My misery didn’t want company. It wanted time and attention and things to consume. So I let it. Finally, I’d proven myself to be just as much a bastard as I’d always known I was, just as much as my father and all the fuckers that came after him.

One problem, though. I couldn’t get Lane out of my mind. I couldn’t stop seeing her, tasting her, remembering how soft her skin was. I could’ve sworn I heard her voice, saying things I wished were true. I even went shopping for a new bed because mine was too big and too empty and I couldn’t sleep. But mattress salesmen aren’t very sympathetic to guys who almost lose it in their showroom. Good to know.

I couldn’t even look at my bathtub because all I saw was her smile, and all I thought about was how happy that stupid fucking porcelain bowl made her.

So I let myself suffer, knowing how much I’d let her down. I don’t know if it was ironic or poetic, but as bad as that hit was, as much as I hated myself for it, that wasn’t even the worst thing I’d done. The one before this was the thing that set everything in motion. Biggest fuck-up ever. What I’d been able to deny until now.

I let her love me. I wanted her to love me, and I hadn’t done enough to make her see what was going to happen. Because I was a selfish prick and didn’t want to stop seeing that look in her eyes or feeling her intensity. I didn’t want to give up knowing she’d be there whenever I needed her. So I kept telling myself she could handle it. I even convinced myself it was a good test for her—a new skill pushed to its limit.

What a fucking idiot.

Even though there wasn’t enough money in the world to make up for all the bad I’d done to the most beautiful person I’d ever met, maybe it could help her get one step closer to the life she should have.

I almost started crying when I saw her website—it looked phenomenal. Nothing like it did the last time I checked. It was nice to know she was keeping herself busy instead of just blundering around uselessly like I was. She really was better off without me. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it?

Kudos to Eric on the pictures—they were crazy good and showed off Lane’s talent and—

“Shit.” I had to stop thinking about her. I took a deep breath before I picked up my phone so I didn’t sound like a whiny four-year-old when the foundation’s office manager answered.

I ignored the ‘are you alright?’ and ‘why haven’t you come in or answered your phone for the last week?’ portion of the conversation and skipped straight to the favor.

I gave her Lane’s website address. “Buy what you can, but don’t negotiate. Give her whatever she’s asking for each piece, and then add all of it to the fall auction catalogue.” I set the budget at more than I guessed Lane made in a year, way more than she’d gotten for her lily pad tables, but she was still undercharging. She deserved the money, and the exposure from the auction might put her art in front of the right person. And the foundation would probably raise more than I paid from people who had too much money and better-than-average taste. Win-win for everyone. Almost everyone.

---

A few days later, some friends who didn’t understand anything—or maybe they just didn’t think I was capable of so much sap—dragged me to Vegas. We ended up at a club it was hard not to get laid in. Tonight, I saw at least three women who, if I was sane, I would have taken home. Three chances to forget about Lane for a little while.

Fuck, what was stopping me? I’d never felt more lonely in my entire life. Since I was really good at not letting anyone get too comfortable, I never thought I could be lonely. She’d ruined me, made me want things I shouldn’t want. Made me need things I couldn’t have. And now I was a fucking mess.

None of these women would do that to me. I’d make one of them feel good and she’d make me feel good and then a couple hours later, we’d both walk away. Simple, straightforward, easy.

The brunette had a great body, a short skirt, and moved in a way appreciated by every guy in the place. A few months ago, I’d have been on that before she’d checked me out once, let alone the four times she had.

Why was I even hesitating? I didn’t owe Lane anything, didn’t love her or even plan to see her ever again. So what was my fucking problem? If this brunette took me to her place, there would be no memories there. For a little while I could pretend I was my old self. I considered it. I considered it while I had three more drinks than I’d planned on having.

Then I stopped thinking. Well, I stopped thinking clearly. And I started thinking with my dick, the way I used to. Before all the danger started, before Lane showed up and everything got turned upside-down. I was kind of happy back then. Well, I wasn’t miserable.

My brain woke up when we stepped onto the sidewalk outside the club. Something about fresh air, I guess.

“Wait a sec.” The woman wasn’t Lane. Why was I with someone else? I didn’t want to be with someone else. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not next year. This woman whose name I didn’t remember might have been really fun, but I didn’t care. I’d already felt more for someone, had already been with the most amazing woman in the world, and everyone else would be a step down.

However good the sex was, it wouldn’t measure up, and I would never be able to sleep with anyone else in my bed. So I apologized, took her back into the bar, and bought her a drink. When she was set, I said goodbye and took a cab to the hotel. Alone.

Just to punish myself, I got into the bathtub, closed my eyes, and deliberately remembered her. I would start to forget soon—I was really good at forgetting and denying and pretending. Everything other than feeling and loving and believing I’d ever find anything as great as what I’d almost had.