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I can’t breathe. Really can’t breathe. I suck in a breath, but my chest is so tight there’s no room. My heart is pounding so hard, but it hurts. It fucking hurts. She can’t actually mean those words. But the look on her face? No. She doesn’t mean any of that. She can’t.
“Just let me go, Enzo,” she whispers, her face a mess with tears. “Please, let me go.”
Zachary laughs. The little shit laughs. And I’m frozen, unable to move, because it feels like someone tore my heart out of my fucking chest. When Jordan turns in his arms to hug him, he nuzzles his face against her neck.
The same way I do.
The exact same way I do.
I want to fucking die.
He huffs out a laugh, closes his eyes, and breathes her in.
I don’t think. Don’t think about anything, but the little shit having his arms around my wife, hugging her like she belongs to him. I don’t fucking think so, Zachary.
I raise my arm, aim, and shoot.
Chapter Seventy-One
Jordan
Millions of moments make up your life, but when you reach the end, there are only some that stick with you. Some that run through your mind in those very last moments. Most of them you aren’t even sure why. Who decides what flashes before your eyes in dire situations? Your subconscious? Is it random?
The time I spilled a glass of strawberry milk on the counter when I was five. I’d felt so bad because Jeanette was getting over being sick and I didn’t want her to clean it, so I did. My father scolded me for it. Said it was Jeanette’s job. I didn’t know why then, but I felt bad for that. I wanted to help her, the same way I helped my father, but he didn’t let me. So, I left it there for her to clean, even though deep down I knew I shouldn’t have. Why does that flash through my head?
Of course, there’s the obvious stuff. Like when I learned how to ride a bike. When I went ice skating for the first time. Skiing for the first time. When Dad brought me to Paris. When I met Zach. When we got engaged. The smile on my father’s face when he explained how badly he wanted me to have babies with Zach.
The night at the club.
The look on Enzo’s face when Rafael read off my limits.
When I saw him sitting in Harriet’s with my father.
When he carried me out of my house butt ass naked.
When Rafael, Enzo, and I had dinner for the first time at his house.
When Enzo and I had sex for the first time.
My stuffed animal.
Finding out I’m pregnant.
And more. So much more.
The last two months play out in my head like a movie.
Clip after clip after clip.
Enzo’s gorgeous brown eyes and dark hair. His stern and broody look.
Rafael’s golden hair, bright green eyes. Boyish smile and chipper demeanor.
The little black and white photos of my babies.
Our babies.
Maybe they’re so fresh in my mind because they’re new, or maybe it’s because they hold meaning in my life. Something important. More important than spilling milk.
