Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I put the flowers down on my desk and turn to leave when Avril looks up from her desk.
“They’re beautiful. Who are they from?” she asks, slowly getting to her feet.
“Not sure. Haven’t checked the card.”
“They’re for you,” Poppy says. “Why wouldn’t you check the card?”
“Because there’s only one person in New York who would be sending me flowers. And…”
“Deacon Black,” Avril says. “Come on! You have to open the card.”
“If she doesn’t want to,” Poppy says, “she doesn’t have to.”
“You’re just prolonging the inevitable,” Avril argues. “It’s not like you’re never going to open the card.”
“I’m at work,” I say. “I just need to focus.”
Avril tuts. “You’re nearly done for the day. And anyway, you’ve got time to read a note.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to in front of us,” Poppy suggests.
What’s it going to say? Probably the same as the text. And that’s going to infuriate me.
Before I can overthink this, I grab the note from where it’s tucked into the flower heads. I pull it out of the envelope—and somehow I manage to hold myself upright, despite the way my knees weaken and my head spins. The note is simple.
I’m sorry.
I’ve been an idiot.
I miss you.
It’s like someone’s reached into my stomach and pulled out my insides. I feel nauseous and lightheaded, and I grab on to the edge of my desk to stop myself from falling.
“Are you okay?” Avril says.
I blink and blink, like I’m underwater, trying to figure out the direction of the surface.
“I just…”
I don’t know how to tell them how I’m feeling.
I just know I don’t want to be feeling this way. I don’t want to feel weak when Deacon tells me he misses me. I don’t want to feel it in my body when he tells me he’s sorry. I was starting to put myself back together. I was moving forward, and a nucleus of hope had started to grow inside me.
Deacon getting in touch has smashed me open and shown me how empty I was inside.
And I hate him for it. Because now I have to zip myself back up and try to get back to where I was. It’s like I’m playing a tortuous game of Snakes and Ladders, and I was almost winning until, two moves before the end, I just slid down the mother of all snakes.
“Can I get you some water?” Poppy asks. “Have a seat.”
I lean back on my desk and shake my head. “I’ll be fine. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Are we rooting for him, or not?” Avril asks.
“Rooting for him?” Poppy asks. “We’re never rooting for anyone who hurts Aurora.”
“No, I know that, I’m just wondering if she’s rooting for him.”
I shake my head. “It’s over.”
“Are you sure?” Avril asks. “Because it doesn’t seem like he thinks it’s over.”
“I’m sure,” I say.
“He’s not worth a second chance?” she asks.
“Avril,” Poppy chastises. “If Aurora says he’s not, then he’s not. You don’t know what happened between them.”
Avril sighs. “You’re right. I was just rooting for Aurora. And he seemed to make her happy.”
He did make me happy. Meeting Deacon was…everything. I thought I knew what love was. I thought I’d been in love at fifteen. But that wasn’t love. When Ryder married Scarlett, I didn’t feel like someone had ripped out my guts like I have felt over the past few weeks.
I didn’t know love until Deacon. I don’t think I knew I was in as deep as I was until I was out of it. Until he’d called time. And by then it was too late.
Even if he wants to talk. Even if he’s sorry. None of it is enough. I deserve more.
I hand Avril the card. Flowers and a text message aren’t bridges over unsurmountable problems. They’re not even Band-Aids. They’re just ways of feeling better during momentary regrets. But the moments will pass.
I just need to stay strong.
The fact is, Deacon is too focused on keeping everything the same to ever really open up to having someone in his life. And even if there’s a miniscule chance he’s had some kind of seismic epiphany, then I shouldn’t be the woman he changes for. He deserves more than a woman who can’t give him more children.
Nausea stirs in my stomach, and I wonder if I’m going to throw up right here, at work, in front of my two bosses.
I think I may have loved Deacon. I think I might still love him. And I think I might love him forever. I take a breath, trying to process the realization.
I know now that Deacon Black is the love of my life.
But me loving him isn’t enough.
I met the love of my life, but he can never be mine. Not even if he’s decided there’s room in his life for me.
How’s that fair?
He and Willow need a woman who can give them a family. I’m never going to be a woman who can give Deacon a child. He might not see that as an unsurmountable challenge now, but he will. At some point. And so it’s better to move on. Move past the idea that I can have the kind of idyllic family life I always dreamed about.