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Grabbing his cell, I find his fiancée’s number and forward the picture message to her. As well as a dozen other texts from different women. Do I feel guilty for shattering her bubble? Not really, no. As I see it, I’m saving her from future heartache.
Namaste.
Now his disappearance won’t rouse any suspicion because his fiancée will tell the world what a lying, cheating asshole he truly is. And instead of facing the music, everyone will believe he has gone into hiding. This really is the icing on the cake.
I leave my ex-husband unconscious on the floor as I slip on my tennis shoes which I left by the door and strut my shit. I walk from this home with no intention of ever returning. I can’t deny this is the best I’ve felt in, well, forever. I leave the front door open as I descend the winding driveway. Here’s hoping he gets robbed. Or I’d even settle for a bear taking a giant shit on his Persian rug.
I caught an Uber here, but I decide to walk as I can’t seem to get enough of being outdoors. Being a prisoner does that. With no real destination in mind, I walk the streets for hours, each step alleviating some of this emptiness within.
I feel accomplished for playing Drew at his own game, but the one person I want to celebrate this with is a million miles away. That thought brings back the hollowness and the anger, but I suck it up and decide to get ice cream. Ice cream makes everything better.
Dot’s is my most favorite ice cream place in all of LA, and after the miles I just walked, I decide to double up on my scoops. The bell above the door chimes, announcing my arrival, but no one is waiting for me inside.
Ignoring the pang to my heart, I make my way to the long glass counter, scanning the endless flavors. I don’t know if I want gelato or ice cream. But my decision is made when my eyes land on the homemade butter pecan.
It’s my favorite for obvious reasons, but it’s not the taste which has tears springing to life. It reminds me of the island, of when I told Saint about Dot’s. He was out cold, but when he came to, he replied with what his favorite flavor was—rocky road.
I chew the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying. But the harder I try, the more impossible it becomes because a simple thing like getting ice cream is something we will never do because he is gone, and it hurts. So much.
I’ve tried to be strong, but I miss him…every single moment of every single day. I understand his decisions, but I will never heal entirely because a piece of me is missing, and that piece is him. But I’m angry with him as well.
I’m split down the middle, bordering on love and hate.
Wiping away my tears with my thumbs, I pull it together because someone stands next to me in line. I’m about to tell them to order before me because I know I look like a lunatic crying over ice cream, but I don’t have a chance to speak, or move…or breathe.
“You should get the rocky road.”
Time doesn’t stand still. Not like it does in the movies. It fucking explodes. I was half living until this moment, and everything is suddenly brighter, sweeter because the sun has finally risen. I was cast in the shadows, but now, I slowly lift my chin and lock eyes with a sunrise—a chartreuse dawn.
I blink once, twice, three times to be sure, but each time I open my eyes, I see the same thing.
The only thing that matters.
Saint.
It’s sensory overload, and I need a moment to compose anything remotely coherent. My vision however doesn’t need a moment. It eats him up from head to toe.
He’s in ripped black jeans and a dark navy V-neck tee that clings to him like a second skin. His angel wings which stop mid forearm glisten under the light, and I claw my palms to stop myself from reaching out and touching them.
His dirty blond hair is long, tied back, with wisps slipping free, framing his chiseled face. He has some light scruff, which only seems to emphasize the pinkness of his full lips. My memory has clearly done a poor job of remembering him because damn…wow. I have no words.
He shuffles his combat boots, which alerts me to the fact I am gaping at him like a creeper. I quickly focus my attention upward, which doesn’t help because I am held prisoner under his piercing green eyes.
I want to say so many things, but I don’t know where to start. Now that he’s here, I can’t help but wonder what he wants and how long he’s staying. I can’t say goodbye to him, not again. I wouldn’t survive it a second time.
My sunrise is suddenly eclipsed, and I can’t mask my fears. “Where have you been?” I ask, unable to keep the hurt from my tone.
As usual, he is aloof, and I can’t read what he’s thinking. But if he was expecting a happy reunion, he’s shit out of luck. My fears soon transform into anger. He turns up looking composed and fucking gorgeous while I generally have to check if I’m wearing pants most days.
“You’re not happy to see me?” Has his voice always been this smooth?
However, I don’t let that distract me. I had made peace with the fact I wouldn’t see him again, so this has thrown everything off balance. “Honestly, I don’t know how I feel. You can’t just show up here. I have a life, you know.”
I omit the fact my life is relatively boring because that’s beside the point.
Saint rubs the back of his neck. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what exactly?” He has a lot to be sorry for, like ghosting me this past year.
