When Sky Breaks: Burn & Break Duet Book 2

15. Sky

I can’t do this.

Seems to be my current motto.

How did Foster know he’d be here? August’s motorcycle is parked in the exact spot it was the last time I spied on him.

Aware this tree won’t hide me for very long, I bite my thumb and pretend I’m not lurking as I fiddle with my phone and keys.

Damn, my family is right. August and I can’t fix anything if he doesn’t know I’m here. I owe it to myself and my possible future with Johnny to move past this.

Taking a deep breath, I walk toward Snaps as the door opens, and out he comes.

Again, I’m stunned stupid by the man and butterflies swarm in my stomach. Signature ripped jeans, tattoos, and a plain black T-shirt hugs his body. Windswept honey-brown hair lifts as he walks. So soft and thick. My fingers flex with the remembrance of running through it. His classic style didn’t evolve over time, but he didn’t need it to. He’s effortlessly handsome, and my heart squeezes at the sight.

I hold my breath and watch as he gets on his bike and backs from the parking spot. All without him noticing me.

Maybe seeing him again isn’t a good idea at the store. Pretty sure the USB Foster handed me contains zero pictures he needs to be printed off, so I abandon this mission and create a new one.

Energized with something I can’t articulate, I hurry to my car and follow August. Nervous energy bubbles to the surface, fighting for space with the desire to sprint in the opposite direction.

This is stupid and childish.

No.I have to do this. I can’t move on or move forward until this happens. I can’t be stuck any longer.

August leisurely rides his bike and I remain a healthy distance from him. Can’t have him seeing me in his side mirror and crashing.

That might be giving myself too much credit.

He’s probably on his way to a girlfriend’s house for lunch break. Ginger may be wrong and he’s not single. Not sure why I care. I’m mad at him. Plus, there’s Johnny. I can’t forget about him.

You can be mad at someone and still love them.

I almost careen off the road. Love? It never occurred to me I could still be in love with August. If so, it’s buried under the rubble of my broken heart, under the dust of anger coating my life.

As August rides on, I grip the steering wheel tightly, cursing my stupid fucking heart.

It might be better if he is seeing someone. Then there’d be no expectations, no unresolved feelings to deal with. If he’s happy, then I can be happy. I can forgive him and ride off into the sunset as a happy girl.

Lies, and you know it.

August pulls into the parking lot of the florist and my heart rate ticks up. He is seeing someone. Why else would he need flowers?

My stomach plummets once he exits the store with a pretty bouquet of mums. This was not what I envisioned when I came back home—getting my heart smashed all over again. But I can’t stop myself from following him once he leaves the florist, the flowers tucked in protectively on his lap.

She’s probably beautiful and gets to have all the good parts of August I thought were only meant for me. Likely had a perfect childhood and no lingering trauma or scars holding her back. Probably doesn’t obsess over everyone else’s well-being in place of her own and can love him freely.

Before this line of thinking derails the whole situation, the little cemetery where Chase rests comes into view. My breaths come out in short bursts as he parks his bike and slides from the leather seat. I pull off onto a side street and will myself to calm down.

Did someone die?

After a few minutes where I ping-pong between staying and leaving, I get out and walk down the sidewalk along the short metal fence separating me from the cemetery.

The last time I was here, I spent an hour on my knees apologizing to Chase for what happened. I begged for his forgiveness, and here I am contemplating offering it to his… I can’t even say it.

August isn’t that. He’s not an actual murderer.

My hand clutches my throat.

I can do this.

Of all places for a reunion, it had to be here.

My breath stutters.

I can do this.

One foot in front of the other, I push past the gate slowly so it doesn’t squeak—the iron ice cold beneath my fingers.

It’s not until I’m beyond the large tree in the middle of the neatly trimmed grass that I see him. He’s crouched near the ground, placing the flowers on top of a site marker.

One I know very well.

His fingers brush lightly over the metal marker, murmuring words I can’t hear. Not sure if they’re necessary.

He’s talking to Chase. A little boy he never met. A little boy who would’ve adored him. Loved him like I loved him.

The wind lifts his words as I get closer, and my heart squeezes as they meet my ears. “Hey bud. Sorry for the pink mums. It was all they had left. Usually, I choose the wildflowers your sister loves so much, but I’m late getting to you this year.”

His shoulders hunch over with a sigh as he runs a palm over the drying grass near the grave. “I’m sorry, Chase. I know it doesn’t make up for any of this.” He hangs his head, his voice growing hoarse. “But I promise you I’m trying. I’ll always try. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

There’s a soft “fuck” he utters as he grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes.

A ringing begins in my ears, and a stinging pricks at my eyes. My stomach knots as my throat closes.

The man I’m supposed to hate is whispering to the little brother I loved and lost. The irony spears my soul and bares it belly up for the world to see.

There’s so much left to be said between us, but I bury those words for another day. August always had a way of making me overlook the cruelty of the world. So even though his actions ripped away the fabric of my reality, I can’t stay away.

Not now. Not anymore.

“August?” My voice wavers and floats over the breeze—barely a whisper. The roar of blood in my ears increases, and my knees grow weak.

His broad shoulders stiffen. Slowly, he stands and turns, lifting his head. Gray eyes widen at the corners, and he swallows, the faint dusting of scruff moving as his jaw flexes. His voice comes out low and choked, slicing right through my chest. “Shortcake?”