I feel him take a step closer, so there’s only a tiny bit of space remaining between my back and his front. I can feel the heat radiating off him, through that tiny sliver of separation. His breath stirs the hair at my nape with each exhale.
It takes every bit of strength I possess not to turn around and look at him, to close the distance between us. I know, with his arms around me, I’ll feel better — there’s no comfort in the world like the circle of Chase’s arms.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Not when, every time I close my eyes, I see the image of the man I’ve fallen in love with sitting across from the man who never loved me. The man who resented my existence from the moment I was conceived. The man I never wanted to see, meet, or even hear from.
Chase knew all that; he reached out to him anyway.
So, it doesn’t matter that he was trying to fix things — fixme. It’s still a betrayal. It still hurts.
The elevator doors finally slide open, and I step inside. I half expect him to follow me in, but when I turn to face the doors, I see he’s frozen just outside the threshold, his face a mask of sadness and frustration.
“Sunshine…” he whispers, pain flashing on his features. “I didn’t mean… I thought if you just…” He shakes his head. “I want you to be happy. I was trying to make things better for you. To protect you.”
I hit the button to take me down to the lobby, staring at him with eyes full of distrust. “Then why did you do the one thing you knew would hurt me beyond belief?”
His mouth opens, shuts, opens again. No words escape, because there’s nothing to say.
Our gazes hold until the doors shut, leaving me alone.
I don’t even try to fight the tears, as they drip down my cheeks onto the elevator floor.
***
I race out of the building, dodge through a crowd of pedestrians with my head ducked, in case there are any paparazzi lurking nearby, and dart across the street to the closest subway station. I’m sure Knox is hot on my heels — Chase may’ve let me leave, but there’s no way he’d do it without knowing I have protection — so I hop on the first train I see and ride aimlessly for nearly an hour, changing lines at random. People look at me a little strangely — in their defense, Iamstill weeping like a leaky faucet — but no one says or does a thing.
This is New England, after all. We aren’t that friendly.
I hop off the T at the public garden and start to wander the paths, thinking a walk by the pond might clear my head. The park is dreary this time of year — gray, damp, with only tiny traces of spring peaking up from the flower beds — and it does little to distract me.
At the water’s edge, I catch sight of two swans, a mother and her baby, gliding across the surface in perfect tandem.
Across the way, on the opposite bank, a young mother and her toddler throw bits of bread to the ducks, laughing each time a bird snaps one up.
To my left, a teenage girl on a bench groans into her cellphone —but, Mom, all the other kids’ curfew is eleven. Why do I have to come home at ten?
Mothers are everywhere I look.
It’s like the universe is actively trying to smack some sense into me with as many signs as possible.
You’re mad at the wrong person, genius.
I sigh as I reach into my purse and pull out my cellphone. A growl of frustration erupts when I see I’ve grabbed the new, Chase-approved one from the depths of my bag by accident. With a rough shove, I return it to a deep pocket and locate my real cell — complete with sparkly blue case and cracked screen.
My finger trembles a little as I dial a series of buttons I know by heart.
“Hello?”
I press my eyes closed at the sound of her voice.
“Gemma, are you there?”
My free hand curls into a fist by my side and the other tightens around the plastic.
“Gemma?”
“I’m here.”