Peering up at him, I softly asked, “So, what now?” I didn’t want the answer though.
He shrugged, but it wasn’t in indifference. It was disappointment. Heartbreakingly so. It was also real, no matter how much I wished that it weren’t.
I sighed. “At the risk of sounding like a teenage girl, I really like you.”
His face lit. “I like teenage girls.” His eyebrows pinched together as he quickly amended, “Never mind. Ignore that. It sounded way better in my head.”
Giggling, I gave him a squeeze.
He groaned as he returned it. “Any chance we can rewind to Saturday night?”
“Would it change anything?”
He tipped his head down so he could see me, his blue eyes becoming dark and serious. “No. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it again.”
My stomach fluttered. Jesus, he was such a good guy.
It was going to break me more than I already was to let him go, but I had to end it before I had the chance to beg him to stay.
“Porter, I want to. I just…” I closed my eyes and stepped out of his arms while confessing the one word that I feared was starting to dictate my life. “Can’t.”
“I know,” he replied, allowing his fingers to linger on my shoulder until I was out of his reach.
Wrapping one arm around my waist, I attempted to ward off the chill his body had left behind and choked out, “I’m so sorry.”
He twisted his lips—his beautiful, plump, kissable lips. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. Seriously, I’m not that great. Trust me. You’re getting the good end of the deal.”
I barked a laugh only to start crying all over again. Pointing to my eyes, I said, “This is ridiculous. We barely know each other. You must think I’m insane.”
He chuckled, that deep, masculine sound I loved so much, and it only made the pain in my chest intensify.
“If you’re insane, Charlotte, I’m certifiable. Because this fucking sucks.”
God! The fact that he felt it too made it that much worse.
He brushed the hair off my shoulder, a tingle lighting my skin where his fingers touched. “How about this? If you ever decide you can, promise me I’ll be the first to know. I believe I owe you a kiss.”
I fought back a sigh and asked, “How old is your youngest?”
“Creeping on four.”
I hiccupped a laugh. “You’re in luck. Mills women age really well. I mean, I’m a workaholic who will probably die of a heart attack by the time I’m forty, but if I make it that long, you are in for a real treat.”
He smiled and I wanted to cry all over again.
Christ. What the hell was wrong with me?
Oh, right. The first man I’d felt anything with in as long as I could remember was walking out of my life. And I was all but pushing him out the door because he had children.
When he kissed my forehead, I sucked in a sharp breath and allowed a million memories to flash on the backs of my eyelids.
Memories of me laughing, his eyes lit up as he watched me, a huge smile on his face.
Memories of him touching my lips after that kiss he’d promised.
Memories of us curled up on a couch, watching TV together, a fire crackling in the background, but that warmth only he could give me radiating in my chest.
Memories of him making love to me, slow and desperate.
Memories of me coming home to him after a long day’s work and crashing into his strong arms seconds before falling asleep.
Memories of us watching the bright sunrise together.
Memories that would never exist.
And then Porter left.
He didn’t say anything as he backed out of my office, but goodbyes were spoken all the same. My heart felt as though it were being ripped from my chest with each step he took closer to the door.
He never tore his gaze from mine. It was both a gift and a punishment, because for the first time since I’d met Porter, it gave me the opportunity to see the staggering emptiness in his eyes.
I hated it almost as much as I loved it. He’d lived through hell, but for one lunch, one dinner, and over half an hour in his arms, it had brought him to me.
That was enough.
And, as I watched the door close behind him, I accepted that it would have to be.
It wasn’t.
After that day, the sunrise only got darker.
* * *
“Sooo…” Tom drawled.
I set my chopsticks on my empty plate and looked at him, parroting, “Sooo…”
He didn’t immediately say anything.
We’d been eating in silence. We did that a lot. It wasn’t awkward. Not with us. He was good at the quiet thing, being there and supportive without uttering a word.
Dropping his napkin on his plate, he narrowed his eyes. “How ya doing, Charlotte?”
I shrugged. “Same as every other day.”
Alone. Cold. Hollow.
He reclined in his chair, but his gaze became scrutinizing. “You seem…off.”
I was. I’d been off for weeks.
Shaking my head, I lied, “I’m good. Staying busy with work.”
He intertwined his fingers before resting them on his stomach. “Your mom says you were dating someone.”
I ignored the pang in my stomach at the mention of Porter. Over the last two weeks, I’d done everything I could not to think about Porter Reese. I was good at compartmentalizing. I’d been doing it for years, yet no matter how hard I tried, that man always seemed to weasel into the forefront of my brain.
I was amazed by how many times a day I would stumble across something that would remind me of him.
At first, it was things like dogs, burgers, and cocktail napkins. But it was getting out of control. Now, it was like men, a hand, or, hell, even just a person.
Fine—literally everything, including the darkness when I closed my eyes, reminded me of Porter.
I could only imagine the prideful smile that would have split his sexy mouth if he knew how often I thought about him. He would have laughed a deep, throaty chuckle that…
Yeah. I couldn’t think about Porter.
But he wasn’t even the biggest of my problems.
The day after Porter walked out of my office, I went to the park where Lucas had been abducted. I didn’t know why. It had been years since I’d tortured myself with that place. Sitting on that bench, I cried tears from my soul, watching mothers pushing their babies in strollers.
Ten. Fucking. Years.
And I hadn’t stopped there. After I’d left the park, I’d driven to my old house. The one where my little boy had slept safely, his grunts and coos echoing through the monitor. I’d moved out of that house less than a month after he’d disappeared, but as I stood on the corner, staring at the chipping paint on the blue front door, I called up the memories of the day I’d last walked out of it. And it wasn’t the day I’d moved. No. Charlotte Mills had never returned to that house after Lucas was taken.
I had—a poor, pitiful excuse for the woman I used to be.
Porter had told me that he’d never reemerged from the water the day of the accident.
I couldn’t help but wonder who he’d left behind. And then I wondered if it was possible to get that person back.
Because I desperately needed to find Charlotte Mills again.
By the time I got home that night, I was crying so hard that I threw up. But that didn’t stop me from going back the following night.
And the night after that.
And the night after that.
Each one ending worse than the last.
Something was seriously wrong with me.
Something worse than Porter Reese.
Something I feared I wasn’t going to be able to come back from.
I was losing the only bits and pieces of myself I had left.
“I’m fine,” I assured Tom with a smile that I was positive looked no less genuine than it felt. “You and Mom need to stop gossiping like schoolgirls,” I added dryly, picking my glass of wine up. (Coincidently, it was the same Sav Blanc Porter had ordered for me at his restaurant. Not so coincidently, I’d specifically ordered it when I had seen it on the menu. See? That guy was everywhere.) “Wait…when did you talk to Mom?”
He cut his gaze to the door in the most unlike-Tom way possible, and I snapped my fingers to bring it back to mine.