Page 7 of Always

“Skye, you’re not. And what’s more, you know you’re not. Look inside yourself. Figure yourself out, because until you do, you’ll always yearn for something I can’t give you. And I’m not just talking about the neck bondage.”

…

I let her sleep in my bedroom.

I slept in a guest room. Rather, I didn’t sleep. After an hour of tossing and turning, I got up, went to my computer, and did some work. Work is my escape, my constant. When everything else is spiraling out of control, I know I can lose myself in the familiarity of it, shutting out the thoughts that threaten to keep me awake.

In the morning we rode in silence to the airport. We boarded the jet, also in silence. Thank God it was a short flight. Christopher met us and dropped her off at her place. I walked her to the door.

I touched her cheek lightly. “Goodbye, Skye.”

She nodded. No words.

Just as well.

I was holding on by a thread.

This all happened mere hours ago, and it feels like a lifetime.

I’m back at the Boston office now, ready to head into a meeting.

I haven’t slept, but caffeine works wonders, and I’m good at compartmentalizing. I have to be.

The conference room is a buzz of activity as I walk in. The long, polished mahogany table gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights, and an array of papers, laptops, and coffee cups litters its surface. People are talking, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of urgency.

I take a seat at the head of the table, and gradually, the room quiets down. My colleagues turn to face me, waiting for my lead. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and unspoken tension.

My brother, Ben, sits to my right and my father to my left.

I clear my throat, tap the screen of my laptop to wake it up from its sleep mode.

I pull up my notes and—

Then I rise and clear my throat again.

“Thank you all for being prompt today. My father and Ben are going to take the lead on this. I’m… I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Bray?”

I ignore Ben’s voice.

Simply close my laptop, walk briskly out of the conference room, and then out of the office.

With no idea where I’m going.

Chapter Three

I end up at a small bar about a block away—a dimly lit refuge from the harsh realities of the corporate world, its wooden floors scuffed from years of traffic. I order a shot of Wild Turkey, the burn of it going down my throat a welcome distraction. The heat slowly spreads through my chest, momentarily blurring the lines of reality.

My reality.

My reality that no longer includes Skye Manning.

This isn’t me.

This isn’t Braden Black.

Braden Black doesn’t let a woman get to him like this.

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