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“He had to get back for work.” She avoided Isla’s inquisitive gaze.
“Right.” She nodded. “That’s all?”
“Uh-huh.” August looked studiously at the ground.
“The floor is really interesting, is it?”
Smiling sheepishly, August looked at her friend, who’d raised a pointed eyebrow. “Is it okay to say I don’t want to talk about this, either?”
“Of course. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” She smiled and reached out to pat August on the shoulder. “And I’ve been there, feeling miserable and not sure what to do or how to make it right.”
August’s instinct should have been to say that Keaton was the one who had to make it right. But was the blameentirelyon his shoulders? She’d poked and prodded and then wondered why he’d pulled away. She firmly believed that if you wanted to change someone to make them lovable, then that wasn’t love at all.
But hadn’t she tried to do that to him?
“Thanks, Isla,” she said, trying to force a smile. But it felt watery and weak. “I just need some time.”
“I understand. Scout and I are here whenever you need us, okay? We’ll be round in a flash with ice cream and booze the second you need it.”
It helped knowing she had such wonderful, supportive friends around her. Female friendships that were the antithesis of the competitive, backstabbing types so often falsely portrayed in movies and television.Truefriends. In that part of her life, she was overwhelmed with love.
But Keaton had left a hole behind, whether she wanted him to or not.
And finding a man who made her feel even an ounce of what he did would be a very tall order indeed.
By the time Keaton made it back to Manhattan, he felt like a shell. Riding up the elevator to his apartment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored paneling of the elevator’s carriage. He looked...numb. Hollow.
He knew this face.
It was the same face he’d worn home from Ellery’s funeral, where the gravity of things hadn’t yet settled like boulders on his back. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel.
“She’s not dead, stop overreacting,” he said to himself.
Molly looked up at him, brow furrowed. For once, there wasn’t a hint of disdain or judgment in her expression. He couldn’t hear the snarky voice he’d made up for her in his head any longer. Nor did he feel like she was this larger-than-life diva, a source of amusement and full of sharp wit and personality. She was back to being a simple dog, again.
Molly nudged his hand, her tongue darting out to swipe at his fingertips, and he absently rewarded her with a soft ruffle of her fur.
Why didn’t he stop by Leah’s place on the way back to drop her off? He’d been on autopilot, desperate to get home. Back to his space, back to his life, back to comforting nothingness. The past few days with August had been like sensory overload—all the things he’d promised himself he wouldn’t feel again had come rushing to the surface, like an unexpected wave, ready to suck him under and fill his nose and mouth and lungs with suffocating salt water.
He didn’t want to love her, still. He didn’t want to know that she loved him. That their history wasn’t neatly filed away in either of their minds, archived for record only.
Why?
There were times when he wondered if he would change the past, given the chance. If he would have left his house to go out for a walk instead of hanging around and being introduced to Ellery. If he would’ve taken August’s rebuff for what it was—nerves, rather than rejection. But every time he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine his life without the blissful year he’d spent with his wife.
Even if it broke him.
Even if it made him cling to fear like a life raft.
Even if it froze him in place, turning him into a stone gargoyle.
The elevator doors slid open and Molly walked ahead like she owned the place, but every few steps her head swung back to check on him. “I’m still here,” he said.
But he wasn’t. Not really.
He was deep inside himself, shell hardening over his body and making him numb again. As he walked to the door, Molly slowed so she could walk beside him—an equal rather than the leader. He had his overnight bag slung over one shoulder and his keys dangling in his hand, punctuating each slow step with a jingle.
He unlocked the door and let them inside. Molly stepped cautiously into his space, sniffing and exploring. It occurred to Keaton that aside from his mother and sister, Molly was the first guest he’d allowed into his home since Ellery died. Dumping his bag on the ground, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and half expected to see messages lighting up his screen—at least from his sister berating him once August had told her what’d happened.
