Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Aurora
When my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to quickly check it’s not an emergency message from my parents or Darcy, my heart flips over when I see Deacon is the sender.
I make my excuses and leave reception and head into the first-floor guest corridor. What’s Deacon messaging me about?
The message is short and inexplicable:
Can we talk?
What does that even mean?
Anger rises in my chest. How dare he try to bait me into an exchange of texts. If he wants to talk, he needs to tell me what he wants to talk about. I’m not going to ask him.
And anyway, the answer is no. Why would I want to talk to him? We’ve got nothing to say to each other.
I’m not getting pulled back into being a spectator in someone else’s life. I don’t want to be a part-time woman in his life. And I don’t want to be waiting for him to cut and run.
He did it so easily before.
He turned away without a second glance.
And maybe that’s okay. He prioritized his daughter. I can’t hate him for that. But I don’t have to expose myself to it either.
It’s too painful. And I’m in New York for levity and fun.
I’m done with the dark. Once I’ve told Darcy I’m staying, I can really start to enjoy myself.
I’m planning to call her as soon as my shift is finished tonight.
I’m going to rip the Band-Aid right off and just explain that I won’t be coming home.
I know she’ll be disappointed. But she’ll just have to come to New York more often. Ryder and Scarlett are always coming back and forth. She sometimes complains about how often they come and stay.
I head back out into the reception area, just as a huge arrangement of flowers arrives. It’s not unusual for guests to receive flowers, but this arrangement is particularly large and extremely beautiful. I can’t help but smile as I greet the delivery person.
“I can take these,” I say. “Do you have a name or room number?” I ask.
“Aurora Reynolds. No room number,” the delivery person says.
My heart folds in half and in half again. I know instantly that these are from Deacon.
Why? Why is he torturing me like this? I just want to move on with my life. I just want to turn the page. Hearing from him again is just reopening old wounds.
I thank the delivery driver and head into Avril and Poppy’s office, where I now have a desk. I don’t officially start as the general manager until September, but I’m gradually taking on more and more responsibility.
I put the flowers down on my desk and turn to leave when Avril looks up from her desk.
“They’re beautiful. Who are they from?” she asks, slowly getting to her feet.
“Not sure. Haven’t checked the card.”
“They’re for you,” Poppy says. “Why wouldn’t you check the card?”
“Because there’s only one person in New York who would be sending me flowers. And…”
“Deacon Black,” Avril says. “Come on! You have to open the card.”
“If she doesn’t want to,” Poppy says, “she doesn’t have to.”
“You’re just prolonging the inevitable,” Avril argues. “It’s not like you’re never going to open the card.”
“I’m at work,” I say. “I just need to focus.”
Avril tuts. “You’re nearly done for the day. And anyway, you’ve got time to read a note.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to in front of us,” Poppy suggests.
What’s it going to say? Probably the same as the text. And that’s going to infuriate me.
Before I can overthink this, I grab the note from where it’s tucked into the flower heads. I pull it out of the envelope—and somehow I manage to hold myself upright, despite the way my knees weaken and my head spins. The note is simple.
I’m sorry.
I’ve been an idiot.
I miss you.
It’s like someone’s reached into my stomach and pulled out my insides. I feel nauseous and lightheaded, and I grab on to the edge of my desk to stop myself from falling.
“Are you okay?” Avril says.
I blink and blink, like I’m underwater, trying to figure out the direction of the surface.
“I just…”
I don’t know how to tell them how I’m feeling.
I just know I don’t want to be feeling this way. I don’t want to feel weak when Deacon tells me he misses me. I don’t want to feel it in my body when he tells me he’s sorry. I was starting to put myself back together. I was moving forward, and a nucleus of hope had started to grow inside me.
Deacon getting in touch has smashed me open and shown me how empty I was inside.
And I hate him for it. Because now I have to zip myself back up and try to get back to where I was. It’s like I’m playing a tortuous game of Snakes and Ladders, and I was almost winning until, two moves before the end, I just slid down the mother of all snakes.
“Can I get you some water?” Poppy asks. “Have a seat.”
I lean back on my desk and shake my head. “I’ll be fine. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Are we rooting for him, or not?” Avril asks.
“Rooting for him?” Poppy asks. “We’re never rooting for anyone who hurts Aurora.”
“No, I know that, I’m just wondering if she’s rooting for him.”
I shake my head. “It’s over.”
“Are you sure?” Avril asks. “Because it doesn’t seem like he thinks it’s over.”
“I’m sure,” I say.
“He’s not worth a second chance?” she asks.
“Avril,” Poppy chastises. “If Aurora says he’s not, then he’s not. You don’t know what happened between them.”
Avril sighs. “You’re right. I was just rooting for Aurora. And he seemed to make her happy.”
He did make me happy. Meeting Deacon was…everything. I thought I knew what love was. I thought I’d been in love at fifteen. But that wasn’t love. When Ryder married Scarlett, I didn’t feel like someone had ripped out my guts like I have felt over the past few weeks.
I didn’t know love until Deacon. I don’t think I knew I was in as deep as I was until I was out of it. Until he’d called time. And by then it was too late.
Even if he wants to talk. Even if he’s sorry. None of it is enough. I deserve more.
I hand Avril the card. Flowers and a text message aren’t bridges over unsurmountable problems. They’re not even Band-Aids. They’re just ways of feeling better during momentary regrets. But the moments will pass.
I just need to stay strong.
The fact is, Deacon is too focused on keeping everything the same to ever really open up to having someone in his life.
And even if there’s a miniscule chance he’s had some kind of seismic epiphany, then I shouldn’t be the woman he changes for.
He deserves more than a woman who can’t give him more children.
Nausea stirs in my stomach, and I wonder if I’m going to throw up right here, at work, in front of my two bosses.
I think I may have loved Deacon. I think I might still love him. And I think I might love him forever. I take a breath, trying to process the realization.
I know now that Deacon Black is the love of my life.
But me loving him isn’t enough.
I met the love of my life, but he can never be mine. Not even if he’s decided there’s room in his life for me.
How’s that fair?
He and Willow need a woman who can give them a family.
I’m never going to be a woman who can give Deacon a child.
He might not see that as an unsurmountable challenge now, but he will.
At some point. And so it’s better to move on.
Move past the idea that I can have the kind of idyllic family life I always dreamed about.
That dream is dead.
Now I’m embarking on a different dream. One where I’m in New York City, working for fantastic women in a growing business full of people who are hopeful about the future.
That’s what I have to focus on. Deacon Black needs to understand that there’s no point in talking. We all need to get on with our lives.
I pull out my phone and type out two words. “I can’t.” The blood races around my veins like it’s trying to get out, and my hands are shaking, but I take a breath.
I hate my body and what it can’t do. I hate the fact that Deacon wants to protect Willow so badly because of his own pain.
I hate everything.
I press send.
It’s done.
It’s over.
“I’m going to go home,” I say. I don’t wait to hear their response. I just leave.