Page 221 of Always: A Legacy Novel

“You need to learn to love yourself because I can’t be the only one doing it. I’m still going to be here when you learn how to do that,” he told her. “But I can’t keep doing it for you; I’m going to kill myself trying to fix something in you that’s not for me to fix, or you’re going to die while I’m still trying. I’m a Band-Aid; you need stitches. At least this gives us both a chance to get it right next time, babe.”

Catherine wiped the wetness from her cheeks, but more kept falling.

“You’re killing me now,” she whispered.

“I’m hurting you a little bit,” he replied quietly, “because I love you enough to do this. You’re going to see that someday. Not today, I know, but someday.”

“But …”

“This is supposed to be our thing, Catty. Remember? I tell you that I love you, you make me promise, and—”

Catherine’s gaze dashed up to his, so clear and full of tears. “That’s not fair.”

“Love you,” he said, urging her into the elevator.

She trembled there. “Cross.”

“Love you.”

“Cross.”

“Come on. This is what we do, babe.”

She breathed deep, tears falling, and heart breaking.

They could get it right the next time. Someday, it would be them again.

And, God …

He knew it was going to be worth it. It just hurt a lot right now.

Cross needed to save his heart one more time. She was his heart, after all. He might be telling her to save herself, but he was putting his hands into the fire, too. Just in case.

“Please don’t make me do that with you; don’t ruin that for me with this,” she cried.

“Love you,” he said.

One last time.

Catherine stared down at the floor, and the door started to close. “Promise?”

“Always.”

***This is an early excerpt of Revere, book two of the Catherine + Cross series inside the Legacy Novels. It is subject to editing changes, and may contain grammatical/proof errors.***

“It’s Catherine, right? Catherine Marcello.”

The click-clack of heels on hardwood floor echoed to Catherine’s spot on the floor of the sitting room. She continued her staring contest with the ceiling. It seemed to be the only thing lately that wasn’t constantly hovering, asking questions, or demanding answers.

“You were aware I was coming to chat with you today, weren’t you?”

Catherine’s gaze slid to the side, but the rest of her didn’t move an inch. It was just enough for her to discern a tall woman, likely in her mid-forties or slightly older, with wild red curls and warm blue eyes. She was dressed in black skinny jeans, sky-high heels, and a flowy red blouse. The woman must have been who Catherine’s father meant when he said they would have a guest, and she should get her ass up off the floor.

Clearly, Catherine didn’t follow that advice.

“Aren’t people like you required to wear … I don’t know, pant suits or something?”

The woman glanced down at her attire. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”