One Last Time(84)

Seems we’re changing the way we handle breakups. Usually, it’s ice cream, cake, Four Blocks Down music, and a lot of wine. Flowers is a new one.

“You look like shit,” Catherine says, looking at me with her face scrunched in disgust. “Have you showered since I saw you last?”

“Do you have news?” I blurt out, needing to know if that’s why she’s here.

“These were on your porch without a card,” she tells me.

I don’t care about the stupid flowers. For all I know, they are from the person who did this to me, and they want to torture me further. I want information about the email. I’m tired of waiting and getting nowhere.

Jackson explained it wasn’t as easy as I thought. Since this isn’t technically a crime, there isn’t a judge in the world who would grant a subpoena to get the IP records. Therefore, he has a friend who has a friend who may or may not have been in the CIA. And then he assured me I should know nothing else.

“Catherine?”

“All I know is Jackson said to meet him over here when I got done working inside Starbucks since I needed to be away from the kids, so I’m here. Go get in the shower, make yourself . . . human, and we’ll sort through the info.”

“I can’t—”

“Go.” She points. “I know you’re on pins and needles, but he could be another hour. Are the kids with Scott?”

“Yes. I told him I wasn’t feeling well and needed him to keep them for a few days.”

“Good, go make yourself not look like ass.”

Not wanting to argue with her, I head to the bathroom to clean up. I stand under the water, washing away the layer of depression that clings to my skin. There’s nothing I can do about my situation. I know I’m not responsible, but it’s everyone else I have to convince. Then, I see Noah’s face as he walked away. The disappointment, anger, and resolve that we were through.

I close my eyes, leaning my back against the cold tiles, and let the tears fall.

He didn’t come back.

He must know it wasn’t me, and it didn’t change anything.

I’m alone again, only this time there’s no relief.

A knock on the door causes me to jump. “Kristin?”

I clear my throat, hoping to cover the ache in my voice. “Yeah?”

“I heard from Jackson, he’ll be here in twenty.”

“Okay.”

Once I’m finished, I get dressed and toss my hair in to a messy bun. Hopefully, the clean-but-still-distraught look is more acceptable than who-cares-if-I-die and dirty. I head into the living room where Catherine is pacing as she talks to someone on the phone.

“I understand. Yes, well, there’s not much I can do.” She pauses. “Did you tell him I’m doing exactly what I would if she weren’t family?” Catherine listens to the other person, and I stay quiet. “He can’t do that, Tristan. I don’t care that it’s already done. He . . . wait, what do you mean . . . done?” She’s talking about Noah. I know she is. I shouldn’t listen, but I can’t stop myself. I have to hear something about him. “Just like that? And you’re just telling me now? Why the hell did you wait a day to call me?” Catherine groans. “Fine. I’ll deal with this here, and you handle the mess there. Let him know he made a big mistake. Big.”

My shattered heart falls to the floor, he isn’t coming.

I purposely make a noise, not wanting to hear anything else.

Catherine’s eyes meet mine, and she smiles. “Okay, I’ll call you later.” She tosses the phone onto the table, and her eyes are soft. “You look better.”

I shrug. Right now, I feel the pain of losing him all over again. It wasn’t until then that I realized how much I thought he’d come back. I wanted it so much, and now it’s clear there isn’t another chance.

“Jackson has news?” I ask and mentally cringe at the sound of my voice.

“Kris.” Cat walks over, and I shake my head.

There’s a knock at the door, and Catherine touches my cheek. “It’s going to be okay, trust me. Jackson will fix it, he always does.”

I nod. She walks to the door, and I head to the kitchen for something to help settle my nerves. I have a feeling Jackson’s news isn’t going to help the knots in my stomach. The pantry door is open, and my lips turn up when I see the package of cookies that Noah and Aubrey shared on the shelf. His face was priceless when I caught them.

There will be no more cookie-faces for them.

Eventually, thinking of him won’t hurt. Noah will become a distant memory of a possibility that failed. Time will erase the history, cause the love we shared to fade like an old photo, but today, the vivid colors slice through my soul. There will come a day when I can’t remember what his voice sounded like, or the slight variances of green in his eyes. As much as it’s killing me right now, I don’t want to forget.

I need to stop this. I can’t keep doing this to myself. Noah is gone, it’s over, and I have to live. On the other side of the door are the answers I need so I can start to move forward.

The door swings open, and I look up right before the cup of water I’m holding falls from my numb fingers.

It isn’t Jackson standing in my living room.

I look to Catherine, who just smiles. “I’ll go wait for my husband outside,” she says before skirting out of the room.