Page 98 of When Hearts Collide

And until you get there, I’ll be brave enough for the two of us. I won’t give up. I want more tomorrows with you until one day I won’t need to ask anymore because they’ll be a given.

Love, Millie

I WIELD MY PRUNING shears like a weapon and trim the dead or weakened branches from the barren trees in the rooftop garden. An icy wind lashes my skin and I burrow myself inside the warmth of my down jacket and wool scarf, the thick wintry clothes doing little to ward against the chill of a New York December evening.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The motion is cathartic, and I imagine the fallen branches are my worries, and with each cut, my problems disappear.

Problems like him and his conflicting behavior.

It has been a few weeks since our night at Noire, where Ryland revealed a part of his soul I suspected had been long buried under the weight of his responsibilities.

We spent a beautiful night in his penthouse apartment, talking about our childhoods, eating overcooked burgers because the man couldn’t grill anything to save his life, and drinking hot chocolate. He curled me in his arms afterward, wrapping me in his strong, warm body as we sat on the sofa on the heated balcony and gazed at the stars.

He kissed me like he had been starving for the press of our lips together, like he hadn’t had anyone love and care for him in far too long. He tucked me tightly against him as we fell asleep, holding onto me like a drowning man would hold on to a piece of driftwood in the deep, dark seas.

I whispered in his ear, “Tomorrow. We still have tomorrow,” and that seemed to settle him and calm the restlessness in his tense frame.

Then, the next day at school, his demeanor turned into ice again, his expression a sharp blade to my heart. But when class ended and I lingered behind after everyone left, he snaked his arm around my waist, pressed me against the closed classroom door and kissed the ever-living daylights out of me, and the fatal wound in my heart would miraculously heal again, revived by the passion in his kiss.

That day, as we parted for air, I once again whispered, “We still have tomorrow,” and he gave me a solemn nod, the barest of acknowledgments.

And for the last few weeks, we’d fall into this strange routine—a chilly reception in class, one where I’d start doubting his feelings for me, followed by the occasional make-out session when I loitered behind after everyone left.

My mind would warn me we shouldn’t be doing this on campus. After all, look at what happened to Professor Archer and Tammy. But I couldn’t bring myself to deny him, to deny us, when these fleeting moments were all that he’d offer me.

The kisses were bone melting, his possessive touch setting a fire in my veins, but he wouldn’t go beyond that. His fingers or mouth would bring me to a sopping mess as I’d cover my screams with my hand, but he wouldn’t have sex with me. His cock would be hard as steel but he’d ask me to leave, or he’d make up an excuse about an appointment he had to go to or a call he needed to take.

He was holding me at arm’s length.

My heart clenched every time I saw the longing ache in his dark gray eyes, the throbbing pulse against his temple, and I just knew one day he wouldn’t nod anymore. He wouldn’t give me the tomorrow.

I lied.

I told him I’d be fine. I told him I was strong enough to handle his darkness. To handle him walking away from me whenever this ended, because he made it clear this wouldn’t be permanent.

We are living on borrowed time. One tomorrow after another.

And when that day comes, and I know it will, he’ll set me free, even though I want to be chained to his side forever. My heart will break into a thousand pieces, the pain eviscerating, and the organ will never beat for anyone else again.

Moisture prickles my eyes as I take a step back and look at my well-tended garden, half blanketed in snow, with the more delicate plants and flowers covered in a large tent constructed with a clear weather tarp.

Closing my eyes, I lift my face toward the skies, hoping somewhere up there, a higher power will take care of my fragile heart, which has been sliced far too many times.

The plants will survive the harsh New England winter, but will my relationship with him, if we can even call it that, survive?

A lump lodges in my throat and I heave out a heavy sigh, watching my breath crystallizing in a white plume before dissipating, a transient whisper, much like the love I’m trying to hold on to, only to watch it helplessly slip through my grasp.

“Dang, it’s cold out today,” Belle says from behind me, her footfalls soft on the ground. “Are you almost done?”

I blink, trying to dispel my morose thoughts, and turn around, giving her a shaky smile. “Yes, just finished. The tarp is holding up well and the plants look healthy.”

Belle frowns, her light brown eyes narrowing. She sets two cups of steaming hot drinks on the outdoor coffee table and walks up to me. “What’s wrong, Millie? Don’t lie to me. You look like you’re about to cry.”

I swallow and look away. Sniffling, I shake my head. “I-I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. Don’t hide from me, Millie, or from any of us. We’re always on your side. Nothing you say or do will chase us away. You don’t need to take care of our feelings or be worried about how we’ll respond because,” she steps closer and takes my icy hands in hers, “you’ll never get rid of me or the other girls. Ever.”

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