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When I get settled, I’ll call my mother and explain why I left without so much as a goodbye. Daisy will make sure she understands.
But no matter what…I’m never going back to Thatcher’s Bay again.
* * *
Noah
I think about hurling myself off old man Winter’s lighthouse for months after she leaves.
I see it so clearly in my mind. Falling off the cliff and letting the ocean take me under. Letting the waves crush my skull on the rocks—until blue is tinged with dark red.
But I can’t muster up the courage to go somewhere she’s not.
Not even in death.
The only thing that keeps me going, day by meaningless day, is that she’s living her dream.
Even if all my dreams are now dead.
I’m going to love Skylar Ames…forever.
And she’s going to hate me just as long.
Get the conclusion to Sky and Noah’s story in The Girl I Once Loved, here.
The Girl I Once Loved
Read the conclusion of Sky and Noah’s story here.
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Keep reading for the complete, angsty, second chance romance, the Breathe Me Duet. Availableon Amazon and KU at books2read.com/breathemeduet
Prologue
Now
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Valentina
“Yes. I understand. I’ll be there tomorrow at ten. I’ll see you then, doctor. Thank you. Goodbye,” I reply softly, hoping Dr. Channing doesn’t hear the quiver in my voice as I bid him farewell.
I hang up the phone and place it face down on the vanity, my hands shaking so profusely, I almost drop the damn thing on the floor. My whole body can’t stop trembling. I hug my stomach and bend over in my chair, just to keep myself from falling off it, slowly breathing in and out, hoping it will settle my erratic heartbeat.
Unfortunately, even if I could steady the irregular pounding in my chest, my stomach has different ideas. The bile of despair and anguish clogs up my throat, leaving me with only seconds to run to the bathroom before throwing up. My knees slam onto the tile, no doubt leaving a bruise, as I purge all these tormenting feelings out of my system. It’s a feat of epic proportions how much vile stuff I’m able to hurl out into the porcelain bowl, since my appetite hasn’t been what it used to be. Chemo does that to a person. The treatment is meant to save a life, however, it also robs you of every quality it offers.
And in my case apparently, it was a useless endeavor, too.
Dr. Channing's voice said it all. He might not have wanted to come right out and say I was a lost cause over the phone, preferring to see me face to face to deliver the bad news tomorrow morning, but just by his tone alone, I know there is no room for hope anymore.
This is it.
My end.
The day I have dreaded for the past twelve months has finally arrived. After a year of being prodded, poked and analyzed, I have to face the fact that it was all for nothing. My fate has been handed out, and now it’s up to me to choose how I will deal with it. Will I crawl up into the fetal position and cry defeat, or will I make the remaining days I still have left count for something?
After I’ve vomited up all that I’m capable of, I get up from the floor and go over to the sink to rinse my mouth off. I spit out the excess mouthwash and then rinse with water, repeating the process three times before calling it quits. It’s no use. I can still taste all my sorrows and regrets on the tip of my tongue. I hold on to the sink’s edges, and to my utter misfortune, catch a glimpse of my pale distraught reflection on the bathroom mirror.
