CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ENCORE
Three Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
The shower water runs cold, and I realize I’ve been pressing my forehead to the tiles for a really long time. I get out, wrap myself in my robe, and crawl into bed.
I’ve barely left it for the past three days. Barely eaten.
Ruby is spending the week in Hawaii with her rich Australian boyfriend, so I don’t even have her to kick my ass. I haven’t told her about Ethan. I can’t.
She warned me this would happen. I should have listened.
My phone rings, and I check caller ID before ignoring it.
It’s him.
Again.
He’s called dozens of times, but I never answer. I don’t know what he thinks I possibly have to say. It’s not like I could change his mind. I don’t even think I want to anymore.
Fuck him.
Fuck him and all the ways I still love him.
When it stops ringing, I call the local pizza place and order a large pie with everything. I figure if I’m going to spend the evening wallowing, I need the appropriate supplies.
Half an hour later, there’s a knock on the door, and my stomach rumbles. God bless thirty minutes or less.
I stop dead when I open the door to find Ethan standing there with my pizza. Every hair on my body stand on end at the sight of him. I want to be hard and unaffected that he’s here, but I’m not. My heart races as my numbness begins to fade.
He holds out the box. “I … paid the guy for you.”
I snatch it from him with trembling hands.
“Oh, you paid for my pizza? Well, that makes up for you being the world’s biggest bastard. Thanks.”
I shove the door, but he stops it with his hand. “Cassie, please—”
“Let go.” He has to leave. Now. Before I fall apart.
He steps forward so his body is blocking the door. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I came to say good-bye.”
Just the word is enough to bring me to the edge of tears.
Good-bye.
Not “See you later,” or “See you tomorrow,” or even “I’ll call you.”
Good-bye.
I turn away and fight for air as I take the pizza to the table. I don’t invite him in, but he comes anyway. When the door clicks shut behind him, I clench my jaw so hard, my teeth grind.
I don’t turn around. If he has something to say, he can say it to my back. My face will give everything away.
“I know you don’t want to see me, and I know I’ve hurt you, it’s just that … fuck, Cassie, I never wanted it to end like this. Ever. But there’s only so much you can watch someone sacrifice before you realize they’re changing who they are for you, and not in a good way. You were perfect how you were. I’m hoping that when I’m gone, you can go back to that.”
I can’t respond. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand that by trying to make me better, he’s only making me worse.
I drag in a breath and hate that it contains a sob.
“Cassie…”
Then, he’s wrapping his arms around me. I don’t mean to turn in to his chest, but I do, and then I’m not numb at all. I’m a heaving mess of pain and regret, and although I can’t really comprehend that this is the end for us, my heart is telling me it is.
“Cassie … God, please don’t cry. Please…”
He cups my face and dries my tears. His lips are on my forehead, and my cheek, and it makes me furious that despite everything, he still feels so good.
“Cassie…” He kisses me softly on the lips. Once. Twice. I grip his shirt. Press against the skin beneath. He kisses me a third time, and I don’t let him retreat. I kiss him violently. Give him some of my bitterness. He tightens his arms around me and doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t know what’s going on.
He does.
We both do.
As we get rougher and more desperate, we both know this is the only good-bye we’ll have. Words are no good to us. They never were. They’re useful at communicating everything that’s wrong with us, but this is the only way to express why we’re so right.
It’s not going to make him stay, and it’s not going to make it hurt less. It’s just going to give us both one last glimpse of what might have been if our story was a romance instead of a tragedy.
We tug and pull at each other as we stumble down the hallway and into my bedroom. Half his clothes are already off. The rest don’t last long. My robe hits the floor. He’s not gentle when he lays me down and buries his head between my thighs. There’s a desperation in him that I haven’t seen since the night before he broke up with me the first time, and I know it’s because he already has one foot out the door.
I close my eyes and grip the bed, trying to keep my emotions from ruining me. I’m successful for a while. He makes me come, and I’m fine. He kisses up my body, and I’m okay. He settles between my legs, and I’m wavering. He looks into my eyes as he enters me, and a giant fault line cracks down the middle of my resolve. He slows everything down so much, it seems like he doesn’t want it to end, and I’m cleaved in two. One part is vibrant and pulsing with pleasure. The other is withering and dying. The trusting part. The loving part.
