Rowan

2 Weeks Ago …

“Smile through it, darling.” My mother’s signature adage echoes in my mind as I bite my lip to keep from crying. The polished marble floor of Hunter’s master bath chills the bottoms of my feet. He’s pounding on the other side of the door, and I want to be anywhere but here.

“Rowan, you okay?” His voice is muffled and distant, and yet it’s right there. “Talk to me. Unlock the door.”

He doesn’t care if I’m okay, he only wants to ensure I’m not a liability.

“Yes,” I call out, squeezing my eyes until the burn subsides. I slip into clean clothes and gather my things in a hurry, shoving my toothbrush, mascara, and lip balm into my overnight bag before scanning the room one last time. Anything left behind will be thrown away, I’m sure. Hunter twists the doorknob, and I’m beginning to wonder who broke up with whom. “Be out in a minute.”

Ten hours ago, it was just another Friday night bent over his bed, my wrists secured with his Givenchy necktie as he helped himself to my body.

Hunter stole his pleasure from me as if I belonged to him.

And I did belong to him.

I loved him.

Still do.

This morning over coffee, he told me I looked sexy in his unbuttoned dress shirt, blonde waves tousled in my face. I smiled, lips swollen from his kisses and his taste lingering on my tongue.

And then he told me we were over.

Just like that.

Like we were discussing the weather.

His first-ever senate campaign kicks off soon in the next state over, and he “can’t have any casual relationships sullying his whistle-clean reputation,” and even if he could, he “wouldn’t have the time to devote to one.”

In other words, I mean nothing to him.

I’m not worth fighting for.

He’s done with me.

I experience his words from this morning once more, letting them sink into the deepest parts of me all over again, and pressure builds in my chest.

This was all so abrupt; a zero to sixty ending for a zero to sixty beginning.

“You knew this would come to an end at some point, right?” he’d said, lifting a coffee mug to his full mouth. His sandy hair was neatly combed and parted on one side, and his Dior suit jacket rested on the back of his chair, neatly folded in half. He was going somewhere; somewhere I wasn’t invited because our relationship has always been below the radar for a myriad of reasons; all of which I assumed were temporary. “What we had was fun, Rowan, but now it’s time to work. Fun’s over. You understand, don’t you?”

The jostling handle quiets, replaced with heavy breathing on the other side. There’s a soft thump, as if he’s slumped against the outside of the door, then a moment later, the floor creaks.

“Your cab’s downstairs.” His voice is low, ice cold. “Meter’s running.”

I give myself another minute to gather my composure, take a deep breath, and sling my bag over my shoulder. Twisting the knob until the lock pops, I brace myself for what lies on the other side.

Only it isn’t Hunter.

He’s gone.

His bed is made, his room cold. All traces of us have been removed, including the vase of red roses he’d given me three days ago.

Three days ago, I still meant something to him.

It doesn’t make sense.

When I reach the main level of his townhome, he isn’t there either. A taped note on the front door bears my hastily scribbled name across the front in bold, black ink.

Rowan,

Forgive me for leaving. You must think I’m a terrible person, but the truth is I’m simply terrible at goodbyes.

Eighty-four weekends ago we were two strangers in a bar, trying to escape our fates like we had any say in the matter. What you saw in me, I’ll never understand. But I’ll tell you now like I told you then, you deserve more than what I can give you.

Someday you’re going to find a man who will make you forget I existed. And I’ll see you with him. And I’ll miss what we had. And it will hurt because we’ll be strangers all over again. But then I’ll smile because you’re happy, just like I knew you would be. And I’ll know that everything worked out for the greater good.

I wish I could give you more of me. I’m sorry.

Hunter

It’s bullshit.

All of it.

I crumple the letter and toss it on his foyer floor. Politicians and heartfelt apologies are a glaring contradiction.

But I can’t blame him for everything.

Hunter Harrison was raging waters, and I dove in head first, knowing full well I couldn’t swim. I’ll let myself gasp for air. I’ll let myself feel the water in my lungs and the threat of looming darkness. Then I’ll thrash my way to the surface, choking and desperate to breathe, and I’ll be better for it. I’ll never let another man hurt me the way he did ever again. It’s going to take time, but I can do this.

I can seal my heart until it’s airtight.

But for now, I only need to forget.

I need to forget the burn of his lips on my skin, the pull of my hair in his fist, and the countless breathless sighs when he almost told me he loved me, and all those moments I silently whispered it back, like a fool.