Page 114 of Until I Claim You


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However, I was cruel and went by things the wrong way.

I left him just to stick myself right into the life he left behind.

That wasn’t fair of me. But I also know that I’m not going to be leaving the Lyons Club any time soon.

As long as I have a job there, that is.

And Bridget has been invaluable as my closest confidante, though she has been sworn to secrecy.

Here in the safety of my office, I can appreciate heroffer to build the bridge between Nate and me.

"Yes, I think I do."

She smiles, and I know it won't be long before Nate and I are face-to-face.

I talk to my friend for a bit longer, but as always, work gets in the way and Bridget leaves.

The last timeI was at Edwin’s gorgeous penthouse was to comfort him about his son.

Now I'm back.

For Edwin’s son.

Nate is recovering well from his injury.

I checked two or three times to make sure I wouldn’t be too much of a strain on his recovery by coming to speak with him.

And I also made Bridget promise me that Edwin wouldn’t be home. I can’t deal with that right now.

He has been on my mind every second of every day.

If I see him, I’ll lose all the progress I’ve made in letting go of him, which hasn’t been much.

Or any.

“In here.” The pretty blonde with the congenial smile leads me down the hall into the main room. She’s dressed in scrubs that look extremely comfortable. She must be Nate’s nurse or something.

She steps aside and allows me through.

My breath stops when I spot Nate in front of the big picture windows overlooking Central Park.

He looks over at me, smiles his easy smile. “Hey.”

“You’re in a wheelchair.”

Nate laughs and rolls toward me. “Yeah, have to be for now.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Don’t look so upset, Sonia. It’s a great arm workout.”

I breakdown. I didn’t expect to. I thought it would be difficult to see him, but this…

I collapse onto an ottoman, tears rolling down my face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Sonia, hey, look at me.” Nate rolls all the way to me and grabs my hands. “What are you apologizing for?”

“This is…” I gesture toward the chair. “This is my fault.”

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