He thinks I can go back to being the person I was after this? It’s impossible. The damage is done. He’s poisoned the woman I used to be. Long after he’s gone, I’ll still be toxic.
I don’t orgasm again. My body is too busy mourning his loss even while he’s still inside me.
When he comes, his face is buried in my neck, and even though I’ve banned myself from crying, it happens anyway. My tears are silent, but I know he can tell. Just like I can tell why he stays so still afterward. Why his arms are so tight around me, his breathing so uneven.
Why he wipes his face on my pillow before he climbs off.
He rolls onto his back. Throws his arm over his eyes. I don’t move. I can’t.
If I do, I’ll shatter like glass.
“Cassie—”
“Nothing you say is going to make you leaving me okay. Nothing. Ever.”
He takes in a shaky breath. “If there was another way—”
I turn my back on him and face the wall. It’s too hard having him here now. It just makes me want to beg him to stay, and that’s something my pride won’t allow.
“You need to leave.”
He doesn’t move.
“Now, Ethan.” I try to sound strong, but my voice cracks. It’s no wonder. Right now, all I am is a giant collection of broken pieces being held together by the sheer determination to not let him see me crumble.
The bed moves as he stands, and I just stare at the wall while he collects his clothes and gets dressed. I don’t know how I thought we’d end, but it certainly wasn’t like this.
I think in my most stupid, optimistic daydreams, we didn’t ever end.
What a joke.
I can feel him hovering in the doorway. Watching me. Hoping I’m all right.
I’m not. Right now, I can’t even comprehend a time when I will be.
“Cassie—”
“Get out.”
“Maybe one day … we can—”
“Get the fuck out!”
My throat tightens when I hear his sigh of resignation. It closes up completely when he whispers, “I’m going to miss you,” before he leaves.
When I hear the front door close, a sob rips out of me. It’s followed by another, and another, until I’m drowning and gasping for air.
Eventually I calm down enough to breathe, and head into the shower. I wash away every remnant of him. As I do, I vow that I’ll never let another man affect me this way.
Never again.
I also vow that for the rest of my life, I will never hate anyone as much as I hate Ethan Holt.
Present Day
New York City, New York
The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor
Ethan is due to leave tomorrow, and “restless” doesn’t even cover how I’m feeling tonight. “Climbing the walls” is closer but still not frantic enough. I feel unhinged.
All I’ve done since Ethan walked me home is check my watch and count down to the time until his flight leaves. It’s now ten hours and forty-two minutes. I look at my bed and consider trying to sleep, but even though it’s two o’clock in the morning, I know it won’t be possible.
Tristan’s resonant snoring echoes down the hallway, and it’s enough to make me want to scream. I have to get out.
I pull off my robe and get dressed. When I head down to the lobby, I tell myself I’m going for a walk. Just a walk. When I reach the street and hail the first cab that passes, I tell myself I’m just going for a ride. And when I pull up in front of Ethan’s apartment building, I tell myself I’m a filthy, dirty liar for not admitting where I was going and what I was planning on doing.
More specifically, who I was planning on doing.
I punch in his security code and open the door. His building is quiet. When the elevator opens on his floor, I almost lose my nerve and leave. He’s probably sleeping. He’s definitely trying to avoid what I’m going to ask him to do. This is such a bad idea on so many levels, and yet, right now, it seems like the most imperative action I’ve ever taken.
I stride down the hallway and knock on his door. I expect to have to wait minutes before he opens it, bleary eyed and half asleep. Instead, it opens within seconds, and he looks even more wired than I feel.
“Fuck, no,” he says, and for a second I think he’s going to shut the door in my face. “What the hell, Cassie?”
“What?”
“You’re here.”
“I know.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “You’re supposed to be at your place. Far away from me and sleeping. Preferably in an ugly flannel nightie.”
“Ethan—”
“Do you understand how hard I’ve fought to stay away from you tonight? I’ve been pacing around my living room for hours, trying to resist temptation. And now you show up here, looking like that?”
