Page 88 of Recklessly You
The gunshot echoes around us, and I tumble into a dark abyss.
Sophie…I didn’t get to tell her I loved her.
CHAPTER 31
SOPHIE
I sit on the porch of my parents’ new ranch house, taking in the fresh air and rolling hills. I’ve been here for a week now, since returning from London. I stand up from the old rocker and make my way to the bedroom my mom set up for me.
“Hey, sweet pea, do you want to stop for pizza?” my dad asks.
It’s been a year since I’ve been back to New York. I should be happy to be with my parents. But all I want to do is go home to my apartment in California, crawl into bed, and grieve. I’ve distracted myself from all of it for weeks now. I need to grieve and accept in my heart that it’s over.
“Sure, Dad, sounds great.” I’ll never turn down food, especially pizza.
You. Are. Perfect. Any. Shape. Or. Form.
Five long weeks—the longest weeks of my life. Five days after I arrived in London, Liz was induced, and eight hours later, she had a seven-pound baby girl named Jackie. My niece is adorable. My big brother, whom I hadn’t seen in such a long time, was ecstatic, and it was nice to see him that way. My mom and dad have been on cloud nine the entire time. Holding my niece and sniffing her baby scent kept me from breaking down in front of my family. When I had a chance, I would escape and walk around the city, allowing myself to grieve the loss of the man I love. I thought of what Mila had said—maybe he does love me, and he hasn’t come to terms with it—but after weeks, I lost hope. He meant what he said.
I spent my time in art museums, my eyes seeping into each art piece. I wondered what was on their minds when the artists created such masterpieces. Were they sad, grieving, happy, in love? Did they combine all their emotions into one piece? Reflecting the past, present, and future? My gaze was drawn to one painting in particular.
It features a young boy no older than eight years old. He kneels on the forest floor, and his face lifts toward an unseen vista with an unreadable expression. His brows are furrowed, and his lips are set in a solemn line that speaks of a sadness that cannot be eased. It’s entitledThe Lost Boy. It’s painter, Lacy Vanfreud, is a well-known British artist, and the painting is a masterpiece.
It got me thinking of Liam. He is like this boy—lost. His past tortured his soul, and he couldn’t break free. Did he go back to his old ways of sleeping around to numb his past? Images of him with other women churn in my mind, driving me into a jealous rage.
Though it will be difficult for me to witness, I hope the person he falls in love with is his destined soulmate. Only that will heal his broken soul. For most people, unconditional love seems to mean you love someone for a short time only to fall out of love with them or let go of them to fall in love with someone else. To me, unconditional love means…loving someone for life even when they don’t love you.
I will always love Liam Rodriguez. He gave me back my confidence and my self-worth.
I reminisce about how his lips felt on mine. How his hot, searing body melted on top of mine like liquid gold. Or how he’d hold me in his arms while I read and he watchedLaw and Order. He would tuck the sheets over me in the morning when he left the bed to go shower. Sometimes I would sleep in a little longer or jump in the shower with him. He would wash my body gently, lavishing me from head to toe. He would pepper kisses along my shoulders, making my body shiver. I etch the memories of those simple moments on my soul, like the wax from a lit candle left to drip. Only the pain remains.
My phone rings, and I sigh once again. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I check who it is.
“Hello.”
“Hey, bestie, how are you doing? Are you in New York yet?” Mila’s soft voice hums on the line.
“I’m doing okay, and I just got home from grabbing some pizza. I’m at my parent’s house now.”
Mila has been messaging me lately, making sure I’m doing okay. She hasn’t brought up Liam in any of our conversations. Presumably, she is trying to spare me from the additional pain of talking about it.
“Umm…” She blows a hot breath. “Sophie, I have something to tell you.”
My stomach drops at the sound of her distressed voice. “Is it about him?”
“Yes, umm, Sophie, Liam was shot a couple of days ago.”
I can feel the blood drain out of me.
“He was shot twice. He lost lots of blood, and he was in and out of consciousness for three days. He’s been awake for two days now. He’s doing better. The doctor will probably release him next week, depending on how he’s doing.”
My heart beats out of my chest. I jump out of bed and begin to collect my suitcases. I need to see him, make sure he’s okay.
“I’ll take the next flight out,” I say.
“No, Sophie.”
I drop my stuff. He must not want me there.
