Page 74 of Every Promise Broken

The simple question feels like a thousand tiny shards of glass puncturing my heart. It has my throat tightening and my eyes burning. “I don’t know,” I croak. I look up, doing my very best to keep the tears from falling. I don’t want to cry again. I spent all goddamn night crying. “What if we’re not meant to be together? What if last time was our shot, and it’s not in the cards for us? What if I’m only fooling myself?”

“Deep down, in your heart of hearts, do you believe that?” Shooter asks, his tone soft.

“I don’t know!” I admit, my voice cracking, as I try my hardest not to cry. I cannot. “I don’t know what’s my heart talking and what’s the fear in my mind trying to protect myself.”

“Do you love him?” This time, the question comes from Sterling.

“Of course, I love him.” The words fly out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to catch up, and they hit me square in the chest. My hand comes up, covering my mouth as my eyes widen. Oh my god… I still love him. The pressure continues to build behind my eyes, and I have to stand up and walk away from them to grip my bearings. Dragging in a deep breath, I hold it for a five count before exhaling. When I’m sure I won’t lose it, I turn back around and face them, speaking the only truth I know. “Maybe I’ve always loved him. And maybe I always will. I don’t know where to go from here, but I also don’t know if love is enough.”

“What do you need from us?” Sterling asks. “What can we do?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” I murmur. “I can’t ask you guys that.”

“You’re not asking,” Shooter points out. “We’re offering, and we want to help. It’s what friends are for.”

Fresh tears fall, and I turn away, hating how emotional I am right now. This is something I’d do for either of them, or any ofour friends, in a heartbeat, yet having them ask me this feels like too much. I feel pathetic.

“Give us a task,” Shooter urges, grabbing my knee and squeezing gently once, twice, three times. It grounds me somehow.

Wiping the back of my hand over my wet cheek, I exhale a deep breath. “Could you possibly go over to Conrad’s and get some stuff for me? I can’t face him, and all my clothes and toiletries are over there.”

“You want us to get everything?” Shooter asks cautiously.

“All of it,” I say firmly, my chest aching. “I don’t know how I’m going to feel once this is settled, but I know I can’t go back there. His nana already knows we aren’t married anyway, so there’s no point.”

Shooter nods, understanding. “You got it. I’ll give him a call and let him know we’ll swing by in the morning. Give him a chance to get it all together.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything you need,” he says. “But Whit?” I look up, meeting his gaze. “Don’t close yourself off to the idea of you guys just yet. Give yourself some time to think it all over, maybe cool down, but don’t shut him out yet. For what it’s worth, there’s nobody in my eyes more meant to be together than you two. You love him, and I know he’s in love with you. Just because it didn’t work out before doesn’t mean it can’t ever work out, not if your heart is in the right place and you both want it.”

Emotion clogs my throat, and I can’t do anything more than nod. We all stand up, and I walk them to the front door. After they both give me a hug, they head out, leaving me with my big emotions. I don’t know what to do. After so many years, I got used to the idea that we were done. That despite loving him with my entire soul, it didn’t work out. I accepted that somewhere along the way, but having experienced his love again, it feelsimpossible to walk away, yet at the same time, it feels like walking into a bear den and asking to not get bit.

Is getting my heartbroken again inevitable?

Or is Shooter right…? Were Conrad and I meant to find our way back to each other?

29

Conrad Strauss

Five Years Ago

It’s been seven days since Whit got in his car, drove off, and never came back. An entire week without my husband, and I’ve never known pain like this. Not even when I found out my parents were in an accident that ultimately took their life. I can’t breathe. I drag in air, only to have it vanish before it reaches my lungs.

When I call, he doesn’t answer his phone.

I finally caved and drove down to the clinic yesterday, only to find he wasn’t there. He was sick, they told me.

He’s not fucking sick. I know him better than that.

I don’t think he’s coming back.

I think maybe I finally pushed him too far.

I shut him out one too many times, and now I’ve lost him. Lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Lost the one man I love more than life itself. All because I couldn’t swallowmy fucking pride and open up to him. Lean on him while grief ripped me to shreds. I thought life couldn’t get worse, couldn’t get any darker, but boy, was I wrong.

It’s a quarter past midnight, and instead of sleeping like I should be, I’m several glasses into this bottle of whiskey, and I’ve been torturing myself for the last several hours with all the pictures Whit and I have collected over the years. Pictures of our early days, working on this very ranch. Holidays. Our wedding. Times when we were so fucking happy. Moments when his love for me shone brightly. Back when things felt easy.

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