Looks were never Luke’s problem. His looks were what drew me to him, his looks were what kept me around during the slow times, and his looks had almost made me reconsider my decision to leave him. Thick, blond hair that always misbehaved perfectly, a strong jaw, full lips, and pale blue eyes that had always held a hint of anguish. He stood, his hands tucked in the pockets of his faded jeans, a baby blue polo pulled tight over his broad, muscular chest. He said nothing as I wound my way along the entry sidewalk and came to a stop in front of him. Just watched me, his face tight and eyes tortured. He pulled off ‘tortured’ better than anyone else I knew. And, just like that, the familiar weight of guilt settled around my heart and squeezed.

He had, simply put, not been good enough for me. My over-confident ego had decided I needed someone better—someone more successful, responsible, intelligent. It had been the right choice. But that didn’t mean that my heart didn’t break a little when I looked at him. Because he had truly, head over heels, loved me. And probably still did. I never worried about Luke looking at another girl, or had any doubt of his feelings for me. I had been his entire world. He stepped forward slightly, hands coming out of his pockets, and I held up a hand. “Luke. Stop. Please sit down.”

I wasn’t surprised he was awake. Wasn’t surprised that he was on the porch, waiting for my arrival. It was why I had had Brad bring me straight here. I knew Luke would be there, ready, hopeful. But validation of that fact, his weight against the porch, where it had probably been for hours? It made it harder. Added another stone to my mountain of guilt.

He obeyed, sinking into the closest rocking chair, his eyes never leaving mine—light blue prisms of hope. I sank into the rocker next to him and propped a foot up on the railing, closing my eyes and trying to sort through the churning wave of emotions. Of course he obeyed. He had always behaved, always tried to please my ever-increasing demands. I had been the alpha, he the submissive.

“What are you doing here, Luke?” I turned to look at him—a mistake—the raw look in his eyes nearly tearing me into two.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere. I need you, Jules; I’m lost without you.” He reached out, grasping my arm, his strong fingers caressing the skin before he pulled it, leaning into me. I resisted, dragging my arm away and leaned back in the chair.

Need. Yes, he had always needed me. To wake him up in the mornings, so he wouldn’t miss work. To remind him to renew his car insurance, file taxes, pay his parking tickets. He needed me to cover his rent when his cash was low, pick him up from the bar when he had drunk too much, and hold him in my arms when he was feeling insecure. He had needed me way too much. It was one of the things that made the guilt that much heavier. I wondered, still worried, how he functioned without me.

And it was crazy. I had a new fiancé, another life, but still the pull of guilt almost washed me closer to him. Almost made me weak enough to say things other than what I needed to say. It was why I had cut all contact two months prior. The guilt at leaving him ... it was too hard for me to be firm. Firm seemed to equal ‘cruel.’ But that was needed. Especially when the game had gotten to this unthinkable stage.

I sighed, trying to form words that would hit home gently. “Luke. It’s over. I have avoided you for a reason. You being here at my parents’ house— it’s invasive. You have to move on. You have to forget about me.”

“I’ll be better. I’ll try harder. I won’t go out anymore or skip work or—”

“Luke.” I stood and faced him, my eyes sharp. Be strong. Be firm. “You don’t need to change for me. You need to find a girl who loves you just as you are. Stop thinking about a way to get me back. I’m not ever coming back. Ever. I need you to realize that.”

“Is this about that guy? The one who dropped you off?” He looked wounded, slumping back in the chair, a bare foot coming up and hitting the porch rail. The glimpse of his foot—it struck some latent chord in me, some reservoir of anger, resentment. He had stayed here a week. Gotten comfortable enough in my childhood home to walk around barefoot. Prey on my uninformed parents.

“No. It’s about you and me. There was no one else who caused our breakup to happen.”

Were my words strong enough? Cruel enough? I wasn’t sure, the look in his eyes unchanged. Needy. Wanting. Desperate. I needed to find the aggressor role that I used to so easily command. The one that I had lost mastery of in my new relationship with Brad. I swallowed. Tried again. “Please go inside and pack. I need you to leave. I will pay for you to stay in a hotel for the night, but in the morning you need to head back home. If you ever cared for me, I need you to leave me alone. Move on with your life. I won’t—I can’t—come back to you. We are done.”

