Page 66 of Before I Lost You

I have two choices: move on or make him fall in love with me again. From scratch. Without telling him what we’ve been to each other. Without influencing him in the slightest. It makesmy skin crawl with panic that there’s a chance he won’t even give me the time of day. He wasn’t exactly open to the idea of a relationship the first time we met. What if he still feels that way? The thought makes me ill.

The walk back to the car gives me time to get my shit together. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and take a calming breath before I open the door and get back inside. Emerson has a frown on his face as he looks at me, like I’m completely transparent and he knows something is terribly wrong. But then I turn my body and shut the door, breaking his stare and hopefully our line of communication. I’m not really in the mood for small talk, and there’s no way in hell I’m confiding in him either. Somehow, he knows I must not be open to the idea of having a conversation because he stays quiet all the way to my parking garage.

I look around for my car, then remember it’s totaled, which makes my stomach sour. Emerson parks in what’s supposed to be my parking spot, and when the silence becomes unbearable, he turns off the ignition and exits the vehicle. I get out too, pulling out my spare key card that belongs to Em for emergencies, even though all I need to do is put my code into the elevator. But I still wonder: what would I have done if I didn’t have a way to get inside? It’s not like I can go to Kenneth and tell him I’m supposed to be living with him. Imagine that. He’d have a stroke over it.

All I can think about as the elevator door opens to my penthouse is that this wasn’t just a dream. He’s real. Something happened between us. Whatever it was is completely unexplainable, but that doesn’t make it less true. Somewhere, sometime, we lived a life together. We were something to each other. Friends. Lovers. Now all we are—all we can be—is strangers.

I shake my head as I walk quickly toward my ensuite bathroom and shut the door behind me. My face in the mirror reflects thepain in my chest. It sucks to see that I can’t hide it no matter how hard I try. Is this how it’s always going to be from now on? Somehow, I don’t have to wonder for long. I know with complete certainty that until Kenneth is back in my life—in my arms, in my bed—I’ll be a fucking mess. So I make myself a vow: I’m going to find him again. I’m going to get him back. He’s going to fall in love with me again. He’s going to remember who he belongs with. And that’s me.

“I’ll find my way back to you, Kenny,” I whisper as I look down at my hands, which are shaking uncontrollably. “I swear it.”

They always tell you how love begins, but no one prepares you for how quietly it ends. If I had known how little time we had, I would’ve memorized every breath. I would’ve held on tighter. I would never have gotten in that fucking car.

That’s my biggest regret.

Leaving in the first place.

Chapter 26

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US

Inviting Emerson to come out with me tonight was easy enough. He’s been wanting me to leave the penthouse, which I’ve barely done since I was discharged from the hospital a week ago. So I asked him to pick me up in his best suit, and he didn’t question me for one second. This is one of the many reasons why I love our friendship. We live by the mantra:say yes, ask questions later. And it’s always worked out for us. I won’t start questioning it now, and neither will he. Thank fuck for that.

We pull up outside the gallery where I first saw Kenneth, getting out of the Uber and standing side by side at the entrance. I flinch as I adjust my suit, my ribs still screaming in pain. I have a nasty bruise on my side, but it’s turning yellow and brown at this point. Not that it feels much better. Okay, maybe a little. The pain in my heart definitely feels worse, though.

Em looks at me with confusion, mostly because I’ve never expressed an interest in doing something like this before. So I know how it looks right now. Odd. Fucking weird. Here I am, dragging him to a place he’d usually suggest going to, and for fun. It’s so unlike me, it’s actually laughable. Except it’s not tome. This is my lifeline. I’m here to get a glimpse of Kenneth again, possibly talk to him. I’m trying to retrace my steps.

The problem with retracing my steps is that I don’t remember the exact date of the gallery showcase I attended. The one where I first saw him and ran out like a coward. So now I’m stuck picking random dates to show up and hope it’s the right one, which only makes me second-guess myself. But I have to start somewhere. At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I turn to face my best friend.

“Who even are you?” Emerson asks playfully, though his brows are furrowed in a way that makes it feel like his question is genuine. “What did you bring me here for?”

“There’s a photographer I’ve been following for some time.” I shrug, and he raises an eyebrow. It doesn’t take a genius to decode what he’s trying to say:since when do you follow photographers? Since when do you look at portraits, and since when do you care about any art?“I want to buy one of his portraits for my living room.”

Emerson’s eyebrow rises further somehow, a talent, truly. “I mean, I guess it can’t hurt. Your living room is fucking dreadful.”

I frown. “Watch it, Emerson.” But he just chuckles, which makes me chuckle too. “I already have one in mind.”

“How?” he asks, clearly confused. “We haven’t even gone inside.”

“I saw it on Instagram.” I shrug, lying my ass off. I didn’t see it on social media. I bought it in a past life, and now I’m going to buy it again. I’m trying to prove a point here. If the universe is granting me a second chance, I’m going to take it with both hands and never look back. “Now let’s hurry up before someone else buys it.”

Em nods and opens the door for me, holding it until I walk through. There are at least a hundred people huddled in this gallery. The heat is suffocating, and I adjust my collar once totry to help myself breathe better. It doesn’t work. But breathing is the least of my concerns right now. Laying eyes on Kenneth is my number one priority, and I move through the crowd with purpose, even through the pain, until I’m standing in front of the photograph I’m going to buy tonight. It’s in the exact same spot it was last time, and though I get a small sense of déjà vu, I don’t feel his presence at all. It’s disappointing, but I’m getting what I’m here for—this portrait. While seeing him was also the goal, I’m not going to cry about it. I’ll have many more chances to run into him because I won’t stop until I get what I want. Even if I have to stalk him. I do know where he lives, after all. Okay, that might be taking it too far—but I don’t care.

“Wow,” Em says softly next to me. “That’s beautiful.”

“He really is, isn’t he?” I sigh.

“Won’t it be weird to have a portrait of a man you don’t know hanging in your living room, though?”

I shake my head.

How do I tell him he’s not just some man I don’t know? How do I tell him he’s actually not a stranger? That I may be the only person who knows him better than he knows himself? How the hell do I tell my best friend, the one person who has always been here for me, that this man is the love of my life?

I can’t tell him.

So I don’t.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” I reply, shrugging. “It’s just a picture.”