Dreams are dreams for a reason, right? Our time had come and gone. The people we were now just… didn’t fit.
In another life, the stakes weren’t this high when we met. But now they were astronomical. And I got where she was coming from. She wanted to protect her kids from me.
That was her job, to keep them safe. And I might not haveturned out to be their actual father, but I loved those kids so much already, I knew I had to do the same. I had to protect her and them… fromme.
Carol’s voice cut through the thick tension, sharp and commanding. “Chris.” My head shot up, meeting her gaze. Her face was serious, and there was no room for debate. “You need to go.”
I hesitated for a second, caught between anger and regret. She was right. Of course, she was right. I had completely fucked this up.
“I’m sorry,” I managed. “You’re right. I’ll just…” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. There was nothing left to say. I turned, my body moving on autopilot. Too ashamed to fight anymore. I walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway, but before I could reach the front door, something made me stop.
Sitting on the console table was a little robot built out of LEGO, but with a pink pom-pom glued to the top and glittery paint on its wheels. A piece of paper sat underneath it.
To: Chris From: Liam & Nova
As if I wasn’t already wrecked, this was the final blow. The last nail in the coffin. But also the confirmation I needed to keep walking towards the door. I was doing what was best for them, and I had to find a place in my heart to be okay with that. Even if I didn’t get to be their parent, they had good ones. And maybe, for once, I could be the bigger man and learn to be happy knowing they would be happy… without me.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight, and picked up the robot, tucking it—and the note—into my pocket. And then, without another word, I walked out the door.
27
JULES
Istood there as the sound of the door clicking shut echoed in my ears. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t move. It felt like the end of something, even though I wasn’t even sure what we’d started. For one stupid, fleeting minute, I’d let myself believe this could work. I’d let my guard down, cracked open the walls I’d spent years building, and dared to hope.
I should’ve known better.
But, God, Iwantedthis. I wantedhim. So badly.
For so long, I felt like a ghost in my own life. I moved through the days, surviving but not reallyliving. Most emotions barely touched me, like I was watching them happen to someone else. But with Chris, everything wassharp andbright. When I was with him, I wasn’t numb. I wasawakeandpresent. My body, my mind, and my heart had woken up for him.
And now he was gone.
My brain could barely process that we weresupposedto meet. Thatone moment—one terrible, defining moment—had thrown my whole life onto a different path. It wasn’t JohnGrauber’s hands on me that haunted me anymore. No. It was the moment I couldpinpointas the one that made me losehim. Chris.
What if we had met back then? Would we have had the life we’d dreamed about all these years? Maybe. Maybe not. I was a mess in my twenties. More than likely, we would’ve crashed and burned, like now, only sooner. But what if he was right? What if we somehow could’ve made it work? Would we still be together? Would the kids be?—
No.I couldn’t let myself go there.
The world around me tilted, my vision blurring as the tears kept coming. My breathing hitched, my chest tightening as dizziness slammed into me.
Oh no.Not now.
The walls bent and twisted, the kitchen shifting, and the edges of reality slipping through my fingers. I could feel myself falling into the pull of the other world. The vivid colors, the strange warmth of memories that didn’t belong to this life.
I couldn’t stop it.
28
THE DREAM
Chris sat at a large, round table in a sleek, modern conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city skyline behind him. Freshly shaved, hair short, and a lighter shade of blonde, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee while trying not to let his excitement show too much. Across from him sat Marvin, a seasoned director in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, and John, a producer of the same age who desperately tried to look younger with jet-black dyed hair and expensive but slightly too trendy clothes.
Vanessa was in a corner, typing something into her phone, uninterested in whatever discussion was happening. Chris, however, was fully engaged, watching as Marvin and John read through the script ofSnowdrift.
“The girl knows how to write. I’ll give her that,” John muttered, though his face showed nothing but impatience.
“Yeah. I really connected with the character. It’s incredibly well written.” Chrislovedthis project. And for once, he didn’t even mind putting up with John’s bullshit.
