before.
But he’d punctured a hole in her heart, and that damn organ had already been bruised too many times.
He might not call it walking away, but hell if she could tell the difference between now and the last time he’d done it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
She scratched Nick between the ears and the tabby arched his back. Purring contentedly, Nick rubbed against her legs, a thank you for feeding him again that the morning.
“You’re a sweetie,” she said as she crouched in Ally’s condo, stroking the happy guy. Her voice sounded empty to her ears, a hollow noise, mirroring her insides.
Eight hours later, and no word from Brent.
She was a big girl, she could handle eight hours; she could give him the time, she told herself. Even though it felt like an eternity. Her body was keenly aware of every passing minute, and each one wore her to the bone. Running a hand down the cat’s back, she wished her life were as easy as this—eat, purr, be happy.
But the universe insisted on throwing hurdles and roadblocks at her. The universe kept moving the line. Jump higher. Run faster.
Then it cackled at her and demanded she do it once more. It was so unfair, given what they’d shared in San Francisco. Making love with Brent again had been nothing short of cloud nine. It had been bliss and beauty, passion and pleasure. He had seduced her, body and soul, and she had craved every second of their intense connection. She longed for him. More than she’d ever expected to. More than she knew what to do with.
That was what hurt so much. After ten years of barely getting over him, she’d let down her guard in a few short weeks. Little good that had done. Here she was with a raw, beating heart, and no one to tend to it.
But herself.
“Be a good boy. Ally will be home later today,” she told the cat, who answered her with one final silky rub of his head against her leg.
She locked the door and texted her friend. Nick is fed, rested and ready for your return. Meow!
She popped back into her home, grabbed her purse, dropped a big pair of shades over her eyes, and drove to the airport. At the gate, she met Colin for their quick day-in/day-out trip to Los Angeles. He was leaning against the window looking at his phone. An airline voice blared overhead. “Flight twenty-three from Las Vegas to Burbank will board in ten minutes.”
Colin tucked his phone away when he saw her walking to him. “You look like hell,” he said.
“Thanks. Good to see you too.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Didn’t sleep much,” she said, yawning.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “It was supposed to be a good thing, but it turned out to be a bad thing.”