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So why was I filled with disappointment?
Because you didn’t want him to stop pursuing you, Penelope. Duh. Even Amelia would point that out at the drop of a hat.
But my girlfriends don’t know what happened between Maddox and me two months ago, and they certainly don’t have any indication of the turmoil I’m in now.
They wouldn’t understand why being near him makes my chest tight and my stomach churn because he was the first man to make me feel something in a long time—twelve years, to be exact.
And I know that I can’t explain how Maddox is making me feel without telling them about Jacob, which is something else I’ve never done.
In fact, since I moved out to California for college, I’ve never told a soul about him—not even the girls I consider my sisters. Granted, our friendship blossomed over time since our freshman year at UCLA. But even after I knew those women would be in my life until I took my last breath, I still kept my past with Jacob to myself. I left him and our relationship back in Ohio and shut off a switch in my brain, the one where I let myself grow feelings for another man. Because how could I ever explain to a new one why I’m so messed up from the last?
How on earth could I possibly get someone to understand that I’m the reason Jacob died?
It’s a guilt I carry with me every day. It’s the reason I haven’t been back home in twelve years. It’s why the future I thought I had with him is buried deep inside: so I didn’t have to deal with the pain of losing every dream I had of our life together.
He was my everything. My first and only love.
And he died.
So I ran.
I started a new life in a new state where nobody knew me, where people wouldn’t make comments about how sad it was that he was gone too soon, how sorry they felt for his family, or how I must be feeling knowing I was there and played a part in his accident.
As I get older, I think some parts of it get harder. Because there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t wonder what our life would be like right now if he were still here.
Would Jacob have made it to the NFL? What team would he be playing on? Would we be married and have kids yet? Where would we be living, and would I ever get used to the fact that my husband was a professional football player?
These are all questions I ask myself randomly, and lately, they’re even more prevalent because of the man who has intruded on my life. The man who reminds me way too much of Jacob.
Maddox.
Something about him keeps me second-guessing this entire situation. Obviously, the potential threat to our jobs is the biggest obstacle we face. But more importantly, it’s the familiarity he gives me, the way he reminds me so much of Jacob and the connection we shared.
The laughter, the teasing, the chemistry.
I know—at seventeen, what the hell did I know about chemistry? But as a thirty-year-old woman, I know much more about sex now, believe me.
And all I know is there waslovewith Jacob—and that’s something I haven’t experienced since him because I’ve never allowed myself to.
I’m not saying I love Maddox. Hell, I barely know the man.
But I did love the way he made mefeel—seen, interesting, desired, wanted, andalive.
It’s been too long since I’ve felt those things, and that’s the scariest part of it all: The feelings, both old and new, are all ones that I don’t want to deal with right now.
By the time the week is over, I’m even more confused about what I want from him. He’s backed off, which is what I asked him to do, but now I just feel used and irritated, and I’m not exactly sure why.
I’m sitting at my desk, reading through the article I approved to run inTheLA Timeson Sunday, when I jump at a knock on my door.
“You have a delivery,” Garret announces as he strides into my office holding a bouquet of stunning lilac calla lilies.
I stand from my chair, walking over to him to intercept the arrangement. “What the hell? Who are they from?”
“I don’t know, Penelope. Is there a man in your life I don’t know about?” With one hand on his hip, he eyes me as I set the vase down on my desk and search for a card. But there’s nothing.
“No, Garret. There’s no man.”
“You sure about that?”
