Chapter Forty-Three

Slumped against the door, head tilted back, eyes fixed, I absorb the night noise. Cicadas sound in the distance, in serenade with the crickets. The rustling of trees announces the light wind before it filters in, cooling my skin as the scuff on my outstretched boot becomes magnified by the filtering moonlight.

I miss none of it.

Where the world used to blur and time lapsed past me unnoticed, I’m fully attuned to it now.

Aware of every ragged breath I draw along with the distorted beat that steadily drums in my chest—despite its current inhabitable state. The overwhelming burn in my throat intensifies as I keep my focus while the ache webs its way through every vein, pumped further in by every broken beat.

The cool breeze whispers in again, gliding over my profile and arms, cruelly denying a shift in temperature, lacking any sign of a storm.

There’s not a single cloud in the moon-absorbed sky, a convenient view accessible to my right. A view that I reject with my whole being to keep the one I have. I have no use for the heavens anymore, no more questions to ask the cosmos, no future to ponder because they delivered my fate today.

A future without rain.

Without her.

As it turns out, hell isn’t discriminatory about geographic location but is, in fact, a state meant for me to endure wherever I may roam. That truth made evident today when it faithfully followed me home to watch me shatter on impact.

It was the sight of his Jag parked behind what we could only assume was Cecelia’s Jeep that tipped us off. After Sean and I shared a loaded look in the driveway, Tobias’s laugh reached us where we stood, ringing out from somewhere in the backyard. The sound of it drew us in and had us creeping through the gate, past the pool and garden, only to be slammed by the sight of what greeted us.

Closing my eyes, the sting intensifies in my throat, the thump in my raw chest serving as a reminder while the image of them surfaces.

Cecelia lying beneath my brother, wearing next to nothing. Tobias, bare-chested, in his briefs, staring down at her like she was everything he ever wanted.

It was apparent by the intimate exchange that they were more than familiar with the other physically. With timing being everything, it seemed Sean and I arrived in the nick of time to witness them in the midst of falling and confessing. My brother’s declaration being the first. “You warned me not to fall in love with you. You said you wouldn’t make room for me.”

“You told me you wouldn’t.” Cecelia’s heartfelt reply served as a sledgehammer, driving in the reality playing out in front of us.

I didn’t have to see the look in her eyes to know she was giving her heart to him . . . a heart that could never be mine again. So, when he opened his mouth to voice his reply, I took the opportunity to personally deliver his karma.

Grunting through the pain, I shake my head to try and disburse the sight of them—to no avail.

So, this is heartbreak.

The word seems weak in comparison to the feeling.

Obliteratedfeels more fitting. Insignificant as well, in the sense that it seemed our time together meant fuck all to her—at least from where I stood this morning, watching her give her love away . . . to my brother.

My gut feeling in France had proven to be on point, and as I feared and deep down knew, I lost my place with her during and because of my absence.

“Where have you been?”

That question hadn’t surprised me as much as the discovery that the man I looked up to my whole life—whom I respected and revered—was only too happy to keep that answer hidden so he could take my place.

My brother stole my ignorant bliss.

The hardest part?

I let him.

Eyes stinging, I scrub my face against my T-shirt sleeve to clear my vision, unwilling to lose a second of the time I’m stealing.

My anger for my brother can be easily conjured, but my fury for her is much harder to find. Cecelia had been just as blindsided today.

If I hadn’t seen her learn of his deception—hadn’t witnessed or heard firsthand the lengths Tobias went to in an effort to keep her in the dark—then maybe I could hate her.

But I did see it, along with her fight to remain upright, visibly shaken by the sight of Sean and me. There was longing mixed with incredulity in her eyes—like she had been starving for the sight of us but never thought the day would come. That was proof enough that Tobias failed to take either of our places in her heart.

Even if that’s a fact, it’s too late.

Too late.

Keeping my focus, I draw another jagged inhale as her confession rings clear in my ears. “I waited for you. I made myself sick. I cried for you both every night for months. I waited and waited, and you never came for me.”

Though I credited myself with personal growth before we landed, I lashed out at her in a mix of hurt, anger, and jealousy—which Cecelia rightfully called me out for. I turned my back on it all then, and she cried out. She called after me, begging me not to go—the same way she had in that alley—pinning me with the same words. “Don’t, Dominic. Please don’t go.”

Even if I lost my place with her, she still didn’t want to give up on me. She wanted to understand what happened and, more so, how I could walk away from her—from us. “You mean to tell me you’ve been waiting this whole time to come back to me?”

“I chose wrong,” I admit hoarsely, drawing my knee up and resting my forearms on them while gritting my teeth through another blow.

