Page 51 of First in Line

But she’s right, she isn’t mine, and she hasn’t been in a while. I hold no power over her decisions. She’s free to marry whoever the fuck she wants, even if he’s the most boring tool I’ve ever met.

Maybe I’ll meet someone else one day. Someone good enough to erase the painful memory of my first love. But I doubt it. It’s unlikely that anyone out there would have me fighting this fucking hard not to bend down and press my lips on hers.

My entire career is built on my ability to restrain myself, to make tactical decisions, to calculate and control every single move. But none of that is worth anything when she looks at me this way—like she needs me to do what I crave.

I’m not in control of myself when I bend down, starved for her lips. But I stop two-thirds of the way in. She takes in a quick, shocked breath, but doesn’t move. In fact, she subtly angles her face in a way that gives me better access.

I can’t do this. It’ll already hurt like a bitch when the divorce comes through. I’m not adding this to the pain of it.

So, instead of aiming for her lips, I lay a soft kiss on her cheek. Her sigh grazes against my ear, but I can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment.

“Good night, Evie,” I whisper. “Take care of yourself.”

She doesn’t answer. Not then, and not when I straighten up. In fact, she says nothing at all, even as I walk back to my car. Not as I lower into my seat. Not as I drive by her, out of theparking lot. She stands by her door the whole time, watching me in silence. It’s only as I drive away that I see her turn around in my mirror and open her door to get in.

This feels like the second time I’m losing her, even though I never won her back.

And I fucking hate losing.

Evangeline

Rarely in my life have I felt as tormented as I do during the drive back home. Everything is a jumbled mess in my head, and I can’t discern the past from the present anymore. My feelings are all over the place, and I can’t see which future lies ahead of me. It used to be so clear, first with Jackson, then with Nate. But there’s nothing left now. Only desolation.

When I pull up into my driveway and see my fiancé’s car, I let out a long sigh and mumble, “Fudge…”

I can’t do this right now. I can’t see him. Not after the evening I just spent with Jax.

But it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. This is my house. My bed is right there, and I want to dive headfirst into it and never come out.

So, I grab my things, pick up the bag of leftovers on the backseat, and exit the car.

“There you are,” Nathan greets me as I enter.

He’s in the kitchen, where two glasses of wine await. Next to them, a plastic tray with eight neatly organized cake slices of various colors and fillings.

“What are you doing here, Nate?” I ask.

“Well, I thought we could try the cakes, even if it’s a little late. The baker said we need to try them today, before they dry up.”

I set the diner bag on the counter near the glasses, and he asks, “What’s that?”

“Leftover desserts.”

“Oh… I guess you’ve had your fill of sweets, then. How was your mom?”

“She was okay.”

“What did you two do tonight? You were supposed to return early.”

It’s as though I’m too exhausted to come up with another deception. It’s been white lie after white lie for weeks, and all of that has built up to a huge, unforgivable betrayal. And I feel so done with it.

That’s probably why I say, “I wasn’t with her.”

“What?”

“I ran into Jackson. We went to the diner where we used to hang out and ordered desserts.”

Nate takes a long, intense moment to process what I said and asks, “You hung out with him the whole evening?”