that I understand your grief intrinsically.” He inhales deeply, uncrossing his arms. “But I do understand grief. I’ve dealt with it myself. I know it’s horrible and awful, and it makes you want to close off from the world. But you’re not closed off. You’re a human being. And you went and fell in love. So why do you want to throw it all away?”
His questions are valid, but so are my answers. “I don’t want to put her in the position of being with someone who’s this damaged,” I say, sounding as stubborn as I feel.
“I know you believe that.”
“I believe it because it’s true,” I say, trying to convince myself, but inside, a nagging voice keeps asking, Is it?
I’ve always believed that, and that belief has steered me, has served as a rudder for years. But maybe it no longer does.
Cole leans forward, steepling his fingers. “Do you mean it when you say you love her?”
“Yes,” I bite out.
“Then, man, just let her in,” he says, imploring this time. “It’s worth it. You’re not the same person you were when you went to college. You’re not the same man you were when you needed the walls, the games, and when you sought out pleasure just for the sake of pleasure. You’ve changed over time. I’ve seen you with her. You’ve been enchanted with her for a long time.”
I shrug an acknowledgment. This last week has been the culmination of years of longing, of wanting, and of falling. It’s never been merely physical with Scarlett. My emotions are not born from a desire to take her to bed, though that desire is potent. I have been entranced by her mind, her mouth, her words, her heart, her brain, and her brilliance.
Cole continues on, as determined as ever. “You didn’t even give her a say in this. In what she’s willing to risk. And now you’re simply going to let her slip away because you’re afraid of hurting her?”
“Yes.” At least he understands why I’m doing this.
His eyes lock with mine, intensity in his gaze. “But it’s not her you’re afraid of hurting.”
I jerk back. Furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
He points at me, accusatory. “It’s you. You’re afraid of getting hurt. You’re terrified of letting someone in. You’re scared of what will happen if your heart isn’t the black hole you’ve turned it into.”
My jaw clenches. I grit my teeth. I want to hiss, to seethe and spit and say, You’re wrong, you’re dead wrong.
But he’s not wrong at all.
He’s completely right.
I’m a fucking coward. I didn’t let her go for her. I let her go for me. Because I don’t know how I’d handle it if she broke a heart that’s already been shattered twice.
I look my best friend in the eye, and I find it in me to tell the truth. “You’re right. I don’t know if I could handle it. I don’t know if I could survive it if I let her love me and then she were to leave me. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to go through that one more time,” I say, admitting the truth.
A faint smile crosses his lips. “Thank you.”
I scoff. “Why are you thanking me?”
“You finally spoke the truth.”
“And what am I supposed to do with this awful truth?”
He sets his elbows on the table, leaning in close. “I don’t know. But my hope is that you’ll take the chance. You’ve taken a million chances in business. You’ve risked money a thousand times over. You gamble with that constantly. And I hope that you can find it in you to gamble with your heart. Because it’s worth it. It’s completely worth it.”
I want to fire back, Easy for you to say.
But it hasn’t been easy for him. He’s done the hard work. He’s loved, he’s lost, he’s grieved, he’s moved on. He’s fallen in love again, and he’s made damn sure he didn’t lose her.
I’ve already lost Scarlett, though, because I let her go.
We say good night and part ways. I don’t wander back to the hotel. Instead, I go to the Palais Garnier. The sign outside advertises an evening of Beethoven sonatas, a special two-week only series of performances. Kismet, perhaps? It’s rare for the opera house to showcase only music, rather than ballet or opera.
I walk in, go to the ticket counter, and buy a ticket.
A young woman at the counter – perhaps a teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen – arches a curious brow. “Hello.