Every Breath You Take (The Every Breath Duet Book 1) Read online

  “Then who?” I sobbed.

  “Shh,” he lulled me. “It’s not important or relevant. Just calm down. I hate seeing you like this.”

  “I don’t believe you!” I cried. “The lies, the secrets, I can’t take anymore, Hunter. Tell me the truth.”

  Pulling back, I noticed he too had tears in his eyes. He held me at arm’s distance and wiped away a strand of hair matted to my face. This tender Hunter was the Hunter I missed most. It had been a long time since I’d been in the arms of this man, but these feelings hadn’t vanished completely. I wasn’t sure they ever would.

  “Who is she?” I pleaded once more.

  He let go of my arms and sighed. “She’s a friend of my parents; it’s only temporary. I’m just staying here until . . .” His words died from the anguish crushing his voice.

  “Until what?”

  He blinked, a single tear leaking from the corner of his eye before he swiped at it and looked away. “Until I have to go. I’m leaving, London. I’m going to Arizona to be with my mom and dad.”

  What he said hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. “You’re l-leaving?” I struggled with the word. It was so final. Like divorce. Everything was changing. Too much, too fast. I knew it was over two months ago, but there was always that glimmer of hope that better versions of ourselves would one day find a way back to each other, pick up where we left off, and live happily ever after. But now—the odds were stacked against us in so many ways.

  Unable to contain my emotions, my head fell into my hands with the onslaught of tears.

  Hunter pulled my wrists to uncover my eyes. “Lon, please don’t cry. Don’t make this harder. This is the only way. I need a fresh start. We both do.”

  I knew he was right; it would be better this way. But years of precious memories bombarded me, pummeling my heart and drowning my brain. And then a heavy bolt of realization struck, causing them to ripple away as if they never existed. It’s really fucking over.

  Without thinking, I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around him. I wanted to hate him. That would be easier. But I couldn’t. We’d given each other so much of ourselves. He would always be a part of me, regardless of distance or our marital status.

  I didn’t want to let go. In this moment, there was no pain, no arguing, no gambling or lying. In this embrace we were just Hunter and London, two tethered souls that needed to be set free.

  For a few minutes, we remained tangled together for the last time. I was so tired from my outburst and all the crying that I almost fell asleep standing up. I would have given anything for that because when I slept I was at peace; my dreams of Hunter were happy.

  But it wasn’t long before he released me from his arms. He took a small step backward and looked deeply into my weary eyes. “We have to say good-bye. We can’t put it off any longer. It’s time.”

  I swallowed whatever remained pent up inside my throat and blinked my lids slowly. This was really happening. I had to let him go.

  “Give them to me,” I whispered. I had no idea where the courage to speak those words came from, but I was thankful it did. Putting this off even one more second only made it harder.

  Hunter walked over to a table in the eat-in-kitchen and brought over a stack of legal-sized papers. Without looking at them or reading any of the fine print, I opened my palm and he handed me a pen.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” I signed my name on the bold black line.

  “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he replied but did not make any further eye contact.

  I drove back to my mother’s on autopilot. I couldn’t hear myself think over the radio, which was definitely a good thing. I cried through every song and drove as cautiously as I could with my vision blurred by a veil of merciless tears. Everything that had scarred over since the night he left was raw and bleeding all over again.

  I’d probably never see him again. He’d be out of my life for good. The love of my life. My high school sweetheart. The man meant to occupy my past, present, and future.

  Devastation struck with a resilience that was impossible to ignore, but underneath the pain, amidst the pieces of my heart that were broken and shattered ten times over, something told me it was time. Time to take the next step in the grieving process. Time to put it all behind me and get on with living my new life, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do.

  Ten months later

  “YOU DON’T HAVE to stay here, you know? It’s your day off. The weather is beautiful. Go do something for you.” Mom was flipping through a Good Housekeeping magazine with one hand, the other secured to the arm of her chair, needles and tubes probing her skin, doing their magic.

