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I hadn’t even had the stomach to sleep with the man I was marrying tomorrow. But every kiss with him had felt like a betrayal to Jesse, to my heart, and to the man I was about to spend forever with.
Forever with Brian? No, I . . .
I thought back to A.J.’s words to me in my childhood bedroom before the dinner tonight . . .
“You know that horrible, empty feeling as though your soul has left your body, and you can’t breathe?” A.J. had asked me. “Can’t eat. Everything hurts on the inside, and your heart is just . . . gone? That’s how I feel when I imagine my life without Anastasia. And I just want to know if you have the same gut-wrenching and painful feeling when you imagine your life without Brian.”
I almost admitted to my brother then and there I did have that feeling, but for his best friend.
I hung my head and did my best to zip up my emotions, but I knew what I had to do.
Spending my life alone was a better option than marrying someone that wasn’t Jesse.
My parents and family would support me. They wouldn’t care about all the money spent on the wedding, and I’d find a way to make that up to them. Because it was my fault I let things get this far.
I went back into the room where everyone was gathered for the dress rehearsal. Some people were laughing, others making small talk.
Everyone was all smiles. Everyone but Jesse. His hard, bladed jawline was even sharper than normal. His eyes fixed on me, and I’d swear in that moment, I was certain that stubborn-ass man was in as much pain as I was.
I sat back in my seat, trying to figure out how to get the words out that I couldn’t marry Brian. But then Jesse met my eyes from across the table, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood. The words froze in my mouth.
He pushed up from the table and gritted out, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. Brian ain’t right for you, and I can’t watch you marry him tomorrow.” He tossed his napkin on the plate.
And just like that, he left.
Gone again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JESSE
I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt this kind of pain before. I’d rather be shot. Take shrapnel in my body. Take fucking anything else but this pain.
I slid down the wall inside the cabin, whiskey bottle in hand, and I rested my head against the wall.
Ella would be married tomorrow, and it was all my fault.
I took a swig of whiskey, letting it burn my lungs, then my eyes snapped to the box I’d brought with me to the off-the-grid location thirty miles away from our town. I kept it for emergency situations. And hell, this called for it.
I reached for the shoebox and flicked off the lid.
The letters I’d written Ella over the years were inside it.
Letters I’d never had the balls to send her, and now . . . it was too late.
Too fucking late.
I snatched one and began reading.
Letter after letter I read as I nearly emptied that bottle. My chest ached, tears fell down my face, and my entire being wept for the loss of my soulmate. My forever person I’d never have.
“What’d I think I was, a poet or something?” I grumbled to myself. “What in the hell did I write? Fuck.” I set the last letter down and doused the letters in what was left of the whiskey.
“I’m such a . . .” So many things. So many words. None would do justice for the mistakes I’d made.
Years and years of mistakes. Running away. From her. Because I . . .
I forced myself to stand, grabbed a lighter, and then I burned every last letter.
