Her wedding was on the thirteenth, and that was only five days away.
My keys clattered to the floor as my heart began to thump. I nearly flung my backpack across the room in my haste to get to my bedroom.
I’d been at the café just thirty minutes away, trying to lose myself in research and studies. Anything to keep my mind occupied and away from thoughts of her walking down an aisle towards someone else.
The bedroom door was already open by the time I got there.
And as I stepped inside, a strangled sound caught in my throat.
She was sprawled across my bed with one of my shirts clutched in her hands. She’d curled herself into a tight ball, her face buried in the fabric.
The sight nearly brought me to my knees. I pressed my hand to my jaw, moving closer on unsteady legs.
Was I dreaming?
Hallucinating?
My eyes drank her in desperately, cataloguing every detail.
Her hair was different. It looked like she was wearing a straight wig over her natural hair. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, deeper than I’d ever seen. There was something that looked like a healing cut at the corner of her mouth. She looked thinner. Fragile in a way that made my chest ache.
Kelechi.
A mess of contradictions warred inside me, each one sharp enough to draw blood. Relief that she was real, that she was here. That she was breathing. Fury at whatever had put those shadows under her eyes and that wound on her lip. Rage that burned white-hot because how dare she show up now, when I’d finally started to build walls around the hole she’d left in my chest? Hope I tried desperately to crush before it could take root. Because hoping was what had nearly destroyed me the first time.
And love.
God, so much love it felt like drowning.
Like every defence I’d started building, crumbling to dust the moment I saw her face.
I turned away before it swallowed me.
My legs shook as I made my way to the armchair in the corner of the room. I collapsed into it and folded my arms tightly across my chest, as though I could physically restrain myself.
She looked so peaceful lying there.
And apparently, I still hadn’t outgrown the habit of letting her sleep undisturbed.
Even when my world was spinning off its axis.
I checked the clock on my nightstand.
Seven-thirty p.m.
How long had she been here?
How long had she been sleeping in my bed while I sat in that café, trying to forget her?
Time moved slowly as I watched her.
At some point, she began to stir. Her skirt rode up slightly, revealing the smooth curve of her thighs.
I dragged my eyes away quickly, heat flooding my cheeks.
Damn it. I was still hopelessly, pathetically attracted to this woman.
I forced myself to take a steadying breath and looked back just as she sat up, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child.