“Like what?”
He waves his hand at me. “Edible. Horny as hell. Fucking beautiful. Choose one.”
I take a step forward, but he holds his hand out to stop me. “No way. If you step into this apartment, all that talk tonight about us waiting, and your therapy, and blah, blah, blah, ‘We shouldn’t have sex’ will be out the window. You need to leave.”
I stop just as my toes touch the threshold. When I’d fantasized about telling him I was ready to be intimate, I’d anticipated him being a little more enthusiastic. I mean, I know he’s trying to do what’s best for me, but that was always the problem. He sucks at knowing what was best for me.
I take a tiny step. “Ethan, listen—”
He backs up. “Don’t do it. I really won’t be held accountable for my actions. It’s been three years, Cassie. Three fucking years. The things I would do to you…” He shakes his head. “You don’t even understand.”
“What if I do understand? What if I have things I want to do to you as well?”
He closes his eyes and drops his head back against the wall. “Jesus, seriously, with that comment?”
I step through the door and close it behind me.
He opens his eyes. “Cassie, we’ll undo everything.”
“I don’t care.” I put my hands on his chest. “I need this. And as you keep saying, so do you.”
“I don’t want to screw this up.”
I stroke his face. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You find the intimacy too confronting and panic. Shut me out. Shut our relationship down.”
I roll my eyes. “Who would do something like that?”
“I’m serious.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Do you forget that I’ve been exactly where you are right now? It might.”
“Ethan, I love you, but you really need to stop thinking so much.”
He freezes. Eyes wide. “What did you just say?”
I take a step back. “Uh … what I meant was—”
“You said you loved me.” His panic seems to have vanished.
“Yeah, I did, but—”
“You didn’t mean it?” He moves closer so he can stroke my cheek. “If you didn’t, it’s okay. Or if you did, and you’re not ready to admit it, that’s okay, too. Just … tell me.”
A strange sense of calm comes over me, and I remember something he said a couple of months ago: whether or not he loved me wasn’t dependent on a word. It was just fact, pure and simple. Even if I don’t say it, it’s true, so why bother denying it anymore?
“I meant it,” I say quietly. I expect to be hit by an anxiety attack, but instead all I feel is relief. Intense, long-overdue relief.
His smile is blinding. “Yeah?”
I take a deep breath and smile back. “Definitely.”
He stares at me with so much joy, I want to kiss him all over. Instead I pull his head down and settle for his lips.
The initial shock freezes us both in our tracks. This isn’t a stage kiss. No choreographed emotions filtered through our characters. This is us. The way we should be. The way I never thought we could be again.
We draw back, just a little, and stare at each other. We’re actually going to do this. After all this time.
I feel like I should be more nervous, but then I realize all of our moments have been leading us here. Even the painful ones.
I look for hesitation in him. Self-protection or second-guessing. Instead, I see concern for me and overwhelming love.
It’s more than enough.
It’s everything.
He cups my face. Kisses me harder. There’s a thrill of familiarity about what we’re doing but with a completely new edge.
The lust is still there, as knee-buckling as ever, but there’s something deeper. It winds through my body and anchors me to him. In the past, this soul-deep connection came and went in fleeting, infrequent moments, but now, it’s where Ethan lives.
I’m still terrified, but I want to live there with him.
Make him the first and last man I’ll ever have.
We keep kissing as we stumble down the hallway into the living room. I tug at his shirt, but he pulls back and tries to catch his breath. “We don’t have to go so fast.”
“You haven’t had sex in three years, and you want to slow down?”
“The last time I had sex, it was with you. I’ve waited a long time for this. I want to savor it.”
“You’re getting on a plane in”—I look at my watch—“nine hours and thirty-eight minutes. Are we really wasting time discussing this? when we could be getting naked?”
“You make a compelling case.”
He pulls off his shirt and kisses me again. God, I’ve missed kissing him, which is crazy because we kiss every day onstage.
But not like this.
Never like this.
If he kissed me like this during the show, the sex scene wouldn’t be simulated.
