I jerked myself out of my head and scolded myself for having such thoughts, especially when Craig was spinning literal poetry. On one knee. In his bedroom. With rose petals scattered around us.
My heart should’ve been full.
It wasn’t.
Until I forced it to be so.
“Yes,” I whispered.
It was then that I realized that he’d slipped the large and cold diamond on my finger before I’d spoken.
L.A. was not a place you ran into people you knew. It was too large, too sprawling. Everyone was rushing to one place or another. They were stuck in traffic, in line at some juice bar, trying to get into some party, trying to get out of some party that was nowhere near as fabulous everyone said it would be.
So you didn’t run into people you knew. Or friends. It was hard enough to purposefully run into friends when you tried to plan it. Especially my friends.
And we were trying to make a plan for all of my friends to be at the loft at the same time for my last night living there.
I was moving in with Craig.
Which made sense. I was marrying him.
“I thought you’d be glad to be leaving that place,” he said when I’d shed a little tear while boxing up my stuff. He looked around. “We’ll be somewhere with proper plumbing, furniture...privacy,” he said, staring at the door where the sounds of Rain’s hard rock was vibrating the door.
It was safe to say Craig didn’t understand the loft.
But that was okay.
No one understood the loft.
Even the people that loved me the most.
The people who were shocked but supportive about my quickly upcoming nuptials.
After a lot of teasing about Craig’s name.
“It’s so...normal,” Lucy said, nose screwed up.
“I was sure your fiancé would be called Stryker, or Matthias,” Rosie said. “You know, something weird. Craig isn’t weird. And that’s weird.”
Once they got over his name was Craig, they were supportive...ish.
Granted, we’d only been engaged for less than twenty-four hours. I was sure they didn’t plan on it sticking.
I was Polly, after all.
We were grocery shopping. Such a mundane, normal and peaceful thing for a couple to do.
So obviously my peace was shattered with the man standing in the cereal aisle.
I froze.
Right in the middle of the aisle.
Craig noticed.
“Polly? What are you—”
“Don’t say my name,” I hissed, preparing to run.
But the man standing the cereal aisle with four women staring at him, almost drooling, had badass super senses and heard my name, so he turned.
And his eyes met mine.
I hadn’t seen him in almost months.
Since the day at the hospital.
If I was honest with myself, I’d expected to see him. Expected him to come after me. To shake me out of my idiocy. That’s what the hero did, after all.
But Heath promised he wasn’t going to save me from my worst enemy.
Myself.
And Heath kept his promises.
So the first time I was seeing him was in the cereal aisle of Whole Foods, with my new fiancé standing next to me.
I expected him to look at me with that hardness in his eyes that had calcified when I’d pushed him away. But at first, for that beautiful moment within a moment, they were soft. They weren’t chiseled away from the years, from my stupidity, my cowardice, the violence that had settled in his soul.
And then the moment was over.
Craig’s hand slipped into mine.
Heath’s eyes went to our intertwined hands.
And they hardened.
I thought he’d walk away.
Of course he didn’t.
Heath was not a man to shy away from a battle.
“Heath,” I said when he came to stand in front of me.
In front of us.
“Polly,” he replied. The way he uttered my name was some kind of accusation.
Craig squeezed my hand a little too hard.
“Heath, this is Craig,” I stuttered, moving my eyes back and forward between the men.
Heath didn’t move his gaze from mine.
Craig held out his hand.
An awkward moment clutched us as Heath ignored the hand, ignored Craig’s existence.
Then he took it.
“Craig is my...” I trailed off because I couldn’t physically say it. Not in front of Heath. In front of the person I was with him.
“Fiancé,” Craig finished for me, letting go of Heath’s hand and pulling me into his body, kissing my head. “That’s the first time I’ve gotten to introduce myself as your fiancé,” he murmured, loud enough for Heath to hear. “I like it.”
I should’ve too.
Even in the midst of this moment, I should’ve liked the way it sounded against the air.
But Heath owned the air around me.
So the word I’d convinced myself fit just great, itched, tore at my skin.
I smiled at Craig.
I was a coward and avoided Heath’s eyes.
“Sorry, how do you know Polly?” Craig asked, voice still pleasant but there was an underlying hardness, suspicion and he held me a little tighter as he said it.
“He works for Keltan,” I said quickly before Heath could open his mouth. Though he didn’t seem too eager to speak. He seemed frozen in front of us.
Craig’s face was vacant.
“Keltan,” I repeated. “My sister’s husband.”
“Of course,” Craig said, smiling.
The awkward silence lingered on.
“Well, we should be going,” Craig said. “We’ve got lots to do.”
Heath only nodded tightly once.
“It was nice to meet you, bro,” Craig said.
I couldn’t speak so I offered a lame little wave.
A wave with my left hand.
The one that was suddenly heavier than the weight of my shame.
And I let Craig lead me away.
I didn’t expect to see him again.
In fact, I’d been counting on it.
Counting on him keeping his promise and not saving me.
But he chose now to break his promise. Now being the last night in my old home before I made a new one with Craig.
When it meant the most and nothing at all.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, unsure why I was whispering since somehow the loft was empty yet again.
He didn’t reply. He just stood there, staring at me, accusing me like he had at the store.
Just when the silence was too loud, too uncomfortable, too heavy.
He spoke.
He crushed me with his words.
“Does he tell you he loves you every day, Sunshine?” he asked, voice cruel. “Does he make promises about how he feels and what he’ll do for you?” He stalked forward, not waiting for me to answer. “Yeah, I know that he does because I’ve seen him and he’s the kind of man who makes promises, who tells beautiful girls he loves them. But he’s not any kind of man for you.”
He was close enough that the heat of his body singed at my skin while the ice of his gaze froze my veins.
“You don’t need a man who’s gonna tell you he loves you every day. Makes promises. You need a man who doesn’t make shit, doesn’t tell you shit. You need a man who shows you.” His mouth was inches from mine. “Thoroughly.”