He walks out of the office, leaving me to nurse my pain alone. I fix my clothes and returned to my dressing room. I’ve tried. I’ve done everything I can think of. Maybe it’s finally time to give up on Aidan.
The thought fills me with agony and an image of a lifetime of loneliness stretches before me. No, I don’t want to forget about him. I don’t want to resign myself to a life without him.
In my dressing room, the first thing I hear is my phone ringing in my drawer.
Panic sets in when I see that the call is from Gertie.
My dad is fine.
My dad is fine.
My dad is fine.
“What’s happened?” I ask as soon as I connect the call. A w
eight of foreboding settles on my shoulders. “Is it Dad?”
“Liz.” I’ve never heard Gertie cry, but she’s crying now, and suddenly, I don’t need her to tell me what’s happened. Grief seizes me like a demon. “Oh Liz,” Gertie sobs. “It’s your father.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Aidan
Since she wouldn’t leave, I left her in there. That’s what I should have done from the start. I should have left the production, stayed as far away from her as possible.
Now I have the taste of her mouth on my lips. The weight of her breasts is a vivid memory in my hands. I can still feel myself buried inside her silken heat. I can still hear her moans, her abandoned cries as she exploded from my touch.
All mine.
In my head, I’m already a slave to her. My body aches for her. She conquered my heart a long time ago. She owns me totally…but I can’t give in.
Giving in would be setting myself up for the kind of pain I know I won’t survive.
Outside the theater, I see a black tinted SUV pull up near the stage door and idle for a few minutes. After a while, Liz emerges from the building wearing a huge jacket, with massive black shades covering her eyes. She doesn’t see me on the sidewalk, and I keep walking, lengthening my strides to put as much space between us as I can.
I head to the gym and train for about two hours. I run, do weights, then do an impromptu session with one of the martial arts trainers. I end up with a few bruises, but I don’t care. Nothing on the outside compares with the pain I’m feeling on the inside.
Don’t think of what could be if you let her into your heart again.
Empty your mind.
Feel nothing.
If only.
Even in my exhaustion, I can’t stop thinking of what would have been if I’d taken her up on her offer to go to her place, to talk. Except we wouldn’t talk, not at first. I’d be making love to her again right now…making up for seven years of wanting with seven years of taking…and giving.
Liz.
She knows me, inside out.
She knew how much she meant to me.
And she left.
So why can’t I stop thinking of what could have been? Why can’t I stop imagining love, happiness, a future with her…
At my apartment, I pour myself a drink and go out to the balcony. It’s cold and windy, and I let the chill seep into my bones. The physical suffering can only help to distract me from the turmoil of my chaotic emotions.