It proves just how much he’s been holding back to avoid scaring me.
He presses me against the wall and reacquaints himself with my breasts. I grip his shoulders to keep myself upright. Shimmering heat whispers under my skin. It curls and releases in my stomach, making my heart hammer and my blood sing. Everywhere Ethan touches me burns a little brighter than the rest.
Every other man who’s ever touched me fades from my memory. It’s always been him. Even when I wanted to forget, my body remembered.
He pulls off my T-shirt, and when his mouth connects with my chest, I anchor my hands in his hair and pull him forward. Urge him to take more.
All of me. Everything I am is for him.
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Then he’s moving. Pressing and grinding, and unashamed of how hard he is.
We get more frantic. Desperate and impatient, we communicate with low sounds and needy hands.
He pulls me away from the wall and carries me down the hallway. When we reach his bed, he’s barely laid me down before he’s tugging at the rest of my clothes.
I kick off my shoes, and he attacks my jeans. His concentrated frown as he works them down my legs is all kinds of sexy. When I’m only in my underwear, he pauses and stares.
“Goddamn.” He shakes his head. “No matter how much I fantasize, the real you still takes my breath away. It always did.”
I sit up and remove my bra. He swallows hard.
“Shall I remove these?” I ask as I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want to?”
His expression turns predatory. “Oh, I want to. I very much want to.”
He grabs my ankles and drags me to the edge of the bed. Then he pulls my legs up onto his torso.
“This fantasy was one of my favorites,” he says, as he slides off my panties and kneels in front of me. “You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this.”
He starts at my ankle. Soft kisses and slow torture as he works his way up. Every piece of skin he isn’t touching is jealous and desolate. Everything else sparks and fires through my veins. Powering a deep, spinning ache.
He takes his time, and all I can do is close my eyes and grip the sheets. He knows what he’s doing. Self-assured. When he closes his mouth over me, I arch so hard I’m barely touching the bed.
I talk to God. A lot. I tell him Ethan’s name. A lot. Everything spins and flutters, and I alternate their names in tight whispers.
“God … Ethan…”
I struggle for coherence. I don’t remember him ever being this good. I mean, he was always amazing, but this? It’s beyond words. For a man who hasn’t done it in a long time, his skill level is … oh, God …
I can’t even think anymore.
His hands never stop moving, and every touch winds me tighter. I’m floating so high, I feel like I’m four feet above the mattress. He keeps me there, hovering on the edge of sensation and satisfaction. Then, with a flick of his tongue and a curl of his fingers, I’m crashing back down, dizzy and breathless.
I can’t move. My brain has checked out. Breathing is an alien concept.
He kisses back up my body. I summon enough strength to wind my fingers through his hair, and he hums against my skin. His voice does things to me even his hands can’t.
“I’ve missed seeing that,” he says. “You look incredible when you come.”
While keeping my eyes closed, I stroke his arms as he continues trailing kisses all over. The feel of his muscles helps pull me out of my daze. Makes me hungry for more.
It’s my turn, so I push him onto his back. I can deliver just as much sweet torture as he can. I start on his neck. He responds with noises that border on animalistic.
I kiss him everywhere. Touch him like it’s the first time, all over again. In a way, it is. Every incarnation of him has owned me, but this one actually deserves to.
When I get to the waistband of his jeans, I lick and nibble his hips. He sounds like he’s in pain. Judging by the tightness in his crotch, I’m sure he is.
I unbutton his jeans. He’s mumbling things I can’t understand as I pull them off and start on his legs. He swears under his breath and buries his hands in his hair. I revel in my power over him.
He’s barely holding himself together. I don’t blame him. If I hadn’t had sex for years, it would only take a single touch to completely unravel me. His control is remarkable.
The dark fabric of his boxer-briefs clings to every inch of him. I run a single finger down the swollen length. He squeezes his eyes shut and pushes out a long breath. I do it again, and he slaps the bed before gripping the covers.
I move down to stroke his thigh. “Do you want me to stop?”
