Chapter Three

T here's a scene in one of the Twilight movies where Bella remains unmoving in a chair—riddled in heartbreak—while staring out the window, watching the seasons pass before her eyes. And on my balcony, as the trees shed and deaden before giving new life to fresh blooms, I realized I'd lived the past three seasons of my life much the same way she did when she was deserted by love.

Love may have had its way with me last summer, but when the first snow began to drift toward the ground, it was my hate that grew. Hatred for a nameless man who's taken a large part of my happiness away by putting me in a state of exile.

Now when I ache for those who deserted me, I replace it with loathing for the fire-eyed man who gave an executive order to keep me in my respective place—which is nowhere.

The holidays came and went, and I went home. I spent winter break with my mother and Christy, all the while nursing my shattered heart, a heart filled to the brim with love without a soul to shower it on. And not once in that time did I regret a minute with either of them.

I was thankful.

I was grateful.

I knew myself better because of that experience with them. It wasn't just a summer but a season of discovery. I imagine most people go through life never exploring themselves as in-depth as I did. Those days of lust-filled trysts and nights I spent with my lovers beneath a canopy of green trees and twinkling stars reshaped me.

As the minutes, hours, days, and months passed, I didn't spring back to life. I simply went through the motions.

I kept my memories close, until one day I forced myself to start living again. School was easy, and my job was made easier the closer I got with Melinda and a few others in the night crew. None of the brotherhood spoke to me—none of them. Whether in town at a gas pump, or a chance meeting anywhere else, I was invisible to those who had the marking. I hadn't just lost my boys, I'd lost my friends too, including Layla, and everyone else associated with the brotherhood.

The bastard kept his promise. I've been completely on my own.

The more time that passes, the more I decide I'm better off. Any communication or association with anyone related to Sean and Dominic would only give me hope of a future that isn't coming.

At the end of spring, I've successfully completed my first two semesters of college with a near-perfect GPA and am now on the last leg of my year working for my father. I'm three-quarters of the way to honoring our deal with only a few months to go.

One summer left in Triple Falls, and I will be free of Roman Horner and my obligations to him, and my mother will be financially set.

Freedom is close.

Roman hasn't returned from Charlotte since our last exchange, and I don't expect him to. He hasn't made so much as an effort past a weekly email. As I suspected, he never lived here. If anything, this house seems to have been blueprinted as a shrine to his success.

By this summer's end, I'll no longer have to deal with the lingering anxiety about a possible face-to-face. Not only that, but I'll also have a large portion of his fortune signed over to me, and our ties will be severed.

Oddly enough, I'm in no hurry to flee Triple Falls.

The town and its people have grown on me. I no longer mind the monotony of my workdays. But now that the semester is over, my days off are my own again, and filling them is becoming a hard task.

I've been spending them wisely.

I hike, and often. Never on the trails that Sean took me to; I'm no longer a masochist in that sense. But I've grown stronger, my muscles no longer screaming after long treks in the woods and up mountain cliffs. I've brushed up on my French with my app, determined to eventually spend my summers abroad with the aid of a flush bank account. And now that the temperature has stopped lingering on brisk, I've resumed sunning, swimming, and reading out in Roman's courtyard.

I've allowed myself to dream up a new normal, having last-call beers with my coworkers and attending a few of Melinda's family functions just to pass the time. I'm trying hard to be a present friend to her, the way she has been for me.

But tonight presents a new hurdle. After eight months of painful silence from both my lost loves, I agreed to a date.

After a scalding shower, I line my lips shimmering-red while recalling Sean tracing them stretched around his cock, stifling the memory of the sounds he made, his pleasured grunts, his long exhale when he came.

"You have a date. A date, Cecelia." I close my eyes, hindered with memories of my last one.

Dominic's barely there smile crosses my mind as I vividly recall tracing his muscled skin with my bare toes in the front seat of his Camaro.

Cursing, I grab some tissue and wipe away the smudge in my lip liner.

"Date, Cecelia. Concentrate on your date. His name is Wesley. And he's polite, educated, and hot."

Not Sean hot. Not Dominic hot. And despite my immense hatred for him, no man on Earth is The Frenchman hot.

And fuck him for it.

Every time I think about that arrogant bastard, my blood boils. I may never get his audience again, but I refuse to let him have the power he once did over me. He took my happiness away without a second thought, passedhis judgment and inhumane sentence before he strode away. Months ago, I would have gone along with any of his plans just to be near them. But time has been on my side. It's healed me. It's strengthened me and enraged me.

I dare him to cross my path because of the way he single-handedly ripped us apart.

But Sean and Dominic allowed it—and to me, that is unforgivable.

These grudges I hold close, they keep me objective, in hindsight. They also keep me angry and resentful—all tools I need for forward progress. One day, when I don't need the anger, I'll forgive them for the way they hurt me, for myself. But it's not happening any time soon.

Shaking my head, I concentrate on my eyes, going heavy on my mascara. My headspace is all wrong for this, and I know it. But I need this last step. I need to get back out there.

I've stopped waiting for "one day" in exchange for a "someday" and "some other."

And maybe that "some other" is Wesley.

On the vanity, my phone rattles with an incoming message. I buzz Wesley in, opting not to give him the gate code. Lesson learned on that front.

Filled with anticipation, I take the stairs in a new curve-hugging halter dress my favorite shop owner helped me pick out. Primed for possibility, I run my fingers through my hair as I reach the door.

I just want to laugh again without the sad pause of recollection at the end of it. Without erasing from my present by lingering in the past. I just want to feel some sort of closeness again, one that has nothing to do with the men who refuse to exit my dreams, the way they have my life. More than that, I want to see if I'm capable of feeling a flutter, an inkling, any sign of life other than acknowledging the beating my heart has taken.