My brother purposefully led her to believe we left her by choice, making her think it was our decision. That was the last nail in his coffin, and we all felt it hammer home. I thought that was the worst of it until Sean nailed Cecelia with both accusation and statement. “You love him.”

She didn’t deny it . . . because she couldn’t.

It was obvious my brother found his salvation in her the way I had—his refuge. Only last night, I was in that hostel feeling sorry for him. Pitying the fact that he had no idea what it was like to experience reciprocal love.

He knows now, along with how terrifying the idea is of losing it.

Especially losing her affection, her, period. Which is my current reality.

“I fucked up,” I choke out, palming the back of my head, trying my best to absorb the break happening inside me.

My brother’s heart may have matured, but by his actions tonight, it was obvious that when it came to Cecelia, it had grown into something dangerously possessive. He had come to King’s frantic, begging us not to withdraw our protection one second and condemning us the next.

“. . . you two idiots parading around like men, like soldiers, when you don’t know a fucking thing about sacrifice. And with her, you sacrificed nothing! Not a fucking thing! Until you know what that is, you aren’t capable of being the man she needs . . . and you know all too fucking well that you lost her the minute you shared her.” That blow was for Sean, and I knew he felt it before Tobias fixed his gaze on me. “And chose this life over her.”

Guilty.

Of all of it.

Tobias had succeeded where Sean and I failed—he chose her. He put her first, before himself, before the club, before us.

I lost the best thing that ever happened to me because of that failure while discovering one of the most damning truths about the four-letter curse—about love, which is that you don’t know how significant or powerful it is until you lose it.

The breeze kicks up, increasing the sting on my face, and I’m thankful for the physical pain, even for a second, to detract from what’s happening inside me.

Gathering myself from the floor, limbs heavy, I walk over to the bed. With every step, she comes more into view, and it’s the sight of her, so unnaturally still, that crushes me. Moving a pile of folded clothes to perch at the edge of it, I soak in every inch of her sleeping form, knowing she won’t rouse because of the drugs pumping through her.

Because Tobias carried through with his threat and marked her.

I pulled up in an attempt to stop it just as I spotted Jimmy’s SUV. Jimmy was the one who inked us all, and I knew the second I saw him pulling out of Roman’s gate that I was too late.

Too late.

Too late, and my brother wasn’t even fucking here.

He didn’t even give her the choice.

He just . . . claimed her.

More to add to the list of shit I can’t forgive him for.

Staring down, I drink in her perfection the way I have a dozen times or more as she sleeps. As she dreams, and for a time, she was mine.

She was mine.

Visions flood in as I watch her chest rise and fall . . . the second our eyes locked in my backyard, the flash of surety I initially dismissed but still rang true through every fiber of my being.

She knows you.

The long looks we shared across every space, to the minute we snapped on that float before we collided and were created. The same continuous buzz thrumming steadily as we stole glances of each other between the flip of pages as storms raged outside my window.

Her fingers tracing my skin, wonder in her eyes, to running my palm reverently over her back—in awe of the heart that beat inside of her, wrapped in her mystery.

To the burst of sun that lit her up in my passenger seat as she adjusted her honeysuckle crown. The laughter spilling from us where she lay beneath me, tangled in the sheets before our smiles faded. Hearts raw and aching as we locked together, lost in our connection, chests bouncing in unison due to the tie that bound us.

That still binds us.

A fate we created together.

A story I’ll continue to relive without regret.

Falling for her was worth hitting bottom—and every single ache that comes with it.

Reaching out, I trace the curve of her cheek.

“You gutted me, baby,” I croak in confession as my chest caves. “But I can’t say I don’t deserve it . . .” I falter, grunting through the pain consuming me. “You thrive on love, and I . . . we fucking starved your heart . . . we just left you here.”

Crushed by the weight of that truth, I lift her hand and thread my fingers through hers. “We both know I didn’t deserve you . . . but you made me feel like I did . . . even if I wouldn’t even fucking hold your hand,” I admit. “I was going to,” I sniff. “I was going to try to be that guy. I was that guy. I just . . .” I slide my thumb along hers, the burn unbearable. “I would give fucking anything for one more day. Just one.”

She doesn’t stir, her hand lifeless in mine, breaths shallow but steady as she lays beneath me, looking every bit the sleeping beauty she is. But her eyes won’t open for me because they’re no longer mine to lose myself in.

No more escape.

No more fire and water to drown out the noise.

No more flame.

No more rain.

No longer mine.

Cracking wide, I bend over her, pressing my forehead to hers, “I’m sorry.” Feeling the shatter of finality, I press a salty, damp kiss to her temple, my whisper for her ear, my last confession, far, far too late. “I love you too, Cecelia.”

No more rain.