“It can’t end like this.” I reach for his arm and think better of it. “We have to talk about it.”
“It must end this way. A clean cut.” He slides past me, bag in hand, and strides out of the bedroom.
I follow him into the living room. He grabs his keys from the kitchen island and heads toward the front door. His car is parked in the driveway, a twenty-second walk away. Twenty seconds is all we have left.
“Trace, stop!” The shrill in my voice announces my desperation. “Please. Wait.”
The slowing of his gait lets me know he’s considering. The pause of his feet at the door tells me he’s analyzing the risks of hearing what I have to say.
He enters the code in the keypad, grips the door handle, and drops his arm. Then he turns and faces me.
My breath catches at the agony tightening his face. He stands twenty feet away, his eyes wet and drowning in heartache.
Tears lurk at the backs of my own eyes, but I hold them at bay.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I approach slowly and pause a few paces away. Then I let him read my expression, let him delve deep into my eyes as I tell him without words everything I need to say.
I will always, always love you, and I will never forget. I won’t forget the taste of your scowl, the way it curved against my mouth when we kissed, our lips rough with passion. I won’t forget how you watched over me and saved my life, how you gave me your love when I didn’t believe in second chances. I won’t forget the stage you erected for me, the heat of your eyes on my body in the beam of light, and the adoration in your voice when you talked about my dancing. I won’t forget your bed in the penthouse, our bodies tumbled together, your hand, my throat, your jawline, my fingers, the caress of your brush through my hair, your orderliness, your control, your un-creamy coffee, the scent of scotch on your breath, the infinity pools of your eyes, and the depths of you, who showed me how to smile again.
A tear escapes, and I brush it off my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Danni Angelo.” His timbre is quiet, shaky. “I gave you my heart. It was always yours to break.”
I shake my head rapidly, battling an impending meltdown. “I didn’t want to—”
“Shhh.” He looks down, squeezes his eyes shut. “It was always going to come down to a choice. I knew that, and I don’t regret a single second.”
The back door opens, and Cole walks in, yanking a beanie off his head, his leather jacket soaked from the rain. He glances up and spots us standing by the front entrance. Then his gaze zeroes in on the bag in Trace’s hand.
He freezes, mouth parting before he lurches forward, headed this way.
Trace opens the door and turns to leave. Then he stops, spins back, and closes the distance between us. With a heavy hand on my neck, he pulls me against him and rests his lips against my forehead. I hear the shallow sound of his breaths, feel the thunder of his heart, and watch the pain shake through the length of his body.
He’s not the first man I loved or the first love I lost. But his is the love that cuts the deepest and does the most damage. The loss is immeasurable. I’m bleeding internally and sobbing wretchedly, unable to silence the gasps.
Without a word, he releases me, strides out the door, and into the rain.
This is the moment, the one I dreaded since the day Cole returned. It hurts more than I could’ve ever imagined, like I’m hacking away vital parts of myself, breath by mangled breath.
Cole chases Trace outside and hovers behind him as he opens the door to the Maserati and tosses in the bag. Cole says something, his voice indiscernible in the pouring rain. Trace turns and faces him, expressionless, blinking away the heavy drops.
Cole’s mouth moves faster, and his hands swipe through his hair, sweeping off the rain. More words. More blank stares from Trace. Then Cole drops his arms, lowers his head, and stares at the ground.
There’s nothing he can say to alleviate the pain. I wish I could find comfort in knowing a broken heart can’t break again. But it does. It breaks and breaks, and no matter how much destruction is done, it puts itself back together so it can break some more.
Cole speaks again, and whatever he says causes Trace’s shoulders to hitch. Then Cole moves, wraps his arms around Trace and embraces him in a strong, heart-wrenching hug.
As Trace hugs him back, I fall apart. My legs buckle. My vision blurs, and a horrible keening sound rips from deep inside me. I stumble away from the door, doubling over and zigzagging toward the stairs.
My knees hit the first step, and I cry, gasping, shoulders shaking, nauseous, and inconsolable. Then I picture myself—my ugly, shattered reflection in the broken mirror at my old house. I can’t go there again.