“Hello.” He stared at me hard, his face devoid of expression.

Daisy disappeared deeper in the truck, leaving us alone. Well, other than the dozens of people standing behind him in line.

“Hi,” I said through a gulp.

He leaned his elbows on the order window and looked straight into my eyes with an intimacy you couldn’t fake. I felt so exposed, it was almost like he ripped off my top and bra and left me naked in front of the throng.

“One blueberry pancake, please.” His tone was neutral. Even.

What game was he playing now? I had no idea.

Averting my gaze, I punched the order in the cash register. I was disappointed. Confused, too. “Whipped cream?”

He slowly shook his head no. His gaze clung to my face, searching yet wary, like I was a rare mystical griffin, winged and ready to strike.

“One sugary crap coming up,” I said.

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile, but he didn’t let it loose. He just kept following my every move. Why didn’t he laugh? He loved it when I taunted him, thrived on my comebacks. It was what made him notice me in the first place. Up until I’d answered back, I was nothing than a piece of furniture.

Lucy handed me a plate. She looked just as puzzled as I was. Why was he acting like we were total strangers? I wanted to strangle and kiss the hell out of him and jump into his arms and kill him all at the same time. His influence on me was dangerous still. My feelings toward him still crisp and fresh as a spring morning.

“Here you go.” I lifted my gaze to meet his.

He dug his hand into his pocket and slammed the exact amount of the price on the counter. Did he know how much it would cost? Did he plan this? And he came all the way here…why? To show me that he didn’t give a damn anymore? That was a low blow, even for him.

“Keep the money. Buy yourself something pretty,” I told him, my face as stoic as it could be under the circumstances.

He didn’t laugh at my joke, or budge. The line snaking behind him was growing thicker, more impatient, people craning their necks to see what was taking so long. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to send him away, not brave enough to tell him to stay.

He was still staring. Why was he staring?

“Hey, man, are you done? My lunch break’s almost over.” A guy standing in line nudged him lightly from behind.

We paid no attention. “Do you know how Sam’s doing?” I asked quietly. My chin was glued to my chest, my eyes trained on the floor of the truck. I’d thought about Sam many times over the past few months. Knew his mom wasn’t exactly the most devoted in the world. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.

“He’s great. Living with Maria and Cat. Cat’s in therapy. She is getting better at the whole parenting thing.” He delivered the news flatly, no trace of emotion in his voice.

“Hey! You! Ask for her number and get it over with!” someone yelled from the end of the line.

“So you kept in touch with her.” I inhaled. That stung.

But he just smiled at me easily, taking his paper plate. “Good to see you, Red.” He winked before stepping out of the line.

My eyes drank him in as he strode to a nearby trash barrel, tossed his pancake inside and kept going. I spotted his Maserati—as always double-parked—and watched him disappear behind the wheel.

That was the second time my fake husband, who forced me to marry him, walked out on me. It was also the second time he took my heart with him.

But it was the first time I realized that I would never have it back.

He owned it, clutched it in his iron fist.

And sometimes, I knew, he squeezed too hard.

One hour later, we packed our stuff and closed for the day. Despite Lucy and Daisy doing their best to keep my mind off him, trying to persuade me to grab a few beers down at our local bar, I rushed home. I wasn’t in the mood for anything other than running. Funnily enough, the Brock encounter didn’t deter me from my favorite sport. I still jogged, but now, I only took the main streets, and went out in the evenings, when the city was buzzing with people. With life.

When I walked into our apartment that evening, I leaned my back against the door and squeezed my eyes shut. I never thought I’d fall in love with someone like Troy Brennan. As it turned out, love didn’t give a damn about personal preferences.

Yanking my cell phone from my back pocket and throwing it across the sofa, I noticed a green text message flashing on the screen. It was sent at around noon. I had to rub my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating when I saw the contact name the text was under. A lump of excitement forming in my stomach, I opened the text with shaky hands.

Troy: I wanted to do the right thing. I really f*cking did. But then it dawned on me that in order to do a good thing, you have to be a good person. I’m not good, and we both know that. I watched you over the past few months. Trying to tell myself that I was only looking out for you, making sure you’re okay. Bullshit. I knew you’d be okay the moment Brock was out of the picture. I watched you because I wanted you for myself, because you belong with me.

My heart beat faster, harder, wilder and I slouched on a chair, trying to remember how to breathe. There was a second message from him. I opened it right away.

Troy: I changed my mind. You’re not free. Not if you’re flying away with nowhere to go, and for all the wrong reasons. What do you really want? Don’t answer that. I’m about to find out. I’m waiting in line to see how you react when you see me again. Because Red, if you were so hot on getting rid of my ass, you wouldn’t be postponing the divorce, knowing how much money’s waiting for you. You wouldn’t have kept my secrets to yourself. So what’s it going to be? Am I going to see fear and loathing behind those greens, or want and need? Are you going to level with me? Fight back? Throw me away? It’s about to go down in 3…2…1…