Page 119 of From West, With Regret

We’ve spent nearly all our lives feeling like outsiders, navigating life alone, never belonging. Others have caused us pain, never allowing us into their worlds. But now we have friends that treat us like family, and we have each other.

West is the love of my life. He always has been. Ever since that day in the foster home, when he pressed his finger to my cheek. He’s fought for me every second since, even when I had no memory of him.

“So, why are we here?” he asks, closing the car door behindhim. Alden moves around the front of the car and stands along the curb.

I don’t bring myself to look at the lane where the bus hit Heath. I don’t think I’m quite ready to look at it just yet.

“You gave me this idea last night,” I tell him, turning to face The Veiled Door. “At dinner, when you were talking about how we didn’t really get a chance to enjoy the reopening of this place.”

We’d also talked about other things. Like how we know we want to get married someday soon, and how we want children of our own. Though not before looking into adopting a child from a foster home, giving them the life our adoptive parents gave us.

Talking about a future with West, unplagued by darkness, is a feeling I’ll hold onto forever.

“I did?” West asks me.

“Yep.” I cross my hands in front of me, fingering each of my rings, then I turn to face West. “The last time we were here, a nightmare unfolded. Our last memory of this place is dark and ugly. I want to take all that back. I want to walk through and look at what we created here.”

“London…”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes as I turn back and look at the man I love. “Seeing the foster home in Albany brought back my memories. For years, that house held them captive until I faced it, forcing it to give them back. It brought me back to you.” A tear slips from my eye, and I’m quick to wipe it away, my mouth lifting into a soft smile. “We deserve ownership of our memories, West. We deserve to give them a proper space where they belong, or else what’s the point of it all?”

He doesn’t speak a word.

I clear my throat, thinking back to the past two years of my life. “It wasn’t just the house that held my memories hostage. It was Heath, too.”

I’ve tried not to think about my ex-husband these past few days. While his death was tragic, it doesn’t erase the pain he caused West and me. How he tried to kill us, lurking in the shadows, stalking us. My marriage to Heath was failed the moment I said, “I do,”and Heath was willing to do whatever it took to keep me, all the way down to his stupid fucking plan of faking his own death. He expected me to mourn him until the time was right to show me it was all an illusion to put off the threat he’d faced from the Irish mafia. The Irish fucking mafia.

West lifts his hand to my cheek, and I place mine over his. I feel his warmth wrap around me. “Heath’s power came from making me feel as little as possible. He’d clipped my wings and made me feel like I couldn’t survive without him. Maybe part of him was afraid that I would regain my memories if he gave me freedom… but it isn’t like that with you.” I move my hand to West’s brow, where I trace the dark hairs arching over his blue eye. I study him like a painting I have yet to create. “You allow me to fly, West.”

The corner of his mouth curls under his growing beard. I love that he’s growing it out again. “Always.” He leans in and presses his soft lips to mine.

I moan against it, pressing against West with my whole body. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer to me.

When he grunts against me, I pull away.

“I’m sorry.” My eyes wander over his body, falling to his foot. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he chuckles under his breath. “My ribs are still sensitive, but that just shows the affect you have on me, London Walker.”

My stomach flutters. “Come on.” I laugh, wrapping my hand around his bicep and turning on my heel to face the front of The Veiled Door. “Let’s see this grand reopening the way we should have seen it last week.”

Once we step inside,all our friends are gathered near the back of the bar. The group turns around, Julianna, Charleigh, and Selene lifting their arms enthusiastically in the air, shouting congratulations like we’ve stumbled into a surprise birthday party. We all laugh, and I keep my hand wrapped around West’s thick bicep as we make our way over to join them, loving how they came here to show their support for us, ensuring we gain new memories of this place.

After grabbing a few drinks for ourselves, the group walks around the bar and looks at every piece of art I completed, even discussing the new pieces of furniture and flooring Lewis helped West pick out. The Veiled Door hasn’t opened back up since the night of the reopening event, but seeing it the way it is now, eerily quiet and void of life, aside from our friends, I feel like not only are we ready to move on, but the bar is as well.

Decked out in a mix of black, gold, and rich, dark shades of green, it’s the perfect homage to old town New York City and deserves to be celebrated.

I take a moment to listen as Julianna tells me about the new prank she’s pulled on Rome, and Charleigh asks me to be her bridesmaid. I happily tell her yes, knowing there was no other answer I could have given her. Selene is mostly quiet. She doesn’t mention her relationship with the date she brought to the reopening the other night. She’s always held her relationships close to her chest that way.

Afterward, I find West talking with Holt behind the bar. Holt’s expression is nearly vacant, and when I drag West away, I can’t help but feeling like I interrupted a serious conversation. I decide not to pry or ask questions, though.

When we’re finished walking around the bar, the group leaves the two of us to enjoy the place we’ve poured our workinto the past several months. I tell West I’m going to pop in the bathroom before we head out ourselves, but when I step out, I hear him working his way up the stairs leading to the storage room.

My old workspace.

An ice-cold chill slithers down my spine. I round the corner to the base of the stairs to find West hopping from one step to the next. His crutch is propped under one arm while he grips the rail. The wood creaks beneath him, and when I look down at the steps, I’m thankful the splattered blood has been cleaned up. The memory of watching West and Heath tumbling down these stairs causes my stomach to sour.

“What are you doing?” I ask, rushing up the stairs to catch him.

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