Page 118 of Perfect Pursuit

And I cry because I’m certain about what to do next. I unblock Ethan. Despite everything, he is Austyn’s uncle and there will be times he may need to get a hold of me. Even if we imploded, we’ll always have a connection through her.

But that’s it.

It’s time to find out who Fallon Brookes is without Ethan Kensington in her life.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

“Curses on the Mend” is one of the few songs I can say that brings me to my knees every time I hear it. It rates right up there with “Little Sister” by #brendanblake

I’m so ecstatic about the new collaboration, ladies!

#djkensington #amandareidel #wildcardmusic #fiercewomen

—Moore You Want

The next two weeks drag by as I try to readjust to my life, which was so busy being so empty. I no longer have anywhere to rush to, no conflicts with schedules to balance against visits to hospitals. I’m not trying to text the man I love with enough frequency to give him what’s left of the heart that’s dying with every breath my mother took. All is calm and none of my life is bright.

I want to disappear, but I can’t. After reading my mother’s letter, I made myself a vow. I’d live for her—for us, I amend. I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my white blouse beneath my navy suit jacket before telling my image, “I promise, Mama. I will fall in love with myself even if no one else thinks I’m worth it.”

Turning away from my image, I flick off the lights and head out of my apartment with a travel mug so I can make it to the curator’s office on the Biltmore Estate before the tourist traffic clogs the roads.

Just as I lock my door, my sanitation team finishes with my can. I give them a quick wave and pull the can up next to my door. Even that simple move reminds me of Ethan. I haven’t heard from him other than two bouquets of flowers with a card that had a benign “Thinking about you, —E” written on them. It’s like he’s trying to assuage his guilt with the most expensive flower arrangements he can order.

Flowers remind me far too much of the funeral I just hosted for my mother. And it’s not like the words he wrote meant enough for me to not chuck them along with the vases.

I hope the sanitation team appreciates the less than pungent fumes from my bin as they drive up and down the streets of Seven Virtues doing a job few appreciate. As for me, I feel nothing for Ethan’s lame ass attempt to reach out except an expanding void where my senses used to live.

Or maybe that’s where my emotions once did. It’s hard to tell the difference.

Sliding into my car, I get behind the wheel and mentally steel myself to return to work. Pulling out onto the quiet street, I don’t know if this is a good idea or not. I just know I can’t spend another day crying—especially when what I’m crying over is no longer clear. Is my grief solely about my mother, or is the loss of Ethan just as prominent?

I shove that thought aside as I pass the boulder that indicates my turnoff approaching. Slowing down, I take one of the unmarked roads to employee parking. Just as I park the car, I receive a text.

Ethan: Witch, please. Let’s meet for coffee.

Powering down my phone, I don’t bother responding, the same way I haven’t responded to his other attempts to engage me in between his flower deliveries. Leaving it in my car, since I know no one who doesn’t have my work extension will bother to try to reach me while I’m at work, I slide out of the car and lock it before starting the lengthy walk on the trail from the employee lot to the main estate. It’s as if our entire relationship didn’t implode outside of Devil’s Lair and then disintegrate on the porch of my mother’s home.

Recalling Austyn’s last call to check on me, I remember we broached the very topic of Ethan pushing too hard. She probed delicately. “Have you heard from Uncle E?”

“He’s tried.” I gave her a low down of his “attempts.”

She snorted. “What a lame jackass. I would have thought he had more game than that.”

I told her bluntly, “I don’t have the emotional wherewithal to deal with the way he hurt me right now, Austyn.”

Her voice softened noticeably, “No. Of course not.”

“But you think I should talk with him? More than I already have?”

“I think there’s a reason for him doing the things he did,” was her response.

Considering she suffered the worst kind of suffering due to male protectiveness, I begrudgingly agreed but cautioned, “On my terms. I’m not ready.”

She immediately agreed. “Absolutely. How are you supposed to heal if he doesn’t give you space?”

At least I know Austyn isn’t colluding with her uncle, I think grimly as I climb the last few steps and enter the estate garden. A feeling of peace settles over me as the monstrous home Cornelius Vanderbilt built in the late 1800s appears. Quickening my pace now that I’m on even ground, I flash my badge once I reach the estate.

Once inside, I promptly push thoughts of Ethan Kensington aside because I have a job to do.

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