Page 56 of L.O.V.E

“Is there anything more powerful than love?” he asked, his whiskey breath warming my skin. “Because that’s what I suffer. Every fucking day. It physically hurts, not being able to touch you.” He pounded his chest. “How can I feel this way? How? When I don’t even know you, not really.”

My skin tightened, shrinking, tingling.

The worddestinycame to mind, then escaped my lips, breathy and exhausted.

Our hearts belonged side by side. I had no doubt. Or maybe the alcohol was kicking in. Or sleep depravity.

I was not a cheater. Cole was not a cheater. He was drunk. I was love drunk but still had my wits. And yes, my morals, too, despite hating them at the moment.

I placed a hand on Cole’s chest, pushed him far enough away that I could stand, then walked to the other end of my small room, severing our heated tie, or maybe stretching it, because I believed that tie to be unbreakable. Stretched and weakened, but never broken.

My body ached for Cole Adams.

Cole retrieved his bottle, lifted the alcohol to his lips, and slumped against the wall.

I called Lacey.

When Ellis and Jeremy showed up at my door thirty minutes later, Cole was out cold.

Ellis didn’t pry, only asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I assured him. “He’ll be hurting. Not sure how much he drank before he got here.”

Ellis stared at the floor, sucked in a breath, then confessed, “This is my fault. Tomorrow is the anniversary of his sister’s accident. We should’ve had the wedding on a different weekend.”

Speechless, I watched as Ellis and Jeremy hoisted Cole off the floor, and without question or judgement, carried him toward the elevator.

I locked the door and turned. Something sharp dug into my foot. “Jesus! Fuck!” I yelled, hobbling, “Ow, ow, ow.” I flipped the light switch and found a gold crucifix on the floor, dainty and too beautiful not to be hanging from a chain. One of the men must’ve dropped it. I curled my fist around the warm metal, then tucked the pendant into a pocket in my handbag.

I dozed poolside, a glass of orange juice and bottled water on standby. Two children squealed and splashed in the shallow end, their mother enjoying a book under the shade of an umbrella.

I dared the Vegas sun to scorch the Seattle pale clean out of me, enjoying one last dose of vitamin D before heading to the airport.

My phone buzzed.

“Lacey Lulu.”

“Nat Brat.”

“How’s Mrs. Chambers this morning?”

“Oh, my Lord. Say that again. I love being called Mrs. Chambers.”

“Mrs. Lacey Lu Chambers.” I sighed. “How was your wedding night?”

“Perfection. Are you joining us for breakfast? Everyone’s here.”

I hated letting my girl down, but I could not face Cole Adams. Not without self-combusting. “I’m sorry. I changed my flight. Heading home today.”

Lacey whispered, “Hold on one sec.” A chair scratched. Muffled voices. Lacey excused herself. Heavy breaths. “Okay, I’m alone. Are you leaving because of what happened last night?”

“No.” Yes.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Never. With anyone. Ever. Because admitting my feelings for an engaged man would make me a horrible person, though not as horrible as actually having those feelings. For allowing them to take root, let alone grow into a deadly jungle.

After a long, pregnant pause, she asked, “How did he end up at your hotel?”

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