The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(131)

We stare at each other. An ocean of heartbreak and sadness swims between us.

“I’ll call you when I get there?” I whisper.

“Don’t.”

I frown.

“This needs to be a clean break.”

Oh.

He takes me into his arms, and we stand on the street hugging, both in tears.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispers.

“I love you.” I cling to him tight.

This can’t be the end.

As if unable to stand it, he pulls out of my arms in a rush and gets into the car and, without looking back, pulls out into the traffic.

I stand on the sidewalk and through blurred vision watch the sports car disappear down the road. “Goodbye, my love.”





Chapter 29


Time goes by so quickly . . . except when your heart is bleeding out.

Then every moment, every breath, every painful hour feels like an eternity.

It’s been three weeks since Christopher dropped me at the airport.

Three weeks since my world fell apart.

And I would love to tell you that I’m healed and on my way back to being right, but I can’t.

For there is no more sunshine.

My body lives here in the US; my heart lives in London . . . with him.

I think about him all the time, to the point that it’s unhealthy.

I worry if he’s taking care of himself, if he’s eaten, and if he’s working too hard . . . which I already know he is.

And I know I have to snap myself out of this, but how do you turn off your heart?

Is there a switch? Tell me, because I need to find it.

I drive the tractor as I look out over the green paddocks. It’s dawn. The sun is peeping over the horizon as it rises for a new day.

And even though I know I belong here, every day is black to me. Darkness that comes from within.

The worst part about it is that the whole experience has changed me. I’m not even happy here at home on the farm now. It’s like everything I thought I wanted has shifted off center. All that I thought I was is wrong.

Nothing is making sense.

And I know I don’t want to build a life in London . . . but I can’t stand the thought of being here either. Maybe I should go somewhere new, start fresh, but where would I go?

Anywhere without him is a tragedy.

I know that there is no way around this. It is what it is.

He’s a city boy; I’m a country girl.

The reason why we can’t be together still stands. Nothing has changed.

My heart is still firmly broken.





CHRISTOPHER

The scalding-hot water runs over my head. If I stand under here long enough, the water will eventually run clean.

I need to wash this heartbreak off.

My hand is on the tiles as I lean against the wall, and I’ve hit an all-time low.

It’s 3:00 a.m., and a new darkness has rolled in.

Regret.

And with it has come a deeper level of understanding of who I am.

Who I’m not.

I rest my forehead up against the tiles. My mind wanders to my sweet Hayden.

Where is she now?

Eventually I drag myself out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. I make my way downstairs and go through my Spotify list until I get to the song I need to hear.

I’ve had it on repeat lately. For just a moment . . . it makes me feel better, as if it brings me closer to the memory of being happy.

Closer to her.

It begins to play, and I drop to the couch to listen. This is Hayden’s anthem. It was 100 percent written about her.

And to the haunting words of “Halo,” by Beyoncé . . . I wallow in self-pity.



“So . . . what I’m saying here”—I point to the whiteboard—“is that the projection is way off.”

Ten sets of eyes watch from around the board table.

My phone vibrates on the table, and I glance at the name. Is it her?

Tristan.

I ignore it.

I keep presenting. “So over on this spreadsheet—” I hold the remote to the screen and flick through to where I need to be.

My phone vibrates on the table, and once again, I glance at the name. Is this her?

Elliot.

Fuck off. Why are they all calling me this morning? I’m busy here.

I keep talking, and five minutes later my phone vibrates again.

Jameson.

Huh?

For fuck’s sake, leave me alone, fuckers. I’m in the middle of something very important.

“If you go to recent years’ trends—” I point to a graph, and there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Elouise comes in. “Christopher, Jameson is on line two. He said it’s urgent.”

I frown.

“He said to take it in your office.”

“Hmm.” I look around at the table. “My apologies. I have to take this. Let’s have a ten-minute tea break.”

“Sure,” they all reply.

I walk out and storm down the hall. Fucking hell . . . I do not have time for this shit.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Page four, Ferrara News,” Jameson’s voice growls.

“What?”

I open up the newspaper on my computer and drop into my seat.