I catch the sob in my throat as I have trouble pulling my clothes on. My hands are trembling so badly I can barely slip my clothes to their proper position. I steal a glance in the mirror and it stops me in my tracks. Pure and utter heartbreak is reflected looking back at me. I force my eyes to look away and grab my suitcase as I hear Colton drop something in the shower.

I wipe the tears that start to fall in their familiar tracks down my cheeks. “Bye, Ace. I love you,” I whisper the words to him that I can’t say to his face. That he’ll never accept. “I think I’ve always I loved you. And I know I always will.” I open the door as quietly as possible and slip out of the hotel room, luggage in hand. It takes me a moment to physically release the door handle because I know once I lose the connection, it’s over. And as sure as I am about this decision, I’m still shattering into a million pieces.

I take a deep breath and let go, grab my luggage, and start to make my way toward the bank of elevators, tears flowing freely.



The descent of the elevator feels like it takes forever as my tired eyes and heavy heart force my feet to stand, urge my lungs to breath. Try to figure a reason to move. I knew that getting over Colton would be hard—absolutely devastating—but I never in a million years imagined that the first step would be the hardest.

The doors ping and open. I know I need to hurry. Need to disappear because Colton will try and track me down and drag this out.

Then again, maybe he won’t. Maybe he got his quick fuck and he’ll let me go. It’s not like he’s easy to figure out, and to be honest, I’m so tired of trying. Thinking one thing and him doing another. If I’ve learned one thing being with Colton, it’s that I know nothing.

I rub my face, trying to blot the tears from my cheeks but know that nothing is going to lessen my damaged appearance. And frankly, I don’t have enough left in me to care what people think.

I know I’ve been here for a couple of days, but my mind is in such a haze that it takes me a second to figure out which way I need to go to find the main entrance in order to catch a cab. I have to walk out through a garden and then into the main lobby. I see it and start shuffling toward it, all of my luggage overflowing and awkward. I’m in a state of numbness, telling myself that I’m doing the right thing—that I’ve made the right decision—but the look in Colton’s face as he buried himself in me—raw, open, unguarded—haunts me. We can’t give each other what we need, and when we do we only end up hurting each other. One foot in front of the other, Thomas. That’s what I keep telling myself. As long as I keep moving—keep my mind from wandering—I can keep the questioning panic that is just beneath the surface from bubbling up.

I make it about twenty feet into the garden, empty at this time of the night, and I’m struggling desperately to keep moving.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

The deep timbre of his voice causes the words to slice through the still night air. My feet stop. My head says go, but my feet stop. His words shock me, and yet I’m so numb from everything—from needing to feel and then not wanting to feel then to emotional overload—that I don’t react. He didn’t sleep with Tawny? Then why did he say that he did? Why did he cause all of this heartache if nothing happened? In the back of my mind I hear Haddie telling me that I’m so stubborn I didn’t allow him to speak—didn’t allow him to explain—but I’m so busy trying to remind myself to breathe that I can’t focus on that. My heart thunders in my chest, and I find myself completely at a loss for what to do. I know his words should relieve me, but they still don’t fix us. Everything that seemed so clear—conflicted yet clear—no longer is. I need to walk away, but I need to stay.

I want and I hate and more than anything, I feel.

“I didn’t sleep with Tawny, Rylee. Not her or any of the others you accused me of,” he repeats. His words hit me harder this time. Hit me with a feeling of hope tinged with sadness. We did this to each other—tore each other apart verbally and played stupid games to hurt one another—and for no reason? A tear escapes and slides down my face. “When I heard the knock at the door, I grabbed an old pair of jeans. Haven’t worn them in months.”

“Turn around, Ry,” he says, and I can’t bring myself to do so. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, emotions running rampant and confusion in a constant state of metamorphosis. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he says, his implacable voice closer than before, “…but have no doubt, it will be my way. You are not running this time, Rylee. Turn around.”

My heart stops and my mind races as I slowly turn to face him. And when I do, I can’t help the breath that catches is my throat. We’re standing is this garden full of exotic plants with exploding colors but by far the most exquisite thing in my line of sight is the man standing before me.

Colton stands in a pair of blue jeans and nothing else. Bare feet, bare chest heaving with exertion, and hair dripping with water that runs in rivulets down his chest. He looks as if he literally stepped out of the shower, noticed I was gone, and chased me. He takes a step toward me, his throat working a nervous swallow, and his face a mask of conviction. He is utterly magnificent—breathtakingly so—but it’s his eyes that capture me and don’t let go. Those beautiful pools of green just hold mine—imploring, apologizing, pleading—and I’m frozen in the moment.

“I just need time to think, Colton,” I offer as a justification of my actions.

“What is there to think about?” He blows out a loud breath, a harsh curse following right after. “I thought we were…”

I stare at the paint on my toenails; flashbacks flit through my mind of them on his chest not too long ago. “I just need to think about us…this…everything,”

He steps closer to me. “Look at me,” he commands softly, and I owe him this much regardless of how much I fear seeing the look in his eyes. When I raise my eyes to meet his, searching mine in the full moonlight, I see worry, disbelief, fear, and so much more in the depths of his eyes and as much as I want to look away—to hide from the damage that I’m about to cause—I can’t. He deserves better than that from me. His voice is so soft when he speaks that I barely hear him. “Why?” It’s a single word, but there is so much emotion packed behind it that it takes a minute for me to find the words to respond.