Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
RACHEL
O utside the hospital room, I lean against the wall, my heart hammering in my chest. Bracken wants me to leave, to forget him, to go back to my old life as if none of this ever happened. But how can I?
The image of him lying on that hospital bed, his face pale and drawn in pain, haunts me. But his words hurt more than anything else.
How could he just push me away like that?
“Damn you, Bracken,” I whisper, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
An hour later, I’m back at the bakery. The place is a mess—shelves overturned, pastries scattered all over, and glass shards glittering on the floor.
It’s a disaster, but it’s my disaster.
I spend my days fixing up what Price ruined. The physical exhaustion is a welcome relief from the emotional turmoil swirling through me. But no amount of scrubbing can clean away the memories of Bracken.
His icy laughter. His anger.
His sacrifice.
He’s true to his word. Repairmen show up the next day, and within a week my place is as good as new. Better even.
No one has shown up to collect the remainder of my debt, so he must have made good with that, too.
I throw myself into my work, kneading dough until my hands are sore and decorating cakes until my eyes blur. Days turn into weeks and weeks into months.
Until one Sunday—the only day the bakery is closed—when a knock at the door startles me.
“Who could that be?” I say to myself as I walk to the entrance and pull open the glass door—I’ve covered it with blinds since the remodel—expecting perhaps a customer or a delivery man.
My heart nearly stops.
“Bracken,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat.
He looks at me then, really looks at me. There’s pain etched on his face, regret in his eyes. But there’s something else too, something new and vulnerable that I’ve never seen in him before.
“Rachel,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve made a mistake.”
My breath hitches in my throat. I can’t tear my gaze away from his.
“I told you to forget me,” he says, looking down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “But the truth is that I don’t want you to forget. I don’t want to be forgotten.” He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. “But most importantly”—he wipes a tear slipping down my cheek—“I don’t want to forget you .”
“I couldn’t forget you, no matter how hard I tried,” I say.
And then his lips come down on mine.