He keeps his eyes closed but grabs my hand so he can pull me up to his face. “Just let me do this for a while.” He kisses me and turns us so we’re both on our sides. Then he pulls my leg up to his hip and presses his erection against me, trying to acclimate himself to being with me again.
We kiss and grind, and it all feels so good. His hands move over me like we’ve never been apart. The rhythm of him is intoxicating.
“Is it okay if I touch you now?” I ask.
He nods. “I was about to start begging.”
“Did you fantasize about me touching you while we were apart?”
“Every single day. Sometimes, multiple times a day. Fantasy You was a total nympho.”
I move my hand between us and palm him. He moans, and I smile. “So, kinda close to Reality Me, then?”
He flops onto his back. “Yep. Pretty much. Dear God.”
I kiss down his neck. Graze my teeth across his stubble and taste his skin. Kiss his Adam’s apple as he makes a long, low noise. The buzz on my lips tickles. All the while I stroke him through taut fabric. Run my hands over trembling muscles.
He pants and alternates between watching my slow trek down his torso and pushing his head back into the bed and cursing.
When I reach his belly button, he stops breathing.
“You okay?”
“Yep,” he says, his voice tight. “More than okay. Just … trying not to embarrass myself.”
“Not possible.”
I pull down his underwear, and he lifts his hips to help me get them off.
And then, there he is.
He watches me stare. He’s so familiar, but it’s like I remember him from a dream. I trace the shape of him. Wrap my fingers around the perfect thickness.
He always was perfect. In the past, I thought my inexperience had informed my opinion, but now I’ve had other men, and none of them compare.
I was naive to think they would.
I lean down and brush my lips over the silky skin. He groans, and I know he won’t be able to endure much of this. Already, his abdominals are trembling.
I use my tongue, and he’s practically vibrating with restraint. When I take him in my mouth, I hardly have time to savor the sensation before he’s grunting and pulling me off.
“God … no. No, no, no, no.” He clenches his jaw and moans as he comes all over his stomach and chest. I watch in fascination. Was there always this much? Or is this what extreme sexual frustration looks like?
Good God.
When he finishes, he draws in sharp, shallow breaths and covers his face. “Fuck, Cassie. I’m so sorry.”
I pull his hands away and kiss him. “Don’t be. That was … impressive. Like a special effect. Can we do it again?”
He chuckles as I grab tissues from his nightstand. “You’re asking permission to make me come like that again? Hmmm, let me think.”
Even as I wipe him down, he reacts and swells proudly before my eyes. “Well, I was just being polite. Lord knows you get annoyed when I orgasm you against your will.”
“One time. And only then because I was embarrassed. The orgasm itself was still mind-blowing.”
“As mind-blowing as the one you just had?”
“No. I don’t think anything’s going to top that. Ever.”
I crawl up his body and kiss him. “I take that as a challenge.”
Now I see a little fear. “God, help me.”
We kiss and touch each other with more confidence, and even though we’ve already taken the edge off our lust, it flares again. It speeds our hands and roughens our touches. Our mouths are gentle, but everything else is heavy with need. Urging us to take the last step in cementing our reconnection.
This is the part that makes me nervous. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but if I’m going to freak-out, it will be when he’s inside me.
The pain of him making love to me before he leaves is singed into the parts of my memory that still ache to recall it.
Of course, he’s going to leave this time as well, but he intends to come back. Promises me he will. Caresses me in such a way that I believe if he doesn’t, he’ll suffocate. That I’m his oxygen.
I will away my anxiety and concentrate on him. It’s easy enough. He’s extremely talented at distracting me.
When he rolls on top of me and works magic with his fingers, my patience is at an all-time low. There’s a sharp ache that won’t be satisfied with fingers or empty climaxes. It demands him. All of him. I tell him as much, and he fumbles in his nightstand drawer for a condom. When he presses back onto his knees so he can roll it on, I kiss his chest. Stroke his shoulders. I can’t seem to stop touching him.
He groans his approval and pushes me onto my back, and when he lays his full weight down and kisses me, I reach between us and urge him inside.
He freezes when he realizes he’s there, and pleasure, wonder, and what looks a lot like gratitude light up his face.
