26. THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US #3
Kenneth is walking into the bar with another man in tow.
Someone I don’t recognize. My stomach dips as apprehension fills me to bursting, and my eyes narrow in annoyance when the other man he’s with presses his hand to the small of Kenneth’s back.
Ken smiles at him, cheeks pink, golden hair shimmering.
He looks angelic, and I just want to run to him and wrap him up in my arms. To never let him go.
Instead, I’m forced to watch as they sit a few tables away from us, and the man reaches for Ken’s hand.
They’re too busy looking at each other, while I’m too busy gawking at Kenny.
It hits me that this is a hookup, and I can’t watch any longer.
My chest heaves as I stand up from my chair, the loud scrape making Kenneth look at me.
His eyes widen when he sees me, a flicker of recognition in them, and it almost makes hope bloom in my chest. Almost. Because then I remember he saw me at his apartment as he was getting out of the elevator.
That’s the only reason he recognizes me.
Not because of whatever we used to have—in another world, another life, another timeline.
Who even knows anymore? I’m too confused to figure it out.
We make eye contact for a long moment, but then I look away and walk off, uncaring that Emerson is probably confused as hell right now.
If he wants to know what’s wrong, he can follow me out.
All I know is that I need to get the fuck out of here.
So I run. I run out of the bar and stop on the sidewalk even as my body screams at me to keep going.
My penthouse is right around the corner anyway, and I need to be alone so I can break down in peace. Without witnesses.
I make the mistake of looking back one last time, but instead of finding Emerson, it’s Kenneth there, standing in front of the bar’s entrance with the door closed at his back.
He’s looking right at me, his chest heaving, a frown on his face, and I wonder why he’s here.
What made him come out here. Why he looks so agitated as he looks into my eyes.
But before I can find out, I make a decision.
He’s here with another man. Someone who isn’t me.
So without a word, I turn around and run home.
By the time I make it inside my penthouse, my suit is making me burn up, my dress shirt sticking to my skin, making me feel uncomfortable.
I run to the bathroom and strip, my breathing still shallow, my eyes stinging and burning with unshed tears.
I know I need to let it out, so after a moment of waiting for the water to warm up, I get in the shower and sit on the tiled floor, head between my knees.
My chest is tight as the sobs rack through me, shaking my entire body.
My tears mix with the water falling in trails down my forehead, and I grip my hair tightly to try to ground myself.
It doesn’t work.
What if I’m crazy?
What if none of it was real?
What if…
What if…
What if…
What if it was?
Real.
Because it felt real. It still somehow does.
The way his hand fit in mine, perfect and warm and soft.
The way my chest tightened at just the sight of his smile, that dimple on the apple of his cheek used to take my breath away with every appearance it made.
His blue eyes going lighter and darker, depending on the lighting.
The way he looked at me like I was the center of his universe.
The way I looked at him, like he was the sun I revolved around.
And he was. God, he really was everything to me.
Still is.
Our last fight comes back to me front and center.
How hard he was trying to push me away. Then, how desperately he was trying to pull me back in when he came back to the apartment.
How he yelled at me and told me he loved me.
That hurts. A lot. Because it’s possible I might never hear those words again.
But the memory of him proposing would’ve brought me to my knees if I weren’t already on my ass.
The way he yelled it. The emotion behind his words.
I can’t get it out of my mind. But the one thing I can’t stop thinking about above all others is the way I’m not his now.
In this universe, in this lifetime, in this fucking cursed timeline—I’m nothing.
No one. I just wish he hadn’t come out after me at the bar, because for just a split second, it felt like his soul recognized mine.
Like he was actually out there for me. Wondering where I’d been.
How I’d slipped through his fingers. The reality that none of those things were going through his mind hurts more than I thought was possible.
I never should’ve gotten in that car, never should’ve looked at my phone. I never should’ve had that car accident. And I never should’ve died. But that’s neither here nor there, because I can’t control what’s happened.
Now I just need to figure out a way to live with it.
Possibly even without him.
No matter how much it hurts.