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Chapter One
Avery
I twist the rings hanging from the chain around my neck while waiting for the waitress to finish topping up my coffee.
“There you go. Give me a shout if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” I tell her softly, tugging my hood a touch lower.
Her smile drops. Her frown showing her concern as her hand rests lightly on my wrist. “Is everything okay?”
This is the fourth time I’ve been here in the last month and she always asks me if I’m okay.
I swallow at the tone of her voice. It feels like it’s been forever and a day since someone gave a shit about me. I offer her a small smile and nod. “I’m good. Thank you, though.”
Knowing I’m not going to say anything else, she nods and makes her way back over to the counter. I turn to gaze out the window as the hazy early morning sun bathes everything in a warm glow. For a moment, I think about abandoning my coffee in favor of standing outside and letting the sun warm my face.
I could close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else—anywhere else—but here, drowning in the memories that haunt me. I twist the rings as my eyes slip closed, and for a brief moment, I let myself feel it all. Each kiss, each whispered, I love you, each lie that scorched itself into my skin.
With a shiver, I open my eyes and turn away from the orange hue coating the street. It would take more than that to thaw the ice running through my veins right now. I promised myself I would keep focused. There is no place for the past in my life anymore. I have to keep moving forward. I can’t change what’s happened, but there is still the possibility of changing what will come.
Today is the day. I’m not going to chicken out this time.
A flash of light as the sun reflects off metal has my head snapping around to see a car turning into the diner’s parking lot. Even if I hadn’t seen the reflection, I would have known they were here. I always had an innate way of tracking them. It’s as if a part of them still resides inside me. I dip my head but keep my eyes on the car, feeling my pulse quicken when it comes to a stop.
For a second, everything slows around me. My heart thunders in my chest, and my mouth fills with saliva as I decide whether I should throw up or pass out.
When the driver’s side door opens, and a tall, handsome man with sable brown shoulder-length hair steps out, I have to bite my lip to stop a whimper from escaping. The passenger door is next. I turn my gaze to the second man who gets out. His hair is shorter and darker than the driver’s. His frame is leaner, too, but no less strong. He says something before laughing, slamming the door closed as he flips the driver off. He turns to look at the window.
Before our eyes clash, I look down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of me and pretend I’m someone else. Just another girl killing time instead of a woman trying to piece together a heart that the two men outside broke. I don’t look up when I hear the bell above the door. Instead, I twirl the rings around my neck as if they alone have the power to keep me in the present.
See, here’s the thing about having a broken heart: When someone hurts you, it doesn’t magically make you stop loving them. Love can’t be flicked on and off like a fucking light switch. What they did broke me—shattered me into a million tiny pieces, but each piece still holds the memories of what made us us.
Even now, I can feel the happy moments float to the surface, wanting me to remember how blissfully unaware I was before I realized that the home I built was nothing but a house of cards. My anger, hate, and even my pain taint how I view our history. But the echo of their voices in my head as they fed me lies will stay with me forever.
Still, even after all that, I can’t pretend I don’t care, can’t feign indifference when they’re nearby, can’t maintain my grip on my sanity when I hear them speak to the waitress.
A tear slips free and slides down my cheek before dripping onto the back of my hand as a sense of hopelessness washes over me. They had once given me a place to heal. Now, when they’re near, I feel shattered all over again.
Reaching for my cup with a shaky hand, I take a sip of my too-hot coffee, burning my tongue in the process. I welcome the pain; it focuses me, giving me the strength to look over at them from under the safety of my hood.
Daniel “Hawk” Michaels and Thomas Creed: The only two men I’ve ever loved. One, my husband, though I wore both their rings. The other, my future baby daddy. Or at least that was the plan.
I almost laugh when I think about how naïve I’d been. I mean, they actually flipped a fucking coin to pick who I’d bed and who I’d wed. I didn’t even blink an eye. I wanted them both so bad that I would have given them everything they asked for. And for a while, I did.
I can hear them talking, the deep cadence of Hawk’s voice rumbling over my skin, but I can’t make out the words he’s saying. The sound that used to lull me to sleep now haunts my dreams.
Jesus fuck! What am I doing here? There has to be a better way to do this than placing myself back in the line of fire.
The bell above the door goes again, drawing my attention to the young couple bickering as they enter. The girl gestures wildly to the guy, who shakes his head and sighs before sitting down in the booth in front of mine and grabbing the menu.
“All I’m saying is, it’s pretty fucking suspicious, and you know it. You can’t be mad at me for asking. You told me we were going on a road trip. That this would be the beginning of the rest of our lives. You said you came back because you love me, but for the last three days I’ve hardly seen you. You left me in a hotel room all alone and when I text or called, you never replied until this morning.”
She’s pissed, but I can hear the hurt in her voice beneath the anger, so I open myself up a little as I listen in.
“For fuck’s sake, Carly. This has to stop. You can’t accuse me of shit every time I leave. I have a job to do. Without trust, we have nothing. Maybe I should just take you back. I love you, I risked everything for you, but I deserve better than to be treated like this,” the man replies. His answer makes my skin hum, like touching the prongs of a tuning fork.
He’s lying.