He frames my face with his hands. “Are you sure about this? It’s not too late to stop.”
“Yes, it is,” I say as I stroke his back. “I need you.”
“Are you just saying that because I’m leaving?”
“No. I’m saying it because I’m tired of denying it.”
He kisses me gently and pushes in a little more. We both inhale.
“Cassie…”
“Oh, God…”
He drops his head to my shoulder, and we just breathe.
“I’d forgotten,” he whispers. “How could I forget this? Jesus.”
He rocks back and forth; tiny movements that bring him farther and farther inside. I close my eyes and grip his shoulders. He’s not the only one who’s forgotten. How did I used to fit all these emotions inside me? I feel like I’m about to explode.
His hips continue to withdraw and retreat, and each movement fills me a little more. I watch, fascinated, as his face morphs from disbelief, to awe, to determination, and finally to love. More than there’s ever been. How did I live for so long without him looking at me like that?
When his hips finally rest against mine, I wrap my legs around him and just hold him still. I can feel my panic simmering and growing, but I don’t want this to end, because then he’ll leave. He’ll leave, and I’ll be empty, and I can’t live like that anymore.
“Hey,” he says as he strokes my face. “It’s okay.”
“I know.”
“I love you. I don’t even have the words to tell you how much.”
I pull him down to kiss me. It helps ease my tension. When he moves his hips, that eases it even more.
He kisses me to distraction as he thrusts, long and slow. He’s in no rush for this to end, either. For the first time in years, I feel what it’s like to make love. Everything feels too intense, but he guides me through it. Soothes me with his hands and mouth. Inflames me with his steady, determined rhythm. All the while he whispers to me about regrets, apologies, love, future. Tells me how beautiful am. How long he’s waited for this. How he can’t wait to get back to me so he can do this, over and over again.
I don’t know how long we make love, but he has me on the edge so many times, I lose count. When I eventually climax, it’s like a full-body seizure that seems for go on forever. He talks to me through the whole thing. When he eventually comes with a long groan, he’s never looked more beautiful.
We stay wrapped around each other for a long time. Just breathing. More satisfied than either of us has been in years.
I guess I fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, the sun is blazing through the windows.
He’s leaning on his elbow, staring at me. It takes me a moment to understand where I am and why I’m with him. When I do, I can’t stop my smile.
“Hey.”
He kisses me. “Good morning.”
“What time is it?”
“Late. I have to go soon.”
“I’ll come to the airport with you.”
“No. Stay here.”
“But—”
“Cassie.” He strokes my face. “Please. I want the last image I have to be you naked in my bed, not tearing up in an airport. Stay here while I’m gone. Eat my food. Use my shower. Rub yourself all over my sheets. That would make me incredibly happy.”
I push him onto his back and snuggle against his chest. I just want to hold him. Have him for as long as I can.
We lie there and doze. Later, when he eases out from under me to go shower, I hug his pillow and breathe in his scent.
I keep my eyes closed when I hear him moving about. As if not being able to see him preparing to go means it’s not going to happen.
Except, it has to.
And it will.
Lips brush against my cheek, and I open my eyes.
He’s holding out a small velvet bag with a note. I frown.
“Open this after I’m gone,” he says, before placing it next to me on the bed.
“What is it?”
“A gift. I bought it when I was in Italy years ago, but I never had the guts to give it to you. I guess now I do.”
When he leans down to kiss me, I stop myself from dragging him back to bed and begging him to stay.
“I’ll see you next week,” he says as he strokes my face. “I love you.”
I take a deep breath. “I love you, too.”
He smiles. “I love that you love me. You have no idea.”
“I think I do. Remember when you sent me that e-mail with those thousand ‘I love yous’? Pretty sure I felt then how you’re feeling now.”
He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through my hair. “I love that, too.”
“You’re just full of love today, aren’t you?”
He leans down and grazes his lips across mine before whispering, “Understatement of the century.”
The door buzzer sounds, and he grunts before standing and adjusting himself.
“That’s my car. I have to go.” He kisses me again, long and lingering, before grabbing his bag. “I’ll call you when I get in.”
