Chapter 54
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Keats
One moment the world can be in the palm of your hand, and the next second, it can turn around and slap you across the face leaving you senseless.
That’s what I feel now.
I’m staring into a diner looking at the woman I love in the arms of another man. I saw a flash of red hair as I turned the corner. I knew it was Maren. That shot of need inside of me told me that. I tried to catch up, but she disappeared into the diner before I could reach her.
I don’t know who the fuck the guy is that Maren is hugging.
She’s supposed to be at my townhouse getting ready for the dinner tonight. Instead, she’s clutching onto a tall guy with blond hair who looks like he wants to make her every dream come true.
I know regret when I see it on a man’s face.
It’s there on mine when I wake up every morning.
I used women for years to bury my feelings. I didn’t care enough about them to remember their names or what they liked in bed.
When they called the next day, I’d answer with an excuse about being busy.
I was a coward.
I’m not a coward anymore.
I move toward the door of the diner because I’m not going down without a fight. I love Maren. I know she loves me.
I feel it.
Whoever the man is that she’s clinging to, he needs to get in line behind me, because I already gave my heart to Maren, and I don’t want it back.
Just as I’m about to reach for the door handle, my phone rings.
I curse under my breath even though no one around me will fine me for swearing.
I tug my phone out of my pocket.
Earl Newman’s name lights up the screen of my phone.
I silence it because he needs to wait.
I hold the door open for a woman with a stroller. She struggles to maneuver the wheels through the narrow entryway, so I help out. I take over the handle and guide it through all while the small brown-haired baby inside keeps napping.
“Thank you.” She turns to me. “Most men in this city wouldn’t help my son and me out.”
“Most men in this city are assholes,” I quip.
She drops her gaze to the diamond ring nestled next to a wedding band on her hand. “My husband, Griffin, doesn’t qualify. You don’t either. I hope Ellis grows up to be a gentleman too.”
“It sounds like he has a great role model in your husband.” I look down at the little boy. “Cute name, by the way.”
“It’s my maiden name.” She smiles. “I won’t keep you, but thank you again.”
I force a smile as she makes her way toward an empty table.
The ringing of my phone drops my gaze down to the screen again.
I answer as I watch Maren walk toward the washroom leaving the guy in the gray suit alone.
“Earl,” I say his name. “How are you?”
His answer sets me back a step. I fumble to grab hold of the wall, but I’m left grasping at air.
As I stumble out of the diner and onto the sun-soaked sidewalk, my world goes dark.
“I’ll be there,” I tell him solemnly. “I’m on my way.”
Four hours later, I feel like I’ve been in the ring with a prizefighter.
I’m sitting at a bar on Madison Avenue, relying on my common sense to dictate how much alcohol I’ll pour down my throat tonight.
So far, the scotch is winning.
I’m on my third.
I lost everything in a matter of a few hours.
Maren met up with some chump in a cheap suit at a diner.
Before that, she apparently had coffee with her friends while she was sitting at a table next to a friend of Patrika Newman.
Millions of people call Manhattan home, but the degrees of separation are minuscule.
Earl let me have it. He won’t work with a liar, he said.
I don’t blame him.
Finn Remsen will be celebrating tonight.
I glance at my phone when it starts to ring again.
Maren might think the third times the charm, but I silence it the same way I did the last two times she’s called.
I haven’t read any of her text messages either because what the fuck am I supposed to say?
Who is the guy in the suit you met up with today?
She sent me a text ten minutes before I spotted her at the diner.
I don’t need to reread that text message. I saved it to heart.
Maren: I’ll be on my way soon. I can’t wait for tonight. It feels like the start of something amazing for us.
Us.
I hate that fucking word.
I finish what’s left in my glass and tap the top of the bar to gain the server’s attention.
She walks toward me with a grin on her face. “Do you want another?”
I nod.
“I’m Kendall.” She leans an elbow on the bar. “What’s your name?”
She’s pretty. At one point in the past, I would have already asked her to meet up with me after her shift.
The problem is that she’s not Maren.
I push back from the bar. “I changed my mind.”
Tugging a few bills from the front pocket of my jeans, I toss them on the bar.
“Thanks,” she says brightly. “I hope to see you again soon.”
She won’t.
I’m not traveling down that same fucked-up path I did before. I’m going home to bed. I’ll sleep this off, and tomorrow I’ll figure out what comes next.
Stepping onto the sidewalk outside the bar, I’m met with a gust of wind.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I need to look at the fucking thing if I’m going to get an Uber, so I tug it out.
A text message from Maren greets me.
Maren: I’m scared. Please tell me you’re okay. Please, Keats.
I type back a response. It’s all I can manage because the screen is so fucking blurry.
Keats: I need time.
I press send, order an Uber, and silence my phone.