  “Nonsense. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I reached over to grab her leg and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Come hell or high water, we would get through this. That’s how the Monroe women rolled. We didn’t have any choice.

  I tried my best to block out what was going on. Each week I did the same thing. Truth was, I hated it here. The sterility, the colorless walls, the myriad of sickness surrounding me. It was depressing and I already felt enough of that without adding this to the mix.

  But the dialysis was working—the best way dialysis can work. It wasn’t a cure, we both knew that, but Mom was on a transplant list and that optimism she held so dear was keeping both of us afloat. Luckily, she had enough for me too, because my hope-o-meter was on the fritz.

  “London.”

  “Yeah?” I looked up from playing a crossword puzzle on my phone. Mom’s eyes were already closed, resting her head against the back of the hard vinyl chair. She looked peaceful enough but we’d only been here for one hour of the four required to complete today’s treatment. She was usually chatty and playful through at least half of the session.

  Vaulting out of my chair, I rushed to her, to the machines, not that I’d know how to help her if something was wrong. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Tired.”

  “Want me to get the doctor?”

  “No.” She shook her head with her eyes still closed, a smile turning up her beautiful lips at both corners. “I was up late watching TV, could use a nap. Go get some fresh air.”

  If I knew better, she was trying to get rid of me, but maybe she just wanted some alone time. I couldn’t deny her that. The last year had been an adjustment for both of us. There was nothing wrong with healthy distance every now and then. “Fine.” I huffed, rolling my eyes even though she couldn’t see my face. “I’ll go grab a coffee downstairs. Want one?”

  “No, but I’d love a blueberry muffin from Hickory’s.”

  “Hickory’s? That’s five blocks a . . .” So, she was trying to get rid of me. “Slick, Ma, real slick. Enjoy your nap.”

  Her melodious chuckle echoed behind me as I grabbed my purse and escaped the stench of antiseptic and gloom. It was a beautiful day. A little sunshine on my too-pale skin wouldn’t hurt. I’d show her by coming back with a glow and taking my sweet-ass time.

  I set out for a nice walk to Hickory’s, tucking my phone into my bag as I walked down the corridor. My stride came to an abrupt halt when I collided into a man wearing a white coat. A doctor, obviously. A very handsome one, too.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Heat instantly rose to my cheeks. I had to do everything in my power to keep my jaw from dropping to my chest at the sight of him.

  Whiskey-colored eyes penetrated mine. He had a face so flawless, so striking, the embroidered monogram on his coat should have read Warning. “No, please excuse me. I didn’t see you coming.”

  That was an understatement if I’d ever heard one. Or maybe it was an omen. I didn’t see you coming, either. “It’s okay,” I managed.

  “No, it’s not.” He smiled. My knees weakened. And then his hands were on me. Holy hell. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  Define hurt? Because my insides were on fire and my stomach was roiling with unexpected anxiety. Had it been that long? Was my body so accustomed to being off the mark
et that it reacted like a virgin on prom night?

  Quickly coming to and doing my best to ignore the maelstrom of teenage-like responses to this man, I shook my head profusely. “I’m fine. Really. It’s my fault for not paying closer attention. I’m sure you have more pressing matters—patients—to tend to.”

  He brought his wrist up into view, squinting as he took in the time. “I am actually running behind.” He hissed through gritted teeth and an exaggerated smile. “I’m afraid I’m not making the best first impression, for my patient or for you.”

  My hand flew to my chest, my eyes widening. “Me? Don’t be silly. I’m . . . I’m the one who bumped into you.”

