Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(115)

“And on that note,” I say, standing, “I think I’ll go get some real work done.”

“You miss him, Lotus,” JP says. “It’s obvious how miserable you are without him.”

“I’m not miserable. I’m fine, and it’s temporary.”

“We only get so many days, ma petite, on this Earth. Why waste even one when you’ve found the love of your life?”

“What makes you think he’s the love of my life?” I ask, and head for the door to leave his office.

“You’re one of those creatures who only loves once and greatly, I think. So Monsieur Ross, he is it. Ai-je tort?”

I pause at the door, my hand on the knob.

Once and greatly. I’ve never been in love before, not even close, and I hope to never love anyone else. Only Kenan.

“Am I wrong?” JP repeats in English this time.

“No.” Over my shoulder, I give him a wan smile, softening when I find concern in his eyes. “Probably not.”

I close the door behind me and head straight for the backroom downstairs. Not only do I need privacy to work, but I also need some time by myself.

The last two months have been even harder than I anticipated, but I think we did the right thing. Kenan and I have spoken a few times. His schedule has been hectic, playing games every other day, sometimes back-to-back days, and constant travel. I probably wouldn’t have seen much of him anyway.

Even knowing it was the right thing to do, it was the hardest. I feel Kenan’s absence, not just from New York, but from my life, profoundly. Every part of me misses him. My body craves his touch—the way he’d push my hair back from my face or caress my fingers when we talked, or trace my spine after we made love. My soul aches for its interlocking piece. My heart is pressed to my chest with a glass, straining to hear the echo of his heartbeat, but it’s too far away.

I set my things down, ready to get to business.

“Where’d that pencil go?” I mutter, looking around. I pat the oversized pockets on the jumper I designed myself, and I feel a small square card inside. I go still for a second, then pull it out.

You populate my dreams. They are rich with the scent of you. Your heart is on my pillow, and I taste you in my sleep. – This one is all me

My smile wobbles. Once a week, I get a note in the mail. My weekly treasures are the brightest spots in my life, the barely-legible words he handwrites to me. It’s another card for my lunch box sewing kit.

“Here you are,” Yari says from the door. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I sniff and turn away to wipe under my eyes.

“Here I am,” I force myself to reply brightly, sitting down at my laptop. “Come to distract me from my job again?”

“Not this time.” Yari walks over, her expression serious. “Billie resigned.”

“What?” I close my laptop and stand. “What do you mean resigned?”

“Resigned, as in, take-your-job-and-shove-it resigned.”

“But why?”

“I had to,” Billie says from the open door, her face tear-streaked and splotchy. “It’s over with Paul.”

Yari and I meet her halfway, and she’s in our arms before the first harsh sob spills from her. God, I hate the sound of a broken heart. I’ve heard it so many times from women in my family who exchanged their bodies for hope of a better future, only to be disappointed time and again. From friends who trusted the wrong men—who gave them everything they wanted thinking it would make them stay, only to watch them leave. Heartbreak is a habit for some women, one I promised myself I’d never form.

“Tell us.” I walk Billie over to sit on a sewing table and slip my arm around her shoulders. “What happened?”

“I came in this morning, and he told me we had to end it.” Billie swipes at her nose with a trembling hand.

“Here, honey,” Yari says, digging some Kleenex out of a nearby drawer.

“Thanks.” Billie blows her nose and bites her lip. “He said his wife found out about us.”

“Oh, my God.” One hand covers my mouth and the other my heart. “How?”

“I don’t know.” Billie shrugs and closes her eyes tightly. “But he said when she confronted him about it, he confessed everything and said it was . . . a fling. Nothing. He told her I was nothing.”

Another sob shakes her chest and crumples her face. She hiccups the next words.

“He told her it was a slip-up, a mistake that only happened once.” Billie’s laugh is void of humor, full of hurt. “We’ve been together over a year. He took me to Aspen for our anniversary. How could he lie that way?”

“He’s a liar,” Yari says, her voice brittle. “He lied to his wife, and he lied to you. It’s what he does. I know you’re hurting, but it’s for the best, Bill. You can do better than that. Better than him.”

“She’s right, Billie,” I say, a little more gently, but no less direct.

Billie nods, her usually neat red hair mussed and falling around her shoulders, as if she’s been running her hands through it. “I almost feel like I knew it would have to happen like this. Like I brought it on myself.”

“How do ya figure?” Yari asks.

Billie settles curious green eyes on me for long seconds.