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“Your tattoo.” Connor takes a hesitant step toward me. “You came into my shop on their wedding day. That’s why you got the tattoo.”
I take a deep breath but it catches in my throat, and I close my eyes to try and stop the building tears. There’s no point in denying it, but I also don’t want to talk about it. Opening my eyes, I step through the doorway and spin around to get one last look at Connor. His anger and frustration from moments ago are completely gone and his eyes are pleading with me to stay.
But I just can’t. By staying, I’m opening myself up to the kind of pain I experienced before, and that’s exactly what I’ve been afraid of.
I had a momentary lapse in judgment when I decided to let Connor in. My mistake. Either way, I’ll move on, and so will he.
Fuck. I don’t like the sound of that at all, but it’s for the best.
“The tattoo you got that day, what does it mean?” he asks, almost frantically.
“A rough road leads to the stars.” I don’t wait around to see his reaction or give him time to respond. “Goodbye, Connor.” I shut the door before he has the chance to stop me from leaving. Pressing my back against the wood, I squeeze my eyes shut and blow out a long, slow breath.
A few moments ago when I was talking about Tyson, I’d waited for my chest to ache. It never did. But now that I’ve walked away from Connor, the pain is back. This time, however, it’s so much more than an ache—it’s a stabbing pain that not only slices through my heart, it pierces my soul.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen Connor. Four thousand three hundred and twenty seconds, to be exact, and every single one of those I’ve been thinking about him. Since that night, he’s left me seven voicemails and fifteen texts, begging me to talk to him, and he’s stopped by the house twice. I know I’m a coward, but I just couldn’t. One look in that man’s eyes and I would’ve caved.
I keep telling myself it isn’t a big deal that his best friend is a woman. Except it is a big deal. Being second best in someone’s life isn’t something I’m willing to do—not again, at least.
“Are you going to turn the TV on, or just stare at the blank screen all night?” Casey asks, walking into the living room. She falls onto the couch next to me and nudges me with her elbow.
“I kind of like the blank screen.”
“Sure ya do.” She glances down at her watch, a knowing look on her face when her eyes meet mine. “It’s almost four.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I do my best to appear unaffected. “So?”
“Sooooo,” she says. “Connor stopped by yesterday at four, and the day before that at four. I bet today won’t be any different.”
“Yes, well, we’re over. He needs to move on. It’s not like we were together long.” I laugh out loud at myself for saying that. I felt more with him in those few short days than I did after years with Tyson. That should mean something, and if I wasn’t being so stubborn, it probably would.
“You need to talk to him.” Leave it to my little sister to try and put me in my place. “Have you at least returned any of his texts or phone calls?” I shake my head and she rolls her eyes. “You’re being a little bitch.”
I rear back as though she just slapped me across the face. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” she says. “Always yours. But even if I’m on your side, it doesn’t mean I think you’re making the right decision.”
“He had a half-naked woman in his house,” I yell, hoping it finally sinks into her brain. “A half-naked woman who just so happens to be his best friend. Does this not sound familiar to you? Do you remember the hell Tyson put me through?”
“Of course I do,” she says, understanding flashing in her eyes. “But Connor isn’t Tyson.”
“Tell that to my brain.”
“See, that’s the problem. You need to quit thinking about this with your head and start thinking about it with this big, fat muscle right here,” she says, poking me in the chest. “You are a doctor, right? You know which muscle I’m talking about.”
“Yes,” I say, slapping her hand away. “I know which muscle you’re talking about. But Case…I’m not sure I could survive another broken heart.”
“Well”—she pushes up from the couch, then puts her hands on her hips—“the mopey-ass look on your face tells me you’re already surviving one.”
“My heart isn’t breaking,” I say, giving her a tremulous smile. My eyes well with tears and a few slip past my lashes. Because even as I say it, I know it isn’t true. Connor and I may not have been together for very lon
g, but I really did see a future together. “I wasn’t in love with Connor.”
“You don’t have to be in love for your heart to break.” Casey brushes a tear from my face and then walks away.
I’m not sure how long I sit and stare off into space, but I’m startled when a loud knock sounds at the door.
Come on, Connor. You’re only making this harder on both of us.
