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With my eyes closed, I can see my memories more clearly.
Harv. . .I can’t see anything. . .
We should stop. . .
Why didn’t we stop? Why didn’t I make a scene? Do anything, get his attention!
Harvey. Harvey. Harvey.
I’m so sorry. No. No. No.
Not my beautiful blue-eyed boy. Not you, Harv.
Gia puts her arms around me, enveloping me in a tight, warm hug. My broken heart is desperate for her touch, to heal itself. But I want distance. I want to be alone while I process this.
There’s a scream coming out of me—one loud enough to gain attention from the entire hospital.
I cry and shake and shiver, my body in an uncontrollable stupor.
Imagine my surprise when Gia doesn’t react. Or the nurse I see leaving when I open my eyes and realize nothing came out. Nothing happened.
The scream, the cries, the pain.
It’s all in my fucking head—inside my damaged heart.
Nothing will ever be the same.
God, why didn’t I do more to make us stop?
It’s amazing how a few hours can make your world look different. It’s Tuesday. I’m at my desk, coaxing myself to work, while Damon spent most of the morning ignoring me.
He didn’t touch me.
We barely spoke as we rode to work in silence. I told Joey to drop me off at a coffee shop nearby. The last thing we need is for coworkers to know we’re sleeping together.
Or were. I’m not sure with Damon. No words left his mouth as I closed the Lexus door behind me, walking to the coffee place.
Yesterday night’s shower fuck was his goodbye. The only thing he gave me was a look that contained a million different versions ofI’m sorry.
I believe he thinks he’s doing the right thing. He’s convinced we shouldn’t be together. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m meant to be with Harvey. Maybe I’m not meant to be with either of them.
But what if Damon’s wrong?
I send Damon a brief report, thankful when my workload trims down because I can’t focus on anything other than the man in the office close by.
A beautiful tall brunette walks to my desk, demanding to see Damon. “He’s expecting me,” she says.
Is she here for business or for his own personal pleasure? Is this his way of pushing me away? Will he sleep with another woman so soon?
“Your name?” I ask, trying to be as polite as I can muster.
“Ms. Sutton.”
I nod and call Damon, telling him. “Send her in.” His tone settles the nerves in my stomach. It’s as if he’s reassuring me; he’s not being an asshole.
“What the fuck do you want?” I hear him say as soon as she walks in.
Oh God. Is ither? The reason behind his pain, his inability to give me more, to believe he’s a good man? Does he still love her?
