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They’d made a promise to one another that there would be no lies, and as Bailey climbed out of the car and took a final look at Henri, he said nothing, because he had no idea if they’d ever be okay again.
“FUCK!”
HENRI SLAMMED his hand down on the steering wheel and squeezed the living shit out of it as he watched Bailey walk up his driveway toward his front door.
In the course of forty-eight hours, things had gone from out-of-this-world amazing to fucked up beyond all recognition, and he was still trying to come to grips with this new all-time low.
“It’s your own fucking fault,” Henri muttered into the empty car. “Had to go and fall in love with a cop, didn’t you?”
But as Bailey reached his front door, where the porch light flooded the entrance, he looked back over his shoulder, and Henri knew he hadn’t stood a chance. From the second Bailey had run into him, and every second after that, Henri had been consumed by the man—and just as he’d suspected, it had turned out badly.
Henri wasn’t sure how long they stayed staring at one another outside Bailey’s house. But when Bailey finally severed the connection and stepped inside, Henri felt the fracture in his heart.
God, this was exactly why he didn’t do this love thing. Or at least why he’d sworn he never would again. Because this crippling, heartbreaking feeling that he knew would never end was close to unbearable.
As Henri’s eyes started to blur, he squeezed them shut and told himself to snap out of it. He needed to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, because sitting in his car crying in Bailey’s street was exactly what he didn’t want Bailey to see if he happened to step outside again tonight for any reason.
Henri turned the key, and just as he was about to put his foot to the gas, the front porch light switched off. Henri sat there for a second, staring out into the darkness, and it was as if the light and sunshine that Bailey had brought into Henri’s life had now been extinguished, and he was once again back where he belonged, in the shadows.
“Why do you always do that? You always point out how bad you are, how you don’t deserve to be happy…”
As Bailey’s voice echoed in his mind, Henri shook his head. Bailey didn’t know what he was talking about. He pointed out how bad he was because of all the fucked-up things he’d done. And how could Bailey possibly believe that someone with Henri’s past, someone with his upbringing, deserved to be happy? It was preposterous. Not to mention close to impossible to achieve now anyway, considering a literal door had just been shut between him and his happiness.
Henri took a final look up the driveway and then stared down at the phone sitting in the center console.
The last thing he wanted to do was to go home right now, where everything he looked at would remind him of Bailey. So instead, he decided to take a chance and call up the only other people on the planet he could talk to about this.
Henri hit the princess’s number, put his foot to the gas, looked in his rearview mirror, and watched as Bailey’s house got smaller and smaller and then disappeared altogether. He could only hope that wasn’t a prelude of things to come.
Chapter Twenty-Two
CONFESSION
Never in a million years did I expect to end my night with Julien Thornton.
AS HENRI DROVE DOWN the street, he scanned the million-dollar homes dotting the sidewalk. This wasn’t the first time he’d been there; he’d often driven this way when he’d been out at night working, just to pass by the house he was now pulling up in front of—the Priestley-Thornton residence.
There was a light on up on the second story, and as Henri switched off the engine, he wondered if coming there had been a mistake.
He already knew Joel was going to be pissed—that was a given, considering the personal nature of the situation. But add in the confession and the fact he’d made it to a cop, and Henri had a feeling he hadn’t seen the full magnitude of the temper that lay dormant in his fiery-haired friend.
Henri sighed and looked at the time. Robbie had told him to come over, but now that Henri was there, he thought it might’ve been smarter if he’d just gone home and confided in a bottle of whiskey instead.
Henri looked to the phone he’d tossed on the passenger seat, and the blank screen that stared at him was mocking in its silence. Of course it was blank. What had he been expecting? A text or missed call from Bailey begging him to come back over so they could work this out?
