Page 4 of Shattered

Jake had left me before our wedding for his ex-girlfriend. Because she was pregnant.

I tried to make sense of it. My brain kept hitting the same wall. This was supposed to be our day. The day we’d fought for, worked toward, survived for. The day that proved all the struggles and breakups and reconciliations had been worth it.

He'd promised. Six months ago at our favorite restaurant, he'd promised he was done running. Done letting fear control him. Done choosing everything else over us. He’d said I was it for him. His person. His future.

I’d believed him.

God, I’d believed him.

He'd failed me before. Canceled our anniversary dinner for a board meeting. Spent our vacation on his laptop closing deals. Each time I'd forgiven him. He always apologized; always promised to do better.

But this was our wedding. The one thing he couldn't fail me on.

And he failed me anyway.

Worse than failed. He destroyed me.

Sarah knelt beside me, mascara running in black streaks, hands hovering like she wanted to touch me but didn't know where. “I’m so sorry. Delia, I’m so, so sorry.”

I couldn't speak. The tears wouldn't come. My body had decided crying was too small for this kind of devastation.

Everyone would know. They'd talk.Poor Delia Santoro, left at her own wedding. Poor Delia, who wasn't enough to keep him. Who couldn't compete with an ex-girlfriend's pregnancy.

I pressed my hands against my face, trying to hold myself together. Everything inside me was fracturing.

The door opened.

“Delia.”

Just my name. Nothing else. That voice I’d know anywhere—low and steady and infuriatingly calm.

Axel Irving stood in the doorway, tall and composed in an expensive suit, his expression tight with worry.

My brother's best friend. The boy my parents took in when his own died. I hadn't seen him in years—nearly five. He only came home for the holidays if we were lucky.

Sarah looked from me to Axel. “I’ll go check what’s happening.” She squeezed my shoulder, then was gone, leaving me alone with him.

Axel was the last person I wanted to see me like this.

“Leave,” I managed.

He didn't leave. Stepped inside, closed the door. Then sat on the floor beside me in his sharp gray suit and said nothing.

“I told you to leave.”

“I know.”

“So leave.”

“No,” he said. “I’m staying here to help you. What do you need?”

I wanted to scream at him, demand he take his quiet competence and steady presence somewhere else. I couldn't handle being witnessed like this. Not by him. Not by anyone.

But he just sat there. Solid, still, unbothered by my misery.

“What I need,” I said when I could finally form words again, “is to not be here. To not be living this.”

“You won’t be here forever.”