“You would do the same thing if you were me,” he seethes, hands forming into fists at his sides.

“No, I wouldn’t, Pierce,” I say, lifting a finger to emphasize my stance. “I trust you.”

His expression softens just a bit. “Why was he in your apartment? I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.”

“It’s Mallory’s apartment. I guess he needs a place to stay for a couple days until he finds a place of his own.”

“Jesus.”

“I asked him to be out by the time I get home.” I pause, a hurtful pain still searing inside my chest. Not only has the shield cracked, it’s disappeared. “Why don’t you trust me? You know me, Pierce. You know what he did to me. Besides, was everything we did in New York meaningless?”

He closes the remaining distance between us while I speak. His jaw ticks, but his eyes don’t hold the same anger they held earlier. “You said you trust me, but how would you feel if I suddenly had an ex-girlfriend working with me. Better yet, how would you feel if she was alone with me in my apartment?”

His words draw a red line through my whole argument. If Pierce had an ex hanging around, it wouldn’t be him I’d be worried about as much as her. If she were anything like Blake, I’d be a mess—a complete, scrambled, twisted mess. “Point taken, but I still don’t think a babysitter is necessary. I can handle him.”

“Like hell you can. He’s your Achilles heal.” He stops suddenly, eyes dancing between mine as he grips my elbows to keep me close. “I know without a doubt that if he’d never left you, I wouldn’t have a chance. I live with that every time I look at you, but I love you enough to try and forget it.” He closes his eyes tightly. “It’s not easy when I know your heart is constantly reminded when you see him and don’t tell me it’s not.”

“What was she like?”

“Who?”

“Alyssa … was she anything like me?”

He swallows, briefly looking over my head before his eyes meet mine again. “In some ways. She always pretended to be happy, but you have more visible ups and downs. I always wondered what she was thinking, but I don’t wonder when I’m with you. The words are written all over your face.”

“If that’s the case, what am I thinking right now?”

Our emotions run parallel. We’re not at the same point at the same exact time.

I need us to intersect. I need to understand what he’s feeling … I need him to understand what I’m feeling.

His fingertip traces a line on my forehead, pushing a loose hair away from my eyes. “You’re scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of making a decision you’ll regret for the rest of your life. I don’t want you to make the wrong choice.”

“I’ve already made my choice.”

He shakes his head. “No you haven’t. You still think about him—more than I’m comfortable with. I think we should cancel our date for tonight so you can decide what you really want to do. I can’t get any deeper in this until you’re sure.”

“Does being done with him mean I’m done with the project, too?”

“No,” he says. “But you have to agree to my terms. He already ruined one woman I loved; I can’t let him do it again.”

My anger boils up again. “Since you brought it up, and I’ve been waiting a long time to hear this. How did he ruin her? He obviously believes it himself, or he wouldn’t be in the position he’s in.”

“He didn’t protect her.”

“And you did?” I ask, feeling his grip on me loosen.

His arms fall to his sides. He stares like a stone statue—empty and emotionless. “Get out of my office.”

I lift my hands, but he backs away. “Maybe if you knew how to forgive, you could both move forward. It should never have gotten to this.”

“Leave.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I do. The rest of the day I spend every single second thinking about Pierce and every single minute trying to avoid him.

THE APARTMENT IS NOT HOW it was supposed to be when I got home. The light in Mallory’s room shines underneath the door; it’s not a scene I’m unfamiliar with.

I knock on the door.

“Come in!” he yells over the faint music.

Without hesitation, I step inside. I gasp as my eyes catch the single piece sitting on an easel in the corner. It’s serene with a certain beauty I’m not used to in his work.

“What is this?” I ask. “It’s beautiful.”

I pull my eyes away from the canvas and look into his swollen, red eyes. He’s staring back at me, but he might as well be hundreds of feet away. An ache begins in my throat; after everything he’s put me through, my heart is still tied to his. His sadness is mine. I feel every ounce of his pain.

And he feels it. His eyes well up with tears. He knows my heart hasn’t completely detached. As much as I don’t want it to, it’s always going to be hanging by an unbreakable string.

The only sound in the room is “Litost” by X Ambassadors. The melody only intensifies the hurt. I listen to the words—actually listen—realizing it could be our anthem. Our love is like a hole, and I don’t know if I will ever fully recover … ever climb out.

The art, though, the art isn’t about me. It’s too beautiful, too peaceful, too innocent. It reminds me of when I was a little girl, when the whole world was perfect through my eyes. It’s the opposite of anything I’ve ever seen Blake paint.

I see a tear spill down his cheek when I glance back over at him. I can’t take it—watching his pain—so I do what my heart tells me. Closing the gap between us, I wrap my arms tightly around him. He nestles his head in the crook of my neck, soaking my shirt with his sorrow. “Today was supposed to be her birthday,” he finally chokes, whimpering. “I just wish I could hold her.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, running my fingertips along his spine as my own tears fall. “It’s not your fault, Blake. You need to forgive yourself. She wouldn’t want you to hold this on your shoulders.”

“I would have done anything for her. I thought I’d done everything.”

“I know.”

We cling to each other like it’s somehow necessary for our survival. It may just be for his. After what could have been seconds, minutes, hours, I step back, holding his face in my hands. “You need to talk to someone. Do it for yourself. Do it for your future.”

“I have been,” he whispers, looking me straight in the eye. “This is the part I don’t like—I have to feel worse before I can feel better.”

I close my eyes, praying I’ll never regret the words that slip from my lips next. “I’m here for you. We’ll never be what we were, but I want to be here for you.”

He lowers his eyes and nods. “Can I have one thing?”

“What’s that?” I ask, biting down on my lower lip.

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me. I want to remember the taste of your lips. I want to—”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I—”

“Please,” he whispers, brushing his thumb along my lower lip. “Just kiss me.”

One more look at him and my resolve falls like the Berlin Wall. Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I press my lips to his. Neither of us pushes it further. It’s a transfer of emotion—maybe forgiveness, or goodbye. Maybe it’s comfort. Whatever it is, I’m selfish; I wanted this just as much as he did, but not for a second did I think about the ramifications it would have with him … or Pierce. To love one man complicates the heart, but two … there are no words for that.

Pierce. My chest tightens. Even after everything that happened earlier, I can’t do this to him. It’s innocent enough, but he wouldn’t see it that way.

I break away, moving back a few steps. “I can’t do this,” I cry.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring up at the stark white ceiling.

“Don’t be,” I whisper, shaking my head. “In some way, we both needed that.”

He’s about to say something else when there’s a knock at the door. I start toward it; Blake is in no shape to deal with company.