Just knowing there is a chance will be enough.

"Please," I whisper to anyone listening. "Just a jolt, a whisper, something ," I plea just as Wesley pulls up and steps out of his truck. It's when his brown eyes rake over me and flare before he flashes me a set of perfect teeth, that I know, for me, the date is already over.

*

Nothing.

That's what I felt. Absolutely nothing. Not during dinner, and not now when Wesley takes my hand in his while walking me back to his truck. Not a flutter, nor a single ounce of anticipation when he opens the passenger door and gently pushes my hair away from my face before leaning in.

That gesture triggers me, and I turn my head at the last second, unable to bear it. It isn't Sean's caress, and they aren't Dominic's lips. Wesley dips his chin and looks over to me.

"You've been hurt?"

"I'm sorry. I thought I was ready."

"It's okay. Just ... I felt like you weren't really with me when I was talking at dinner, and I couldn't shut the fuck up."

"It's not you . . ." I cringe, and know shooting him would have been more merciful by the change in his expression.

He has the good grace to chuckle. "Ouch."

I want to crawl beneath his truck. Instead, he helps lift me into the cab and leans in. "It's okay, Cecelia, I've been there."

I gaze over at him, guilt-ridden. "I'll pay for my half of dinner."

"Just how much do you intend on insulting me tonight? And what kind of assholes have you been dating?"

Unforgettable assholes with a side of motherfucker.

"I wouldn't blame you at this point if you make me take a cab home."

"You're painfully honest, but I like that." He bites his lip, his eyes lifting to mine. "Painfully beautiful, too. I'll just be flattered that I was your first attempt. And maybe"—he shrugs—"we can try again sometime."

"I'd like that."

We both know it's a lie, but I rest easier in it as I click my seat belt while he rounds his truck. A silence ensues when he joins me, messing with his radio on our ride back. I'm thankful when he finally speaks up. "So, was it someone from around here?"

"No. It's just some asshole I dated back home in Georgia." The lies are getting easier to tell. But the truth is not an option.

Wesley leaves me at my front door with a friendly hug and an offer to call him when I'm ready. As he drives off, I curse my faithful heart and slam the front door, aggravated with myself.

Disheartened, I haul myself up the stairs and into my bedroom. Sliding my sandals off, I pull my cell out of my purse and shoot off a message to Christy.

Project Get On With It was a complete failure.

Christy: Don't give up, babe. Whoever it is will be a Band-Aid right now anyway.

I'm still not ready.

Christy: Then you're not ready. Don't rush it. You'll get there.

What's going on with you tonight?

Christy: Netflix and chilling ;-). I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Go, girl. And you better. Love you. Night. X

*

I decide to make peace with my progress. I went on a date, successful or not. It's a start.

After plugging my cell in on my nightstand, I pull the covers back, sit on the edge of the bed and run my feet through the plush carpet.

Attempting to live a "normal" life after two octane-fueled relationships is exhausting. All these months later, I still miss the chaotic nights, the mystery, the anticipation, the connection, and the sex. God, the sex.

I've given myself enough time to grieve. If my heart would just follow my head, I'd be so much better off. I run my fingers across my untouched lips and decide to opt for a morning shower to scrub off my makeup. Tossing the throw pillows off my comforter, I move to settle in with a new book and freeze when I see the metal pendant waiting on my pillow.

Wrapping my fingers around it, I bring it to eye-level, disbelieving of the weight of it and what it means before shooting off my mattress. My heart rockets into motion as I scan my room.

"Sean? Dominic?"

I walk into the bathroom. Empty.

The balcony. Empty.

Desperately, I search the house only to find all the doors are locked.

Not that that could stop them; it never has. The proof lies in my hand.

Hope soaring, I secure the clasp around my neck and dash toward the back door. Gathering my rain boots from the hall tree, I shove them on and grab the pocket flashlight from my slicker. Seconds later, I scan the courtyard with the weak beam.

"Sean? Dominic?"

Nothing.

I make a beeline for the woods, past the football field of newly cropped grass, the warm metal on my neck giving me the first inkling of hope amongst the wreckage. I'm nearing a sprint by the time I reach the small hill leading up into the trees and the clearing.

The sight that greets me there takes my breath away. Tall grasses sway before me littered with yellow-green light from hundreds of fireflies. They float from the brush into the thick branches, glittering like diamonds high above before disappearing in the beam of the full moon.

"Sean?" I search every corner of the clearing, scanning every shadow in the trees with the flashlight. "Dominic?" I call out softly, in prayer that one or both is waiting for me. "I'm here," I announce, searching the dark forest for any sign of life, the light in my hand doing little to aid me. "I'm here," I say, fingering the cut of the necklace.

"I'm here," I repeat in vain, to no one.

There's no one here but me.

Utterly confused, I turn in dizzying circles, searching, hoping, praying for any sign of life, and come up empty.

All the hope I felt just minutes before scatters on the wind, rustling through the tall, shimmering pines above me. But I don't dwell in the ache. Instead, I palm my chest and watch the symphony of light playing both above and at my booted feet, their melody soundless, but captivating. Entranced by the moon and light show, I thumb the raven's wing between my thumb and forefinger.

One or both has claimed me as their own.

Someone put the necklace on my pillow.

I call out for them once more.

"Sean? Dominic?" The air seems to still around me as an inkling of a presence hits, hard . I go ramrod straight when a deep voice laced with French brogue sounds from feet away.

"Sorry to disappoint you."