Page 18 of True Fate

“Lainey, I always believed we were meant to be together. Kismet—yeah, that’s exactly what that teenage boy thought.Fate. And I didn’t care that I was just a kid when I thought it. Then you left, and you didn’t just break my heart—you blew up the only relationship in my life, outside of the ones with my brothers and my cousin, Campbell, that felt real. Talk about being destroyed.” Reaching for her, he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’ve never let another woman in because of you. Thirteen years later, and here I am, still twisted up inside.”

“You’re never going to forgive me,” she whispered, the spark of anger still flickering in his eyes. Faint, butthere.

His hand moved to cradle the nape of her neck, the tenderness of the touch sending a shiver through her. “I am. But I don’twantto be. And that, my love, is a monumental change.”

She breathed in the scent of sandalwood and their lovemaking, imprinting the feel of Justin’s touch and the emotion in his eyes, as if preserving a photograph of the past. When he left her—the moment he left her—this would be the only memory she had to hold onto. “Just, I?—”

He pressed his lips to hers, cutting off her plea. “One month, Lain. Meet me at the gallery in one month. I need time to think…and so do you. Please, give me this. And take it for yourself as you build a new life here.”

“One month,” Lainey whispered, not trusting herself to say anything more.

His thumb grazed her lower lip before he rocked back, his expression conflicted. “If we have a chance,” he said softly, “I want the forever kind.”

chaptereight

Everything In Its Right Place–Radiohead

JUSTIN

Rain shot downthe window of his office in violent torrents, matching his mood so perfectly that Justin almost laughed. He stared at the blueprint spread across his desk, having no idea which project it belonged to. Three weeks back in New York, wandering the streets like a zombie, hoping the urban pulse he loved would clear his head.

But it hadn’t.

What he wanted was a guarantee Lainey wouldn’t break his heart again.

And it wasn’t like him to be afraid of anything.

“To hell with work,” he whispered, reaching into the lowest drawer of his desk. Breaking into his emergency bottle of scotch was just what the doctor ordered. Rain hammered against the glass panes as he sipped, staring into the bleak night.

Reassurances hadn’t been a big part of his life growing up. He and his brothers had focused on survival. Staying out of their father’s way and protecting each other had been the only priority.

Forget hoping for more.

Hoping forlove.

Sighing, Justin turned the hair clip resting on the edge of his desk in a slow circle, the metal cool against his skin. He’d found it the morning after, buried beneath the sheets they’d tangled in. A rush of memories hit him—Lainey’s laughter, the gentleness of her touch, the way she nibbled her lower lip when she was trying not to smile.

If he closed his eyes, he could feel her, just within reach.

But because he’d forced the decision between them, she was impossibly far away.

He’d never been able to control his feelings for Lainey—or hell, controlher—and that drove him just a little bit crazy. Maybe that was part of the problem.

Justin rubbed his aching eyes. Sleep had been hard to come by since he left Promise. He was tired of games. Tired of waking up next to someone he only wanted to sneak away from.

What he wanted was a partner. A lover. Afriend.

Finally making love to Lainey after thirteen years of wondering hadn’t been a quick fuck. He’d had enough of those to know the difference. Watching her slip over the edge, eyes dark with need, body arching into his, hands pulling him closer—thatwas the kind of sexual intimacy he’d never dared to imagine.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he’d ever believed feelings like that existed. What he’d felt for her back in the day, timesten.

Justin pushed aside the blueprint and pulled the manila envelope from beneath the stack of mail his assistant had dropped off an hour ago. Amazingly, he’d lasted sixty agonizing minutes without opening the damn thing, though he’d probably looked at it a hundred times.

His heart thundered as he traced the flowing script.

He’d recognize Lainey’s handwriting anywhere.

In high school, they’d passed notes back and forth throughout senior year, their shy flirtation blooming into an intense summer romance. He still had every single one, tucked inside a box in his storage unit, alongside other cherished mementos—a ticket stub from their first movie date, and the countless sketches he’d drawn of her when she wasn’t looking.

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