He looked at me, my gaze holding despite the shake in my heart, the contact horrific as I watched a piece of the man I once loved die in his eyes. Then he dipped his head, eyes avoiding mine, saving me from seeing any more pain. He nodded, his head down, eyes trained to the ground, foot falling off the railing and landing with a quiet thud onto the porch. “Okay Jules. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” I whispered, hoping—as the words fled my mouth—that he hadn’t heard them. Worried that they reopened some window to the room I had just locked close. Then I leaned against the porch and crossed my arms, watching him walk inside. The moment the door closed behind him, tears leaked, running down my cheeks with wild abandon. I hated this shit. Hated dealing with him, hated the resurgence of feelings and emotions for a man no longer in my life. This was bullshit, this ache of hurt, not for me, but for him. And the worst thing was that my own ego was creating this tidal wave of pain. I was not that great. He could—and would—do better. Someone who appreciated him. Someone who loved him in the all-consuming way that I loved Brad. I contained the heaves of my chest, guilt wracking my body in silent sobs. I wiped my face, blinking rapidly and took a few deep breaths, willing the ache in my heart to dissolve.

♦♦♦

Luke, as expected, behaved. It took him almost fifteen minutes to emerge. Fifteen minutes when I went through a roller coaster of emotions and fought going inside to see if he was ransacking my room. He finally emerged, a duffel bag in hand. Evidence of my tears gone, I walked him to the driveway, to his faded red truck, every dent and scrape on it familiar to me. We had fucked in the bed of it, the hard metal floor painful to my knees. We’d spent another night inside of it, on a road trip to his parents’, both of us too broke for a hotel, the cab colder the later the night had gotten. I stared at the vehicle and tried to will the memories from my mind.

Luke heaved his bag, his muscles easily tossing the black duffel into the bed. Then he turned back to me, holding out his hand.

I stared at it blankly, recognizing that he wasn’t reaching for my hand, but waiting for some item. Right. Hotel money. I held back a comment and reached into my pocket, pulling out some cash and putting it in his palm.

“So who was that?” he asked suddenly. “The guy who dropped you off.”

I met his eyes, willing my voice to be casual, steady. “Someone I’m dating.”

He frowned as hurt quickly joined the complicated party of sadness and regret in his eyes. “Wow. That didn’t take you long, Jules.” He shot me a wry, sarcastic smile. “Went after money, huh? Shocker.”

I didn’t respond, watching as he climbed in the truck and slammed the door. He stared into my eyes through the windshield, and we stayed like that for a minute; I was unable to move. Then he shook his head, and his truck roared to life.

Eighteen months. One small diamond.

A life path extinguished.

I stood in the empty driveway for a moment, watching the taillights of his truck as it peeled out and down my parents’ street. It was done. I instinctively knew that he wasn’t coming back, that—while he might not disappear completely—he realized that I would not take him back.

I turned to the house, noting the absence of lights and glanced at my watch. 12:53 a.m. My parents hadn’t waited up, not a huge surprise given the hour. I called Brad.

“Hey babe.” His confident voice sent calming strength through me.

“Hey. Luke just left. How far away are you?”

“A few blocks. You finished quicker than I expected; I haven’t gotten us a room yet.”

“That’s okay. Come pick me up. I’m going to leave my parents a note and make sure the doors are locked, then I’ll be out front.”

“I’ll be there.”

There was no doubt Mom would be hurt when she found out I was staying at a hotel, but I’d have to face that battle in the morning. I jotted down a quick note, stated I’d be by around nine, then checked the locks, and headed outside to Brad’s car.

Chapter 10

The morning brought with it the hum of an air conditioner, scratchy sheets, and the delicious feeling of having Brad’s warm body spooned tightly behind me. I ran my fingers lightly down his forearm before gripping it and tightening it around my body. He groaned behind me, burrowing his face into my neck, his stubble tickling me. He flexed against me, his hard cock ever present against my ass. I opened my eyes, taking in the yellow wallpaper, small television, and cheap coffee pot. I grinned. Brad had taken serious issue with our accommodations, unable to believe that my small hometown didn’t have at least a three-star hotel. Sex had been comical—the bed sagging pitifully beneath our weight, creaking and rattling with every thrust. We had finally taken the act to the wall—his strong arms holding me easily as he slid in and out until we were both satisfied. My eyes passed over the plastic clock, widening as they read its red digits. “Shit, Brad, we have to go.” I wiggled out of his arms, shooting across the worn carpet and flipping on the bathroom light. Glancing over my shoulder at his still body, I increased my tone. “Brad!” Leaning over the sink, I turned on the water.