Page 67 of Verses Of Us

Her parents nodded and picked up their forks, but none of them ate. The sight of the apples and crumbly crust only made Alexis nauseous.

She stood and cleared her plate. “On second thought, I’m going to my room.”

Upstairs, Alexis found her bedroom as it always had been, as if walking through a time warp. She entered the tiny room and sank into her twin bed. The posters were gone, but the ribbons, the medals, the honour student high school diploma were where they’d been years before, in prime spots on the wall, staring back at her, reminding her of what she’d worked so hard for her entire life.

Those mementos were there to fill her with pride. To lift her up in times of doubt. But right now, all she felt was empty. She’d never thought of herself as weak, and deep down, she knew she wasn’t. But if she was stronger, then why did she feel as if everything she’d built was tumbling down because of one stupid fucking man?

Ciarán’s blue eyes popped into her head. Even when she squeezed her eyes together, the memory of his glare burned. Was what happened between them over the past week so unimportant to him? Was she just some fling and meant nothing more? Had she seen something in his feelings that wasn’t actually there?

With her, he had been vulnerable. He showed her a side that was unlike the persona. They’d let loose, enjoying each other so much, and she’d turned it into a fantasy.

She fell back on to the bed and sniffled. She’d had too much to drink at supper and a searing headache was sneaking in.

Deep down, she knew how she felt for Ciarán made no sense. It was impractical.

Still, the bond they shared tugged at every atom of her body like gravity. He was that damn song that crept into her brain in the middle of the night and prevented her from sleeping. The tune that pestered her until she gave in and hummed along.

It was so fucking simple. She had to stop letting him in. But as the past week had shown, nothing with Ciarán was ever simple.

IF ONLY

Ciarán

Thejet’sengineroaredas it taxied down the runway. Next to Ciarán, Clark rambled about schedules, interviews, mindless shit he didn’t care about, but he nodded along, sipping his second whiskey, watching the scenery pass by. Nothing mattered to him other than using his cell phone to call her. The little black thing sat on the table in front of him, screaming at him, begging to be used to mend this mess he’d created.

Alexis meant so much to him. It destroyed him to think of what he’d done. What he’d let happen. He’d done his fair share of shitty, awful things in life. But this time was worse. On a superior level of evil, he was sure the Devil himself would disapprove of how he’d strung Alexis along.

He thought back to the first time he’d left Montreal. To how pointless it had all been. Laurel had been waiting in the wings, ready to take him back. They’d gotten engaged, they’d booked the wedding, but everything had fallen through once he’d caught Laurel in her web of lies. And with the other guy.

Had Laurel’s deception surprised him? Somewhat.

Had he secretly prayed for a way out of his commitment? Possibly.

Was Alexis the first thing to pop into his head the minute he kicked Laurel out? Without question.

The plane lifted into the sky, and he left the city he’d grown to love all because of her, behind. The buildings grew smaller. Beneath the clouds, the world vanished. But he couldn’t chase away thoughts of her—of where she might be now, what she was doing. Had she gone home to wallow in sadness, or had she gone out and met someone to take her pain out on?

The prospect of Alexis with some random guy was about as likely as him not drinking anymore, and he chuckled, swirling his drink. He knew her too well to believe this would make her hook up with a stranger. Only someone shitty like him, someone inadequate and nowhere near the same level of perfection as her, would find comfort in a stranger’s bed.

He glanced at his phone one more time, then reached for it. He held onto it, imagining her at home, crying, her heart breaking because he couldn’t take the chance of taking things further.

That was why he’d avoided her, why he left the first time around. He’d always promised himself it would end and knew it would end badly. But he never envisioned how painful it would be… forhim.

Miserable, as if someone had kicked him in the nuts and stabbed him in the chest, even the buttery soft leather seats were uncomfortable. Every inch of his body crawled as if his own skin didn’t fit his bones.

“Jones, you listenin’?” Clark barked.

“Not one bit,” he snapped back, making it clear he was to be left alone.

Ciarán gulped the rest of his drink and sank deeper into his seat, shutting his eyes and clutching the phone to his chest, almost willing her to call him. But he knew she wouldn’t.

What had he done in life to deserve such shitty karma? Why had he met such a wonderful woman? They were perfect for each other.Shewas perfect for him. But they had imperfect timing.

Dazed, he stared at the puffy white clouds, wishing he could just fall asleep and forget the past week. Had someone else interviewed him, he’d be fine right now. He’d be loving life, blissfully unaware that she was out there crying out to be his.

The pressure in his chest didn’t let up.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, he decided he’d truly have no other choice but to let her go. This time for good. It was better for her. Better for him. It might mean he’d have to live with this pain, but hopefully she’d be luckier and would get the chance to move on, finding a love she deserved, one that was worthy of her.

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