Page 114 of Ride Me Cowboy
“It was a gift.”
I look away from him, thinking about how I gave him my heart and he gave it right back. Gifts aren’t always for keeps.
“I don’t really need it now,” I say with a tight smile, gesturing to the lobby. There’s no need for him to know I’m all packed up, that this is the last day I ever plan to stand in this building.
“Don’t you?”
I look at him sharply, my heart in knots. Is he trying to be intentionally cutting? That’s not like Cole. He doesn’t have it in him.
“You could have mailed it to me,” I point out, taking a small step backwards, because he’s close enough for me to see the tiny freckles on his nose, and the flecks of gold in his eyes, to smell his familiar, woody scent, so my stomach is cramping with memories and need.
“That’s true,” he says, tilting his head a little in acknowledgement. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you.”
My heart stitches and my voice is breathy. “Well, you’ve seen me,” I shrug. “Are we done here? Because I have a lunch to get to.” That, at least, is not a lie. Elsie offered to come and inspect the apartment with me, but it was a ghost I felt I neededto exorcise on my own. Instead, we settled on going for lunch somewhere that offers great food and many, many cocktails.
His features tighten but I refuse to make this—whatever this is—any easier for him. And then, it hits me. Why he’s here.
Cole Donovan, damn him, is just like his father. He needs to know I’m okay. He needs to know that he hasn’t destroyed me, so he can get on with his life without guilt. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, if he thought I was out here, all broken into pieces by the fact he doesn’t love me.
But I do love him. I love him more than words can say. I love him enough to say and do whatever I have to in order to let him get on with his life.
Ignoring the palpating pain in my chest, I force an over bright smile. “So, if that’s everything?”
My voice is a little high pitched, but mostly gets the brief of easy, casual, friendship.
His frown scores more deeply in his face.
God, this needs to be an award-winning performance, and I don’t know if I have the energy to give it.
“I’m okay, Cole. You don’t need to worry about me.” My stomach is in knots. My brain is telling me to stop, but my heart knows what I need to do. “You were right, anyway. I was all mixed up. How could I not be, after what I’d been through? I’m sorry I made it so weird with us, saying I loved you. That was so stupid.” I laugh, but it’s a weird, brittle sound.
His brows lift, his expression confused. “You’re saying you don’t love me?”
“I’m saying I never did,” I lie, the words physically hurting to say. But it’s what I have to do to set him free. “I just got caught up in the fantasy of it all. I’m much happier back here.” That one hurts almost as much. “Anyway, I guess I’ll keep this as a memory of the ranch.” I lift the hat a little. I’m doing the right thing. I can’t have him worrying about me. If love is about sacrifice, then this is one I’ll make for him. “It’s nice seeing you again. You look good.” I’m babbling now. “Say ‘hi’ to the others.” And I walk away quickly, back straight, shoulders squared, even when I can feel tears building and a sob ricocheting around in my chest, bouncing higher and higher to my throat. But I refuse to cry when he’s watching. I refuse to ruin all of this by letting him see that I am so, so far from fine.
Love isn’t something you just feel, something you say. It’s something youdo.It’s little acts, each and every day, and this is my act of love, for Cole. I hope he can get on with his life now, absolved of guilt, absolved of worry for me. Why should we both suffer?
Cole
If I hadn’t already known that I loved her, then that conversation would have really hammered it home to me. Because I’m standing in the middle of this fancy ass building, staring after her, with this feeling like I’ve been ripped apart.
I thought she might still be pissed at me. I thought she might not want to talk to me, because she’s so mad. I thought she might even havestoppedloving me, because of what I did.
But I didn’t once think she might say that it was all a misunderstanding. That she never loved me at all.
And having had that gift in my hands and heart for three weeks or so, her ripping it away right now feels like I’ve been body slammed.
As she approaches the glass doors, a guy in the full concierge suit opens it, nodding at her as she passes. She gives him a half-wave without looking at him, without looking back. Without looking at me.
Then she’s out on Fifth Avenue, being swallowed up by a sea of people, disappearing from my sight.
I start to walk, quickly, long strides, over the tiles, my boots making staccato sounds until I approach the door. Before the guy can reach for it, I’ve beat him to it, dragging it inwards and stepping out. She turned left, so I do, too, scanning the crowd for her. There are tourists, businesspeople, shoppers. It’s like a damn cattle stampede out here.
A big family, the dad with a kid on his shoulders, the mom holding two other kids’ hands, while two gangly teenagers lope behind them, looking at their phones, pulls over so the mom can tie up one of the little kids’ shoes. And in that moment, as they step to the side, I see her. Rather, I see her back, in that insanely sexy dress, that dips down low to reveal half of her beautiful spine, making my mouth go dry even as I face the possibility that this was nothing but make believe.
Ofcourseshe doesn’t really love me.
Ofcourseit was all just a misunderstanding.
