The first sob catches me by complete surprise as it tears from my throat. Fuck! I don’t cry. Good little boys don’t cry if they love their mommies. My shoulders shake as I try to hold it in, but everything—all of the emotion, all of the memories, seeing all of the pain in Rylee’s eyes—from the past few hours is just too much. The floodgates open and I just can’t hold it back anymore.



As the sobs that rack my body slowly abate, the stinging on my kneecaps brings me back to the present. I realize that I’m kneeling on the coarse cobblestone in Colton’s front entrance with nothing on but his T-shirt. No shoes. No pants. No car.

And a cell phone still inside on the bathroom counter.

I shake my head as hurt and humiliation give way to anger. I’m over the initial shock from his words, and now I want to give him my two cents. It’s not okay to treat or talk to me this way. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I push myself up from the ground and shove the front door back open. It slams back against the wall with a thud.

He may be done with me, but I haven’t had my say yet. Too many things jumble around in my head that I might never get the chance to say again. And regret is one emotion I don’t need added to my list of things to rue over.

I take the stairs two at a time, never more aware of how little I’m wearing as the cool morning air sneaks beneath the shirt and hits my bare flesh; Flesh that is slightly swollen and sore from Colton’s more than thorough attention and adept skill the numerous times we’d had sex last night. The discomfort adds a quiet sadness to my raging inferno of anger. Baxter greets me with the thump of a tail as I enter the bedroom and hear the spraying water of the shower. My veins flow with fire now as his comments replay in my head, each one compounding upon the next. Each one transitioning from hurt to humiliation to anger. On a mission, I toss my bag carelessly on the counter alongside where my cell phone sits.

I stride angrily into the walk-in shower, ready to spew my venom back at him. To tell him I don’t care who he is on the social scale, and that self-proclaimed assholes like him don’t deserve good girls like me. I turn past the alcove in the shower and stop dead in my tracks, the words dying on my lips.

Colton is standing in the shower with his hands braced against the wall. Water streams down his shoulders, sagging and defeated in their carriage. His head hangs forward, lifeless and beaten. His eyes are squeezed shut. The distinct and always strong line of his posture that I’ve come to recognize is missing. The strong, confident man I know is nowhere to be found. Completely absent.

The first thought that flickers through my mind is it serves the asshole right. He should be upset and remorseful over how he treated me and for the abhorrent things he said. No amount of groveling is going to take back the hurt he’s caused with his words or from pushing me away. I fist my hands at my side, warring within over how to proceed because now that I’m here, I’m at a loss. It takes a moment, but I’ve decided to leave undetected—call a cab—walk away without a word. But just as I take a step backwards in retreat, a strangled sob wrenches from Colton’s mouth and shudders through his body. It’s a guttural moan that’s so feral in nature it seems as if it’s taking every ounce of his strength to hold himself together.

I freeze at the sound. I watching this strong, virile man come undone, and I realize the anguish ripping through him is over something much bigger than our exchange. And it is in this moment, being witness to his agony, I realize there are so many different ways a person can ache. So many definitions I never realized held within such a simple word.

My heart aches from the pain and humiliation Colton inflicted with his words. From opening itself up after all this time to have it torn again with such cruelty.

My head aches with the knowledge that there is so much more going on here—things I should have noticed with my extensive training—but I was so blindsided by him, his presence, his words, and his actions that I didn’t pay close enough attention.

I missed seeing the forest through the trees.

My soul aches at seeing Colton fighting blindly against the demons that chase him through the day and into his dreams to torture him at night.

My body aches to go to him and provide some type of comfort to try and ease the pain these demons cause. To run my hands over him and soothe away the memories that he feels he’ll never be able to escape, that he’ll never be able to heal from.

My pride aches from wanting to stand my ground, be stubborn, and stay true to myself. To never walk willingly back to someone who treated me the way he did.

I stand on the precipice of indecision, unsure which ache within to listen to when Colton strangles out another heart wrenching sob. His body shakes with its violence. His face squeezed so tight, his pain is palpable.

My debate on what to do next is minimal because I can’t hide from the fact that whether he wants to accept it or not, he needs someone right now. He needs me. All of the cruel words he spat at me evaporate at the sight of my broken man. They fade elsewhere to be addressed at another time. My years of training have taught me to be patient but to also know when to step forward. And this time, I won’t miss the signs.