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Turning away from the window, a flicker caught his eye and he walked over to the coffee table. The diamond bracelet lay on the surface, shining in the moonlight.
Liza had taken it off, left it behind.
God, he was so tempted to race after her, to drag her back to his bed…where she belonged.
Picking it up, Matt closed his fist around it, looking at the hotel door, taking two steps toward it before forcing himself to stop.
Chasing her down now would be the action of a fool. And he wasn’t a fool.
No. That wasn’t quite true because he was most definitely a fool for her. God, every second of the evening, from the moment they stepped onto that elevator until they fell asleep next to each other, had felt like a dream.
For the first time in his life, Matt closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine a different future for himself. One where he didn’t live alone, eat alone, sleep alone.
One where he was able to offer love and receive it in return.
One that included Liza.
Matt stopped fighting it, letting the amazing visions play out in his mind.
Liza in a white dress, walking down an aisle as he waited for her.
Liza’s stomach round with his baby.
Liza, with streaks of gray in her hair, as they sat side by side, watching their child graduate from high school, then college.
He even let himself picture the proverbial front porch swing, the two of them old and gray in the later years of their lives, slowly rocking back and forth as they reminisced about a life well lived.
Before tonight, he’d never wanted those things, certain they were meant for others—like his brother, Gage—who had revealed himself to be a romantic at heart after falling in love with his now-wife Penny.
Matt had never fallen in love. Not once in his entire life. So here he was at thirty-seven, confident—no, fucking cocky—in the belief that love wasn’t an emotion he was capable of feeling. Until…
Liza.
Liza.
He stared at the hotel door, a war raging inside him.
Follow her or let her go?
He knew which was the smart, practical, safe answer.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, as he returned to the bedroom, quietly dressing. Sleep definitely wasn’t happening tonight.
Returning to the living room, he poured a larger glass of Scotch, slowly sipping it as he hardened his heart. He controlled the narrative, controlled the outcome.
Controlled it all.
He couldn’t—wouldn’t be swayed from his path.
Dropping down to the couch, he did something he never did. Took himself back in time, forced himself to remember exactly why he couldn’t have Liza.
Now, as always, the dark memories swallowed him whole.
The constant drip-drip-drip of water.
Dark red blood congealed on the snowy-white tiles.
Before he knew it, two-thirds of the bottle of Scotch was gone, and the sun was well up in the sky.
