Chapter 14
DIEGO
I paced my living room like a caged animal, wearing a path into the already thin carpet that probably hadn’t been updated since the nineties.
My fingers drummed a restless, uneven rhythm against my thigh as I turned sharply at the window, looking out at the darkening street but seeing nothing beyond the storm of thoughts in my head.
That kiss hadn’t left my mind for a single second.
Hell, the echo of if still tingled on my lips hours later.
The way Gillian had melted into me like she belonged there, the soft, breathless sounds she’d made that had almost driven me to my knees, the way her fingers had tangled in my hair as if she was drowning and I was her lifeline.
All of it felt etched into my skin, branded there like the memory itself had physical weight pressing down on my chest.
The whole scene kept replaying in vivid detail—the dim lighting of Doc Holliday’s casting shadows across her face, the way her eyes had gone wide with surprise before fluttering closed, the warmth of her body pressed against mine in that quiet corner of the bar.
I could remember every heartbeat, every shallow breath, every moment before reality crashed back in.
I’d been here before. Four years ago, same feelings, different apartment, watching her walk away from me and toward her perfect, planned future, telling myself it was for the best. That she needed to follow her dreams, chase that high-powered career she’d worked so hard for, that I had no right to stand in her way or ask her to give up everything she’d built her life around.
And I’d regretted it every single day since.
Not fighting for her. Not telling her what she meant to me, how she’d turned my whole world upside down in the span of one summer.
Not laying it all on the line so at least she’d have known what she was really choosing between—her predetermined path or something real and messy and worth taking a risk for.
If she left again—when she left again, because that fancy job offer wasn’t going anywhere—I understood with bone-deep, soul-crushing certainty that would be it.
There would be no more chances, no more stolen moments, no more kisses that tasted like possibility and heartbreak all at once.
She would go back to her life in the city, I would stay here in mine, and whatever still burned between us would die out for good.
Unless I did something about it this time.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Cord checking in about shift coverage for tomorrow. I’d deal with that later. Right now, I needed to see Gillian. Needed to tell her what I should have said four years ago.
I grabbed my keys, determination propelling me toward the door. The moment I pulled it open, I froze.
Gillian stood on my front step, hand raised as if about to knock. Her eyes widened, startled. She wore jeans and a simple gray tank with spaghetti straps that brought out the green in her eyes. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, caught in the evening breeze.
“Hey.” She lowered her hand. “Can I come in?”
I stepped back without a word, my heart hammering against my ribs. She moved past me into the apartment, bringing with her the faint scent of flowers and something deeper, like warm vanilla.
I closed the door, watching as she took in my small living space—the worn leather couch, the bookshelf crowded with paperbacks, the photos on the wall of the crew at last year’s chili cook-off.
“Nice place.” She turned back to face me. Her fingers twisted together, an unmistakeable sign of nerves.
“Thanks.” I gestured toward the couch. “Do you want to sit?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can.”
We stood facing each other, the air between us charged with everything unsaid. I’d planned to rehearse what I wanted to tell her on my walk to Doc’s house, but now that she was here, the words scattered like leaves in the wind.
She paced back and forth across my living room, her movements sharp and agitated. This wasn’t the woman who’d melted against me at the bar last night. Something had shifted in the hours since she’d driven away.
Unable to bear the tension crackling between us, I took a step toward her. “Everything okay?”
She stopped abruptly, pushing her hair back from her face. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”
“Is it Doc?”
“No. No, he’s okay.” She started moving again, smaller circles now. “This trip has just been a lot. It has me thinking about before.”
My pulse quickened. “Me, too.”
She looked at me then, something flickering in her eyes that might have been hope. “Yeah?”
The moment stretched between us like a thread pulled taut, fragile and ready to snap at the slightest pressure.
I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs as I studied her face, searching for any hint of what she was thinking.
I could keep playing it safe, keep pretending that kiss was just a pleasant memory from the past repeating itself—two old flames rekindling before reality set back in.
Or I could tell her the truth and let the chips fall where they may, even if it meant her walk away from me all over again.
“Look.” I took another step toward her. The space between us seemed to crackle with electricity, every nerve ending in my body hyper-aware of her presence.
“There are so many things I wish I’d have said before you left for law school.
Things I was too young and too scared to voice back then.
I have no idea if any of it would have changed anything—maybe you still would have chosen the same path.
And maybe it still won’t matter now. But I need you to know that I was in love with you that summer.
Completely, utterly in love with you. I’m still in love with you, Gill. I never stopped.”
Her lips parted on a sharp intake of breath, but no sound came out. The color drain from her cheeks, then rush back in a wave of pink that spread down her neck. Her hands, which had been twisted together at her waist, went still.
