A loud knock sounds on the metal door, causing her eyes to widen in a panic, interrupting our conversation. I’m in no condition to speak to anyone at the moment, but I have to get rid of them. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I hold up a finger.
Each step I take away from her is painful. It always is. Opening the door just a crack, I poke my head out, finding a slew of people anxious to help dress me for the show. It suddenly seems so ridiculous. “Hey, ladies. I’m in the middle of something. I’m just gonna pick something from these racks and get ready myself. I’m fully capable,” I wink, trying to disarm them with charm.
They all start talking over each other, trying to put up an argument. “I really can’t do this right now,” I insist as I begin retreating back to Scottie. “Thank you all so much. Sorry.” I shut the door and bolt it, taking a few deep breaths before striding back across the room toward her. She stands with her shoulders thrown back, her features lined with determination, as stormy eyes search mine.
“I know that look; I saw it the day we met.” I give her a smile she doesn’t return. She’s in protective mode, and I’m not the one she’s protecting.
“I need you to break my heart,” she declares, wringing her hands nervously. “Give me a reason to hate you, because wanting you this way is…it’s ruining me. It’s ruining my life.”
She is dead serious.
Lifting her chin, as if ready to take a blow, her turbulent eyes implore mine. “Tell me about them. Tell me about all of the women you’ve been with since Germany.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Hell no.”
“Oh, please, Briggs. How long did you wait? A few days?” She laughs sarcastically. “I bet you didn’t even make it a day.”
She’s coming out guns blazing, and I can see it’s physically killing her to do it.
“Are we playing the guessing game? Do I get to ask how many times you’ve fucked your husband?”
“Sure,” she says with a shrug. “We’ll trade. You go first.”
She’s bluffing, and I’m calling her on it.
“Don’t do this, Scottie. You don’t really want to hear about that.”
“Humor me, Briggs.” Her eyes plead with mine. “I need to hear this.”
“Fine. You want the truth?”
She nods.
“Complete honesty?”
Again, she bobs her head.
She stands stock-still as I pace the small room, feeling the blood begin to boil beneath my overheated skin.
Fuck it.
I stalk back toward her, stopping inches away. “You really want to know that there have been so many that I’ve lost count? How they’re all blondes with blue eyes? But the blue, it’s never right, and their smiles—all wrong.”
She swats at the fresh tears that trail down her cheeks as her lips begin to tremble. Reaching out, she places a hand on my chest, and I know that she must feel the way my heart is pounding against my rib cage, reaching for her. Always reaching for her.
I jerk myself away and brand that touch to memory.
In about forty-five seconds, my heart is going to implode. I start ticking them down.
“You want me to tell you all about how I have to drink myself stupid, till their faces blur enough that I can pretend…” I pause, running a hand down my face. “So that I can pretend they’re you? You want to know how fucking miserable I am? How when I slide between their legs, I close my eyes, and it’s your face I see? How I’m always careful not to kiss them because their lips are all wrong. How every time I finish I want to fucking kill myself because I can’t stand the pain of wanting the one woman I can never have.”
Thirty seconds.
“Is that enough?” Her eyes snap to mine. “Hate me yet?”
Face crumbling, she gasps out a sob, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.
“Come on, Scottie. Let’s not kid ourselves. I’m still the same prick you hated when we met. Nothing’s changed. I think we’ve romanticized this situation long enough, don’t you?”
Taking another step away from her, I tilt my head. “You’re a housewife,” I say snidely. “Someone else’s wife and I’m a career soldier. This isn’t exactly ideal.”
She flinches visibly, and my heart bottoms out.
Fifteen.
I cut my hand through the air. “At the end of the day, this was nothing but a big mistake. And we never would have happened if—”
“Stop,” she cries out painfully. “Stop, I’m good,” she whispers before rocketing toward the door just as I reach for her, my fingers curling in the space she just left. Handle in hand, she looks back at me with the sweep of her eyes until they meet mine. That’s how we started, and it’s only fitting it’s how we should end. For the moment, we’re right back there in the place we created, where we are perfect. Where our souls line up without any visible smudges on the seams. In a place where there is still so much love, so much that I can’t stop the tear that slides out before batting it away with the back of my hand.
An identical tear runs down her cheek. “Thank you.”
Three. Two. One.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Katy
How much can a heart handle in one lifetime? I’m pretty sure I’ll never know the exact answer to that question, but the scars that mar mine make me hate the fucker for continuing to beat.
I’m lovesick, strung out, and so over it.
The occasion calls for a Xanax, so I take two. I’m not the one piloting the plane. Exiting the cab, I swallow them without a thing to drink. The bitter taste spreads throughout my mouth. The minute I step into the hotel lobby, I see his face.
Up on the monitor, is the half of my heart I’ve just abandoned, sitting in a tailored suit. He’s smiling for the cameras as he answers the questions with the same relaxed candor as when we met. He’s stoic in his delivery, his panty-melting smile and dimple on display so the rest of the world can fall in love with him.
I hope he finds so much love.
The TV is muted, but the caption is on. As I read the words, it feels like my chest is being rubbed against sandpaper. But I can’t look away. I watch as the announcer’s words pop up on screen.
It’s a shame she couldn’t be here today.
Chris nods. Yeah, she wasn’t feeling well.
She’s a fucking lunatic.
I’m trying to think of any reason for either of these men to love me at this point. In my moment of weakness, I miss Mullins. Oh, how I wish she was here to call me a pus-say. Laughing through my tears, I continue to gaze up at him on the screen.
So, how’s your time at home been?
Chris pauses, and in his silence, I see it—just a glimpse of his pain. He’s so strong, so handsome, so resilient. The brightest light in my darkest hour. I resist the urge to lift my fingers and touch the screen. It’s been good, been getting back into the routine.
Still a soldier, huh?
Most definitely. He flashes his teeth, adds a “Hooah!” for effect, and the audience goes wild. Unable to see anymore, I step away with a tearful smile when I spot Gavin watching me from a few feet away.
Not bothering to hide my tears, I wait for his move. There’s nothing more I can say or do at this point. We either fight together or fall apart. I’m guilty of exactly what he’s accusing me of. I’ve been fighting since I returned home for the half of me that still beats for him, and today I fought harder than ever before. Gavin approaches me, and I soften at the fact that he’s still here.
“You didn’t leave.”
“Didn’t make it past the lobby.”
“You determined to make me lose my shit in public, Captain?” I say, looking up at the ceiling as tears trail down my cheeks.
“You haven’t—” he whispers hoarsely, “you haven’t called me that since you’ve been home.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t quite been myself,” I say with a sigh. “Please take me home to my son.”
Gavin nods and leads me toward the elevator.
Gavin is completely quiet on the plane ride home and the car ride after. It’s just as well; we’re still covered in the aftermath of our battle last night. The first thing I notice when I walk into the house is that it’s eerily quiet. In my haste, I hadn’t even looked for my mother’s car in the drive.