Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(74)

It was probably a mistake to let this happen.

■ ■ ■

The beginnings of dawn light the sky as Cain walks me to my apartment door. He casually suggested going back to his condo but I declined, barely able to get the excuses past the stabbing lump in my throat.

I have a dentist’s appointment.

I need to go grocery shopping.

I need to take my SUV in.

Lies. All lies.

He didn’t push, though, and I don’t know if it’s because the suggestion was not meant to be serious or because he took my excuses as a refusal of him. Or because he truly can tell when I’m lying to him and it pisses him off.

The car ride home was unusually silent and, as exhausted as I am after not sleeping for two days, as sated as I am, I almost fell asleep. If not for that sickness churning inside me the moment I pulled my dress on at the pier, I might have.

As I slide my key into the lock and push the door open, I sense Cain’s body step closer to me and I’m afraid he’s going to invite himself into my apartment. Afraid because I’ll have to send him away. Afraid because I would so much rather hold him close.

“Charlie?”

I grit my teeth for just a moment before I pull on a mask. Or try to. My adrenaline has finally worn off, leaving an empty shell of a girl who has experienced too many crippling emotions in the past thirty-six hours—both the best and the worst. I can’t even think straight. Thankfully, I’m too tired to cry; otherwise I’d be bawling my eyes out now.

I’m exactly where I was yesterday morning, only now the ache in my heart is all the more pronounced.

Finally, I turn around to face Cain, to soak in those warm brown eyes that peer down at me, his apprehension poorly veiled within them. “Thank you for tonight, Cain,” I begin, but I choke. Composing myself with a swallow, I manage to get out, “Thank you . . . for everything.” Why can’t I keep it together? Just for a little longer, dammit!

A deep furrow skitters across his forehead, but he smooths it over. “My friend Storm is having a small get-together at her house this afternoon. Kind of a celebration for her fiancé, Dan.” He holds his phone up absently. “Just got the text. Anyway . . .” His voice drifts off as his eyes drift down to my mouth. “You should come.”

I give him a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Sure, I’ll think about it.” I’ll think about it as I’m boarding the bus.

Something that looks like disappointment flashes in his eyes and I balk at the swift kick of guilt to my stomach. “Okay, Charlie.” He leans down to brush his lips against my cheek, close to my mouth but not landing there, as if unsure that I would allow it.

I don’t hesitate to turn toward him to steal one last kiss, to try to convey with my body how much he has come to mean to me in a short period of time, how much I wish this could continue.

How much I will miss him.

A powerful arm coils around my waist as he crushes me against his body, matching and raising my level of passion with his own as he dips me back, forcing my mouth wide as his tongue dives in.

Cain doesn’t seem to have any speed except “intense.” Combining that with my own personal turmoil is a disaster waiting to happen. I close my eyes and let myself sink within his strength as I lose myself in him yet again, as the familiar burn begins to course through my body.

At some point, my knees buckle and I find I can’t lift my eyelids. I barely hear the door close as I become weightless within Cain’s arms. The soft cushion of my mattress is like a cloud as Cain lays me down.

“Charlie, where are your sheets?” I hear him ask, but I don’t answer.

They’re packed in my suitcase, which is sitting idly in the corner.

Waiting for me.

A moment later there’s a hand smoothing the hair off my forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“Okay,” I murmur with a sigh, though I’m still fighting against the sweet pull of oblivion that beckons me to relent. I’m supposed to be leaving in a few hours, but I do need sleep. Just a few hours and then I’ll go. “Goodbye, Cain.” I can’t drive anywhere right now . . .

■ ■ ■

Someone is pounding on my door.

My body feels like it’s chained to my bed as I drag it up, reluctant to leave the comfort of sleep, even from a bare mattress.

“Charlie! Open up!” It’s Ginger and she sounds frantic. Worry blooming inside me, I stagger out to the front door in a rush, throwing it open without caution.

“You’re alive!” she exclaims, stalking past me, into my apartment. The ties of her colorful bathing-suit top poke out beneath a red-and-white striped sundress. “It’s the fourth time I’ve come by today. I thought you were dead! Go and get ready.”

“What?” I scratch my head absently, picking through my blurry memories. Get ready for what?

“It’s after three o’clock and we’re going to Storm’s.”

After three o’clock? “What?” I don’t believe her. Dashing over to dig my phone out of my purse, I confirm with a rising bubble of panic that she’s not lying. No . . . I need to get to the bank and then sell my car and then . . . leave Miami. I won’t have enough time!

Ginger makes herself comfortable on my couch, remote in hand, twirling a hot-pink strand of hair. And I know that, short of agreeing to go with her, it will take a fire or a forklift to get her to leave. Her eyes drift over the flowers adorning my table. “Those are gorgeous. Who are they from?”