  He blinked slowly before peering at the ground. With a slight rumble in his chest, he glanced back up at me, his eyes sparkling with a hint of something I couldn’t quite identify. Or maybe I could. He was flirting. I just didn’t know what to do with it. It was positively unnerving. It seemed a lifetime ago since someone other than Hunter had looked at me this way. Since I wanted someone other than Hunter to look at me this way.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way but . . .” Whispering, he leaned in closer. His words smelled of spearmint and coffee, his skin a musk of spice and masculinity. My heart thrummed in my ears at his closeness and I tightened my fists to steel myself. I was almost salivating at the thought of how he’d complete his statement when he tilted his head and said, “I’m actually quite happy I bumped into you. I can’t think of a better reason to be late. And I’ll tell you what. It’s only right you make it up to me by letting me take you out for a drink.”

  Seriously? Did he just ask me out? What did I say to that? Words, London, use your words. “Um . . . that won’t be necessary.” Not the best choice of vernacular, considering my head was warring with my mouth. I wanted nothing more than to accept his invitation, but—it was complicated.

  “Maybe not, but based on my medical expertise, I’d say seeing you again is crucial. Vital even.” He brought both hands to his chest, right over his heart, and those eyes of his pierced through me as if they were pleading spears.

  Loosening up, I couldn’t help but laugh. Everything about him, about this encounter, was charming even if unexpected in the best way possible. “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Great,” he said, pulling out his phone from his coat pocket. “Can I get your number?”

  “Don’t you want my name first?” I smarted.

  Laughter reverberated in his chest again and he raked his free hand through dark, neatly-styled waves. “I bump into a pretty girl and lose all my manners. Please forgive me?”

  “You’re forgiven.” I smiled. “And I’m London.” I placed my hand in his and he squeezed with warm invitation.

  “Doctor Owen.” He shook his head remorsefully. “I mean, Bryce Owen. Oh, God, just Bryce. Sorry. I’m so used to the formalities around here.”

  “That’s okay.” I giggled, taking note of how adorably flustered he’d become—and the clock on the wall. “Hey, doctor, I bet timeliness is one of those formalities?”

  He dragged his gaze from me to the clock. “Shit! I mean, yeah, I really do have to get going.” He fumbled with his phone and pockets, pulling out a business card. “Here,” he said, handing it to me and then straightening his tie. “Please text me your number, London. Vital, remember.”

  And then he was gone as quickly as he arrived.

  Fingering the business card, I stood there in a daze, my mind racing.

  My mother had sent me out for fresh air and yet, after that meeting with Doctor Bryce Owen, I found it hard to catch my breath.

  “YOU’RE MY NORTH, south, east, and west, baby. Where you are, is where I want to be.”

  Our first Christmas as a married couple ran on repeat in my head as I fingered the dainty gold compass that hung from my neck. Hunter had surprised me with it that year and I’d worn it every day since. I still hadn’t taken it off. I mean, there would probably come a time when I should because its meaning was no longer valid. But it reminded me of the past. The good old days. Days I still hadn’t let go of, almost a year after the divorce.

  God, we were so happy back then. So young. That was probably where we went wrong. You tend to see things differently through the eyes of young love. You forget to factor in that there’s so much life left to conquer. I guess I always imagined we’d conquer it together. A Hunterless future was my new norm, but it was still hard to grasp. And no matter how hard I tried to get past it, I remained stuck in that deep, endless void of missing him. Of missing us.

  I missed him so much that stalking his Facebook page and reading through old text messages was still a part of my daily routine. I sipped my coffee before heading to work and wallowed in his absence. It wasn’t healthy, but then again, neither was everything we’d been through.

  Even still, I struggled with this new state of emptiness. I’d spent the last year alone. Dodging set-ups from my friends and advances from random strangers—and Bryce. But I knew deep down in my core that my heart was built to love, to beat for someone else. While I was once certain Hunter would be that person for the rest of my life, life obviously had other plans.

  I didn’t like this somber version of myself. The girl who took on extra clients to occupy an entire work day and doted on her mother hand and foot to avoid any sort of a social life. I hated the sadness that swarmed over me, a sky of muted hues in place of the vivid colors that once fed my soul.

