Page 21 of Embers in Our Past

“I don’t understand,” Malloy says.

“Yeah, that’s how Marissa reacted,” I say, laughing to myself, “and in some ways, I am trying to figure out my reaction as well. I guess I really do see myself as broken. It might be silly, but I really don’t want Clay to feel stuck with me. I wanted him to get a chance to have a baby with someone. With me, he would most likely never get that. IVF is a long shot, really. And then there’s surrogacy, sure, but even that is not definite. Then there’s adoption. Those are all great options, but I just got spooked when I saw some online forums, and most were more like horror stories of how things could go wrong, and I just couldn’t handle it.

“Then the fights we were having from not being able to conceive naturally were weighing on me. Add in the fights we started having from all the hormone injections and failed attempts. I can’t imagine what might be in store for us if we had an adoption go wrong. Or a failed surrogacy.” I start to fiddle with my fingers in my lap, my gaze down as I recall my fears from that time.

“Maybe it was me not being able to handle it. I don’t know. I just couldn’t take it, and I ran. I did the worst thing to him and left.” I sigh and shake my head. “Maybe it makes me a horrible person, but I also didn’t see another way. I wanted him to find his happily ever after. And I just didn’t think that would be with me, so I forced him to let me go.”

Malloy grabs my hand and squeezes. I appreciate he doesn’t try to say anything. He just sits with me, and the silence in his truck soothes me.

Finally, I take a deep breath and look over at Malloy. “I think I should head over and wait for him.”

“There is no way I’ll let you wait in there alone,” he replies, and I look up and roll my eyes as a response.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Abby.” He sighs. “Listen, you can go sit on the steps,” I’m about to chime in, and he holds his hands up so he can finish his thought, “and I’ll sit in my truck and wait until he gets here, okay? I’ll stay in the background just to make sure you’re safe until he gets home. I just want to make sure you’re unharmed while you wait. I can’t, in good conscience, leave you here alone.”

I stare at him, trying to look annoyed, but in reality, I find his behavior sort of adorable. I finally relent and nod, then lean in to kiss his cheek and hug him.

“Thank you for being the best guy friend ever. You truly are a prince charming, just not mine to keep.” I pull away and open my door. Before closing it, I look over to Malloy and tell him, “Thank you so much for getting me out of the house. Next time it’s sweats and a movie night in, alright?”

“It’s a date.” He winks back.

We exchange phone numbers before I walk toward the steps and take a seat under the stars. The air is cool, so I pull my sweater over me and rub my legs while I sit on the steps to wait.

I’m not there long, looking down and taking in the cracks in the asphalt in front of me, when I hear rustling by my side as someone walks toward the building.

I look up to see the only hazel eyes to ever capture my soul staring back at me.

CHAPTER 7

Clay

“What are you doing here, Abby?”How can my heart long for the same person who it also breaks for?

I’m still fuming after seeing her hand rubbing Malloy’s arm, trying to calm him down. It’s my arm she should be touching. It’s my nerves she should be calming. And when I look down at her hand, I should still see the ring I put on her finger.

She’s mine, and she’s out there trying to be claimed by someone else. I’m fucking furious, and she’s sitting here acting like it’s another ordinary night. After everything she put me through, she didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me she came back to Boston.

When she said this city reminded her too much of the pain, the reality is that I remind her too much of the pain. She kept saying she was helping me by leaving. No. She left me because I was the problem.

“Clay, I wanted to explain?—”

“I think your actions explained enough tonight. You can go.” I’m being cold, which is the exact opposite of my norm with her, but I have no clue how else to respond. But what does she expect from me? This stings. I’m not too sure what hurt more: her deserting our marriage or seeing her with Malloy—a fucking firefighter. Who does that to someone they claim to have loved?

I walk past her into my building and up the stairs. I can hear her steps following me as I make my way up to my floor. I unlock my door, hoping she won’t follow me in, but I can feel her warmth behind me.

Her presence feels like an electric current passing along my spine, and it’s hard not to react to her. If this were our past, I would pin her against the wall and run my nose along her jaw, watching her skin react to my touch. I’d hold her down with my palm and feel her pulse quicken as I pumped into her. All those little movements would excite me, and now they only anger me, making me wonder if another man now has that power with her while I hold memories of us together instead.

“I’m sorry for showing up there. Malloy and I are just friends. I had no say regarding the date. I had no idea it was him before he got to my place. I swear it isn’t anything more than that with Malloy?—”

“What do you mean? Did he force the date on you?” I turn abruptly before making it further into my apartment. She stops, nearly colliding with my chest. Thank goodness she stops herself before she makes contact with me because if her skin touches mine, I don’t know if I can keep from touching her back.

“No, of course not. I mean, I was set up on a blind date,” she explains, staring at me, her eyes going wider. She pleads with me with that gaze of hers, and I try to decipher if she’s being honest. She’s always been my weakness. It’s taking everything in me not to step closer and devour her the way I’m tempted to do when she’s this close to me.

She’s so close, I can smell that sweet vanilla scent I’ve longed for all these months she’s been away. Now that I have this one part of her in my proximity, I’m starting to wonder if other parts of her remain the same. Does she still taste like cinnamon because she loves chewing that flavored gum? Does she still wear matching panty and bra sets because it bothers her to see them mismatched? Did she wear them forhim?

Fuck, now I’m pissed again.

“Damn it, Abby, why did you have to go out with someone I know? Do you have any idea how this feels? Put yourself in my shoes.” I throw my keys onto my table and storm into the kitchen.

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