I lent my heart to the bad boy, and he did exactly what I expected he would. He broke it.
And the guy I should have been with—he’s still here. He tries to take my mind off everything I’ve lost while showing me what I could have. I’m ready for a new start, to fall in love again … to do what I should have done in the first place.
Everything seems perfect.
Then the past comes walking back in. I thought I was over him, but one look and I know that’s not true. We went through too much together for those feelings to completely fade away.
When my past and present collide, how am I supposed to choose? They both love me, and I love them.
A heart will be broken … and it could be mine.
“If I had come home sooner, would I have had a chance?” he asks, sinking down in the bed until we’re eye to eye. He knows he’s making it impossible for me to skirt around the truth.
Eyes don’t easily lie to eyes.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I waited for you. Until New York, it would have been you.”
His fingers come up, gently brushing a piece of hair from my forehead. “I really fucked up with you, didn’t I?”
“Neither of us was in the right place. It wasn’t our time.”
He moves closer, brushing his thumb against my cheek. My conscience whispers but the tequila screams. “When will it be our time?”
I think about Pierce. This weekend. Everything. “It may never come, or maybe, it’s already passed.”
“I’m going to fight for you,” he declares, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me. “I thought I could let you go if I knew it would make you happy, but after sitting alone in this apartment all weekend while you were with him, I don’t think I can do that.”
I swallow hard. “And, if you don’t win?”
“I’ve already lost, so what do I have left to lose?”
And, he’s right. He’s already lost so much that the risk is minimal.
“Pierce trusts me,” I blurt, my palms sweating against the sheets.
He leans in, kissing my cheek. “He shouldn’t trust me, not when he has the one thing I want.”
“Blake?”
He slips out of my bed without looking back, carefully closing the bedroom door behind him. He wanted the last word, and he got it.
Lisa De Jong is a wife, mother and full-time number cruncher who lives in the Midwest. Her writing journey involved insane amounts of coffee and many nights of very little sleep but she wouldn't change a thing. She also enjoys reading, football and music.
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