Opening night. The official opening of The L. I smile to myself as I look around the room. I can’t believe it’s finally here after everything I’ve been through. It feels like an eternity.
“I got you a glass of champagne,” Ryan says, pulling me out of my thoughts and handing me my drink.
“Thank you so much.” I smile up at him.
“Thanks for inviting me. This place is insane.” I had no intention of bringing Ryan, truth be told, I didn’t want to lead him on. But I am so happy I did. I let Paige convinced me it would be a good idea and now standing here waiting for Grant to arrive, I realize it is helping . . . a little.
“Right? I’m so proud of what we’ve done. It’s fabulous.”
“There’s a line of people waiting to get in. Is that normal?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it. The buzz surrounding this place has been crazy.”
I look around at all the people milling about. Smiles are plastered on everyone’s faces. It’s clear The L is a success.
“I see Jared. Let me go grab him,” Ryan says.
“Great idea. I’ll be right here.”
Ryan saunters off in pursuit of Jared. He isn’t even gone a second before I feel eyes on me.
Grant.
Only he can evoke such a reaction from me. It’s been weeks, but the pit in my stomach tells me I’m no closer to moving on. I’ve missed him with every fiber of my being. Not even Ryan’s company can lessen the pain. If anything—and this is the worst part, the part that I’m dreading, the part that makes it so difficult for me to live with myself—I always find myself comparing them, and Ryan is lacking. Not because how deep Grant’s pockets or eyes are, or because of his dirty mouth, devotion for Isabella or even his shark-like business instincts. Ryan is lacking simply because he is not Grant. Only Grant is Grant. And as long as I don’t have Grant, I will always feel hollow. Like my body is empty and light and floating in the world without an anchor. Without a home. It hits me fundamentally. Dumpster Dude is my home. I am, therefore, homeless now. Which is ironic, seeing as what we did—what we worked on—was a hotel. A hotel that is about to accommodate thousands of hearts. Temporarily, of course.
Grant’s gaze is unnerving as he walks my way. Anticipation makes me shiver down to my toes. Time slows and it feels as though it takes hours for him to reach me. When he’s finally standing in front of me, the space between us is heady with unsaid words.
“Hi,” I say. My voice is lame. My posture is lame. God, my whole being is.
His sad eyes roam over my body as if they have permission. “You look beautiful, Bridget.”
I smile but don’t respond to his compliment. If I were to speak, I couldn’t hide how broken I am.
“I miss you,” he adds, the words somehow like a knife. My temporary home. It’s not fair that he says that after we threw away the key.
Silence descends upon us.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” His eyes are dull as if he’s been through a war. I image mine are much the same. His jaw is set hard, holding back words I know he wants to say but doesn’t dare.
We still can’t be together, so what’s the point in punishing ourselves with pleasantries? There’s nothing good that can come of this. Only more heartbreak.
He finally speaks. “Who is he?”
“Excuse me?”
“Him,” he hisses, glaring at someone behind me.
I follow his line of sight until my eyes rest on Ryan. I shake my head and the green of his eyes pierces me. His stare is so hard it shakes me to the core of my being. If it were possible, the heat of his gaze would singe my skin. “He’s no one, Grant.”
“Then why are you here with him?”
I’ve wounded him by showing up with someone else, but what did he expect? The last time we attended one of these events, his wife was on his arm. I wouldn’t put myself through that again. No way in hell.
“What does it matter?”
“You shouldn’t be with him.” His gaze drops to my lips, and it’s like a gentle caress across my skin. Ripples of sensation move through me. Down my mouth and across my collarbone until I shiver. “He’ll never make you feel the way I do.”
“That’s not fair,” I rasp. “Why are you doing this to me? It’s your life that’s keeping us apart. Stop torturing me, Grant.”
His eyes close as if he’s in pain.
“You’re right.”
He starts to walk past me but stops at my side, leaning into my ear. “Just know that my feelings for you haven’t changed. They never will.”
Every hair on my body stands on end. Every nerve ending wakens. He doesn’t say anything else, simply walking away before anyone spots him. I stand alone in a room full of people, growing colder with every step he takes. I watch him for several minutes from across the room.
It’s not long before Chelsea slithers over and drapes herself across his arm. Photographers approach them and snap several photos. From here, they really do play the part well. The L’s power couple cozies up for the cameras. I can see the headlines now. My hands clench into fists.
Watching her. Watching them. It kills me to see her touch him, even if I know it’s all a lie. She makes a laughingstock of him and there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing he can do.
Some time passes and I’m growing tired of being here. Ryan is off in the bathroom and I decide to grab a breath of fresh air. I need to breathe. Watching Grant with his wife is too much, no matter how fake it is. I’m stepping toward the back hallway that leads to the bathroom and feel a presence behind me.
“Do you want me as much as I want you?” his husky voice asks.
“Not really,” I say. “I want you more.” I turn around and we lock eyes. This one look . . . He has the power to completely undo me. I won’t allow that to happen.
“I asked you earlier not to do this. Not to play games with me, Grant.”
“I’m not trying to play games. This is fucking killing me, Bridget. I need you.”
His words light me on fire, sending heat spilling to every part of my being. I want to hold onto his words desperately, but in this moment, doubt also creeps in.
Jealousy. It creeps up inside me like a vine, feeding on my insecurities. Playing off my fears. It’s hard not to allow it to take over. To not allow it to strangle me. All I can do is tell myself I will not be that person. I will not let it win. He’s not mine to care about. Stop doing this to myself.
“Seeing you with her is killing me.”
He runs his hand through his locks as he stands in front of me. Tall and powerful, his frame towers above me as I move to pass. But he blocks me. Doesn’t allow me to move.
“It’s not real.”
“It doesn’t hurt any less.”
His hand reaches out, the pads of his fingers skimming over my skin. Across my jaw. Running down the hollow of my neck and across my collarbone.
Tracing.
Teasing.
Like a desperate whisper against my heated flesh.
He moves further, caressing the swell of my breast. The curve of my hip.
Lower.
Lower.
Until he’s inches away from touching me.
“She means nothing to me,” he states. “All I see is you, Bridget. All I want is you.”
“Please don’t.” I squirm under his touch, desperate for more. Aching for it.
“I want you. That hasn’t changed.”
“Yet it still can’t happen. So why do this?”
“I can’t help it. This is my fucking life and I want you,” he snarls. “I want to keep you here with me until I’ve had my fill. I want you begging and pleading, and then I want to give you exactly what you want. Only then will I be satisfied, and maybe I can finally kick this damn obsession I have with you.” He says this almost desperately. My chest heaves at his words. “But I can’t,” he finishes in defeat.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” My voice cracks with emotion and I think he might touch me, breach me. But he pulls away, taking my hand in his instead. Holding it steady. As if it’s the last time he ever will.
“Because I’m a selfish prick. Because I can’t stand the thought of you moving on. Because I’m so fucking lost without you, and the only thing I want to find is a way back to you. Because our kismet meant something. Because we mean something.”
“You’re lost, but I am gone. That’s the difference between us. I’m done, Grant. Done trying. I might never feel the way I do toward you ever again, and it’s breaking me,” I say on a sob.
His hand shoots out to wipe away a stray tear that is freefalling from my cheek. “I’m not your perfect love story. There’s no fairy tale with me. No happy ending will happen for us, Bridget. You have to come to terms with that. So do I.”
His stony eyes have me backing away. “Then stay away from me,” I whisper, allowing one final tear to fall.
With those final words, I leave.