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“May I speak with her?”
“No.”
Without ending the call, I chuck my phone across the room and drop to the floor on my knees. That’s fucking irony. I helped Maria mend a broken relationship with a man who will ensure I never see her again.
I’d cry, but I’m too pissed. How the fuck did I let this happen?
For weeks, I assumed Maria would understand, like somehow she’d be okay with me putting her and Javier’s needs second to Tori’s. It’s the broken promise that finally made her realize I never deserved her. This is precisely why I never make promises. I’m incapable of keeping them.
She made a promise, also. She promised we would talk if I gave her a couple of days and I did that, and she broke her promise as easily as I broke mine. Because promises don’t mean anything in life without the commitment to follow through, which neither of us had, but justified equally.
The room narrows as I stare at the wall and then it hits me.
The hustle.
Maria never intended to think about the future of our relationship. She was finished and had probably been considering leaving since I called her Tori while we made love. I knew she brushed it off too easily, when in actuality, her understanding had been my final chance—a test of her trust in me, and I failed miserably.
Her leaving had already been decided. She was never coming back so we could talk. She merely had to convince me it’s what she was planning to do, so I’d let her walk out the door. And, like a fucking idiot, I fell for it. This time, my desperation did make it easy for her to hustle me.
Losing her is my penance, like I knew it would be from the moment I met her. I’m destined to live with the pain of an empty heart because no one can ever fill the space that she belongs in.
No one.
Not even Tori.
I swear I hear my mother snicker from the pits of hell. “Women want a man who will fight for them, Aidan.”
The one piece of advice the bitch got right, and I didn’t take it.
I never fought for Maria, and now she’s gone.
I’ve lost the one woman who finally returned my love, all to be close to the one woman who never loved me all.
It’s been five days since I discovered Maria was never coming back. The sun rises, but there’s no light. My days are as dark as my nights. It took Maria leaving to make me realize that when I lost Tori, I didn’t suffer from a broken heart, but merely a bruised ego, an adolescent anger with my brother for getting something I wanted. I was never in love with Tori. I know this, because even as sad as I felt, I could function without her.
Without Maria, I can’t sleep.
I can’t eat.
I can’t breathe.
All I have is my agony to remind me my heart still beats.
The board hauled me into a meeting the morning after Maria left to discuss my dating a “working girl”. The old stiffs considered letting me go, until I informed them that if I leave, my algorithm comes with me. My job is secure, and if I actually cared, I would be happy.
I finally pieced together that Larissa had been the one to reveal Maria’s identity and sent the press to my loft. I’d been too preoccupied with life to look into it before, or too in love to care. Her boss is one of Gibson’s largest clients and a personal friend. I’ve made him a very rich man, and despite his currently fucking Larissa, she is seeking new employment. Our industry is global, but the community is small, and she’ll be looking for work in vain. No one will hire her. I made sure of it.
I haven’t been to the house to see Tori or my brother. I’ve spoken with Brady on the phone. Tori wasn’t simply suffering from postpartum after losing Mona. Evidently she suffers from some form of bi-polar disorder that manifested itself during pregnancy. I’m relieved she’s being treated, and Brady’s home with her at least until after the baby’s born. Although it’s too late, I know now letting Tori go, means truly letting go—no more rescuing or trying to fix her. I love her, but I can’t be her crutch any longer.
The small café in La Jolla is crowed, and I seek a quiet table outside to wait for Sid. Three days ago, I sent him to Monterrey, his objective to keep watch and wait until Maria was away from her father’s home, and alone, before delivering her a letter I’d written. A letter containing my last ditch effort to convince her I love her and want to spend my life with her. That I’m not in love with Tori. A letter in which I beg her to meet me three days from now at Café Infinito, a quaint coffee shop we visited on one of our trips to Monterrey.
Sid phoned this morning to tell me he delivered the letter, and he had information that he wished to discuss in person. His unwillingness to speak to me over the phone is troublesome, and as I sit waiting impatiently for him to arrive, a small part of me knows Maria will never again be mine.
His shadow reaches me, before he sits. The flat expression on his face gives nothing away.
“Did she read the letter? What did she say?”
He sighs and leans forward, sweat glistening off his receding hairline. “She said to tell you that she’s sorry, but sometimes you never see the hustle coming until it’s too late.”
