Page 55 of When Hearts Ignite

He’s only a friend, if even that. The way my heart beats around him, the way my skin sizzles from his touch? Biological reactions between a man and a woman. Nothing more.

Before anything could happen, not that anything would, our story would have to end. He’d live in his castle with air conditioning and fine dining, and I’d disappear from his life.

And perhaps, on the dreadful nights when the storm surges outside, the winds rioting against the windows, maybe he’d remember there once was a girl who felt the same way on those lonely nights. Maybe as he laid awake on his bed, waiting for the chaos to subside, he’d think about our afternoon at the park or the evening at the movies, or perhaps he might read a curious fact about the world and think of me.

The lump in my throat grows, and I retrieve a piece of paper from the drawer. I uncap the pen and scrawl out my farewell to him. Wetness slips down my cheeks as I realize he’d never know my feelings for him, that in these final words to him, written on a scrap and to be stuffed into an envelope and mailed later, he’d never know all the words I want to say but can’t write.

How I wish I could stay by his side, to bring the spark dwelling inside him to the surface, to tell him to stop punishing himself by not living.

Even as our path diverges, I hope he can find peace in the night.

She disappeared.

Like everything was a figment of my imagination, my mind creating a soulmate because the hollow in my heart required it.

My heart, an organ I thought wasn’t working anymore, spasms in pain.

Because of her, and the hole she left in it.

My mind flits back to us standing on her doorstep when I dropped her home after the movie at the pier, when she stood in front of me, mere inches separating us. I could smell the jasmine wrapping around me like a hug. I saw the way her bright eyes widened, how the moonlight added a sparkle to her glittering irises. I remembered her plump lips parting, the perfect, beautiful lips drawing my attention, begging me to taste them.

Begging me to taste her and feel her and surround myself with her.

It took all my willpower to step away because I thought I had more time. I thought if she forgave me, then maybe, just maybe, I’d let myself be selfish once again.

But after that night, she disappeared from my life without a trace. She didn’t return my calls or texts. Worried she took the news of the job offers too hard, I lasted two days trying to distract myself in the office until I couldn’t stand it and went to her apartment and knocked on her door because unease wound around my throat like a snake, crushing my windpipe.

Something was wrong. It was a gut feeling. And my gut was never wrong.

She didn’t answer, and I tried again the next day. And the next. Until one day, one punk I’d seen lingering on the doorsteps before told me she and her family moved without a forwarding address.

I remembered how my three hours of sleep each night dwindled into one, if I was lucky, how she occupied every waking hour, and how for the first time in my life, I was worried about something, or someone, other than work.

Worried sick. The gnawing pain in my stomach grew with each passing day.

Until the following Monday, HR notified me she tendered her notice, and a small, unassuming letter arrived on my desk. Her farewell letter to me, asking me not to find her.

Perhaps it’s for the best, because if I take her lips with mine, I’d fall into the path of my father, and one day, I’d sit with my son on the backyard deck, looking at the starry skies, thinking about the woman who captured my heart and ran away with it, because she couldn’t stand how broken I was inside. I’d then tell my son not to get his heart entangled, because it’d only end up in regret.

But I realize the only regret I have right now is not kissing her and not knowing the sweetness of her lips.

“Piece of shit!” I swipe the binders and pens off my desk to the floor, the crashing sounds echoing in my office.

The office soundtrack of muffled conversations and phones ringing comes to an abrupt halt like someone pressed pause on the music player. I don’t even need to step outside my office to know everyone has stopped working and half the lemmings are no doubt straining to hear what’s going on in here and the other half are probably scared shitless.

I haven’t missed how Jane opts to call me on my phone instead of knocking on my door now, or how even Hayley, my bravest soldier, gives me a wide berth when she sees me storming down the halls. I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep, the mounting pressures of the TransAmerica situation which has, as predicted, escalated rapidly in a hostile takeover situation, or if it’s the one person I can’t stop thinking about despite my best efforts. The person I’ve never forgotten.

I’m going crazy.

Staring at my monitor, tilted askew on my desk, I reread the email that landed me in a pit of boiling rage moments ago.

Steven,

Sorry, Voss made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Hope this doesn’t change things between Pietra and us. My shares in TA are with them as of this morning.

Regards,

Pete McGinnis

---