“Okay.”
He heads toward the door, but before he gets there, he stops and turns back to me. “Can you just pull that sheet down for a second?”
I smile and pull back the covers.
He groans and bites his lip. “Fuck me. Best brain-Polaroid ever.”
I laugh, and he heads toward the door. “Gotta go before I forget why I can’t bang you again.”
“Bang?” I say, mock-horrified. “What happened to ‘make love’? You’re so crass, Ethan Holt!”
“You love me crass!” he calls down the hallway. “And you love it when I bang you like a Japanese drum!”
And with that, the front door closes behind him.
I flop back against the pillow and sigh.
I miss him already.
I’m reflecting on how incredible he was last night, when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick it up and read the message.
<Miss me already, don’t u? The feeling is mutual & I’m still in the elevator. Don’t forget to open your present. I love you.>
I smile and open the velvet pouch. When I upend it, a heavy gold heart on a chain falls into my hand. It looks old. Antique. And, if I’m being honest, a little banged up.
I open the note.
Dear Cassie,
I’ve been wanting to give this to you for ages, and after the incredible gift you gave me last night, I figured the time felt right. I found it in a little antique shop in Milano while I was touring Europe. I don’t know why it caught my eye, but I had to buy it for you.
The thing is, it’s not perfect. It’s had a lot of owners, some of whom haven’t been kind to it, and it bears the damage to prove it. In a way, it represents me. Sadly, I guess it also represents you.
The thing that occurred to me is that despite all the damage, it’s still beautiful. In fact, I think it’s even more beautiful because it’s not perfect. It’s taken me a long time to understand that just because something isn’t pristine, it still has worth. You taught me that, even though I resisted believing it.
When I think about us, I often wonder what would have happened if I’d never met you. Would I have had the motivation to change? To address the crap from my past?
The truth is, it wasn’t just meeting you that made me realize I had to change. It was meeting you, then losing you. Twice. Being away from you made me face the ugly truth about myself, and after the accident, getting back to you was all the motivation I needed to tackle the issues that had handicapped me for years. You made me want to be better, and as much as I did it for myself, I also did it to be worthy of you.
So, I guess this is me, giving my heart to you. Cheesy, huh? Also, kind of redundant since you’ve owned it from the day we met.
It seems like we’ve taken such a roundabout way to get to where we were last night, and I know that’s my fault. But despite all the things I would have changed about our journey, I’d never want a different destination. It’s always been you. Beautiful, amazing, talented, loving you.
Thank you for giving me this final chance. I promise, you won’t regret it.
As I look at you now, I really have no idea how I ever walked away. Thank you for saving me. And for forgiving me.
On a related note: You’re outrageously beautiful when you sleep. Do you know that? I can’t stop looking at you.
Speaking of that, I took some photos of you with my phone. Sweet or creepy? I’m hoping you come down on the side of sweet. I just needed something to take with me. I already miss you.
Okay, I’d better wrap this up, because you’re going to wake up soon, and I want to be next to you when you do. In fact, I want to be there every morning when you wake up, but I guess that’s a longer discussion for another time.
I love you, Cassie. Always have. Always will. Keep my bed warm for me while I’m gone. I promise to help you make good use of it when I get back.
Ethan
I stare at his words. After I’ve reread them a dozen times, I slip the necklace over my head. The heart nestles right between my breasts. Nothing I’ve ever owned has looked so perfect.
I swore I wouldn’t cry when he left me this time, but he’s making that very difficult. At least now they’re happy tears.
I grab my phone and send him a message.
<Love the necklace. Wearing it now. Loved your letter more. Your words were beautiful. But most of all, I love you. Call me when you land.>
I pull the covers over me and inhale what’s left of his smell. If you’d told me three years ago that one day, I’d end up in Ethan Holt’s bed, texting him love notes, I probably would have punched you in the face.
Now, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
I remember the card Ethan gave me on opening night. It said, “People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there’s a light from within.”
He meant it to be about me, but I wonder if he knows how accurately it describes him.
This him.
I fall asleep to images of the two of us, smiling and surrounded by light.