  It was why I couldn’t bring myself to call Bryce after he asked me out for that drink over two weeks ago. It wouldn’t be fair to him. I was still so out of sorts, removed from the London everyone knew me to be. I wanted to break free from this cloud of grief, but I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to date someone, or to be with another man at all.

  I quickly closed the laptop when I heard Mom coming down the stairs. If she ever caught wind of how tightly I still held on to Hunter it would turn into another three-hour therapy session.

  “Good morning.” She yawned and bent to kiss the top of my head.

  “Morning.” I grabbed her hand that rested on my shoulder and gave it a light pat.

  I loved her affection—there was no denying I needed it right now—but I hated that she treated me like a fragile bird. If anything, I should have been coddling her. She was the one whose body was failing her. She was the fragile bird.

  “I’m making a pot roast in the crockpot today. You’ll be home for dinner, right?”

  “Yep, I’ll be home. I’ve got nowhere else to be.” I grumbled the last part, almost inaudibly. God forgive me for acting like a petulant child. I didn’t like that she worried about me, kept tabs on me. We were both adults. This was so unnatural.

  “Great.” Ignorant to my inner turmoil, she busied herself by preparing her coffee. “Cynthia and Debbie are coming over for lunch at noon. What’s on your agenda?”

  I stood from the table and tucked my laptop under my arm. “Work. Then home. Same as every day.” My tone was harsher than I intended it to be, but I couldn’t help it. My life had become mundane in the most depressing way possible.

  “I can save the pot roast for tomorrow. Why don’t you go out tonight? Maybe Allie and Emilia want to see that new movie everyone’s talking about, or what about calling that doc—”

  The tips of my ears burned hot with rage. “Mom. No.” Not this again. I should’ve never told her about Bryce. She’d been having a rough day after her treatment and I thought it would make her feel better to know her daughter caught the eye of a handsome doctor. That someone made me smile again, even if only for a brief moment.

  She paused at the sink, staring out at the hydrangea bushes in the yard. For a moment, relief washed over me because I thought for once she might actually heed my warning. But when she turned around with tears in her eyes, it was clear I wasn’t so lucky. “Why not? Who’s it hurting to enjoy yourself for one night? I love having you here, but I hate seeing you like this. I hate that I can’t make this pain go away.
”

  “You think I want to feel like this? You think I like being alone or that I’m happy I had to move back home with my mother like some . . . failure?” That was a sucker-punch to my mother’s gut. I could tell by her trembling frown, the protruding vein in her forehead.

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean to be a bitch. Insulting her was not my intention, I was only being honest. Whoever said honesty was the best policy didn’t have a sensitive mother like mine.

  I rushed to her side and wrapped my arms around her small frame. She didn’t deserve this; she was only trying to help. “I am so grateful you took me in. I don’t know what I’d do without you. It’s just . . . it’s like I’ve taken so many steps back. I know we can’t always predict the future, but I definitely never envisioned this.” My shoulders relaxed as if admitting that was a weight off my back. I sighed, slowing my breaths, and confessed another truth. “I’m trying really hard to accept this new reality, but even after all this time . . . I’m still so damn blindsided.”

  “I know, baby. I’m sorry, too.” Her voice trembled with sadness but she sniffed back her tears and looked into my eyes so deeply it was as if she were trying to send the message directly to my heart. “The last thing I want is for you is to end up like me.”

  I took a step back then and held her at arm’s length. My mother may have been fighting a war inside her body, struggling to survive, but on the outside she was still as perfect as ever. Beautiful. Timeless. Deserving of so much more than what life had dished her way.

  I caressed her face the way she would mine. At almost fifty-eight and with everything she’d been through, she had very few creases or lines. I bit back my own tears, knowing she needed my encouragement now more than I needed hers. “You are the woman I have always wanted to be. No one is perfect, but you are damn near flawless, and not having a husband will never change that. You did the job of a mother and a father—hell, you did the job of an army raising me and Memphis—and here I am, putting you back to work when you should be enjoying your freedom.”