“This isn’t remotely fair of me to dump on you like this,” I continued, the words tumbling out now that I’d started.
“When you have this whole successful life built up so far away from here, when you’re only visiting for a little while before you go back to your real world.
But I needed you to know what you were walking away from this time.
Not just some summer fling or a nostalgic hookup, but something real.
Something that could be a foundation for the rest of our lives. ”
She wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders curving inward as if she was trying to make herself smaller. The confident attorney who’d walked into my living room was gone, replaced by someone who looked suddenly young and uncertain, like the girl I’d fallen for all those years ago. “Diego...”
“Look, I’m not asking you to throw away the career you’ve worked so hard for just for me.
” I closed the last of the distance between us, stopping just short of touching her, close enough to see the gold flecks in her green eyes, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body.
“But I want you to think about what you truly want in life, Gill. Not what your family expects, not what looks good on paper, not what you think you’re supposed to want.
Because everything you’ve been doing since you left here—is it actually making you happy? ”
Her expression was almost pained as she stared at me, eyes glassy with unshed tears. The silence between us stretched, filled only with the sound of our breathing.
“That’s not a fair question,” she whispered.
“No.” I took her hands in mine, thumbs brushing across her knuckles. “But I need to ask it, anyway. Are you happy, Gill? With the life you’ve built?”
She looked down at our joined hands. “It’s complicated.”
“Life usually is.” Despite the fact that my heart was threatening to beat straight out of my chest, I waited, giving her space to find the words.
“I’ve accomplished everything I set out to do. Everything I was supposed to want.” The words were too careful. The attorney, not the woman.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her eyes met mine, vulnerable in a way I seldom saw. “I know.”
I stepped closer, still holding her hands.
“I can’t offer you wealth or prestige, Gill.
I can’t give you corner offices or power lunches or whatever else comes with that world you’ve built.
” I released one hand to brush a strand of hair from her face.
“But I can offer you love. Devotion. A life full of connections that matter—people who know your name, your story, who genuinely care what happens to you.”
She swallowed hard. “Diego—”
“I think those things matter to you too.” I needed to get this out before I lost my nerve.
“I see it when you’re at the bar, talking to the regulars.
When you’re with Doc. The way your whole face changes when you laugh with Lucy.
” I cupped her cheek. “You light up here in a way I don’t think you do there. ”
“You don’t know what my life is like there,” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.
“You’re right. I don’t.” I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone. “But I know what you look like when you’re truly happy. I used to see it every day.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.” I caught the tear with my thumb. “Your parents. Your career. I get it. There’s a lot at stake.”
“Everything I’ve worked for,” she whispered.
“I know.” I held her gaze. “And if it’s making you happy—if it’s worth what you’ve given up for it, then okay. But if it’s not...”
She looked almost fragile, caught between worlds. I could see the conflict playing across her face—the rational, ambitious attorney and the woman who’d danced with me in an empty bar, who’d looked at peace for the first time since she’d come back to town.
I should have backed off. Should have given her the space to process everything I’d just dumped on her.
But as she wrestled with the impossible question I’d asked, I was seized by the fear that this might be our last moment of honesty.
That once she walked out, the walls would go back up, and we’d never find our way back to this raw vulnerability.
“Gill.” I murmured her name like a prayer, my hands lifting to frame her face, fingertips threading through the soft strands of hair at her temples.
Her breath caught in that suspended moment before I kissed her, the sound almost lost in the quiet space between us.
I poured everything I couldn’t say into the press of my lips against hers—years of missing her, of wondering what if, of carrying the ghost of what we’d shared through every day since she’d left.
She froze for half a heartbeat, her body going rigid with surprise, before melting against me like snow in spring sunshine.
Her fingers clutched at my shirt, bunching the fabric in her fists as if anchoring herself to something solid in a world that had tilted off its axis.
This wasn’t the heated, desperate kiss we’d shared at the bar earlier, fueled by alcohol and old attraction.
This was something different—deeper, more profound, an echo of everything we’d once been to each other and everything we could be again if we were brave enough to reach for it.
Her lips parted on a soft sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest, and the salt of her tears mingled with the sweetness that was uniquely, unmistakably her.
The combination was heartbreaking and perfect all at once.
When I pulled back, forcing myself to break the connection despite every instinct screaming at me to hold on, her eyes remained closed, dark lashes casting shadows on her cheeks.
Her lips stayed parted, still soft and inviting, still carrying the ghost of our kiss.
Her hands continued to hold tight to my shirt as if she needed the support to remain standing, as if letting go would send her tumbling back into the uncertainty that had brought her to this crossroads.
I rested my forehead against hers. “Just something to remember while you’re thinking.”
Her eyes opened, revealing depths of emotion I couldn’t begin to untangle. “As if I ever forgot.”