Finding Him (Covet 2)

All I could focus on was Julian’s face, his expression expectant.

Like he was waiting for something.

Another moment, maybe.

My mouth felt dry. I wanted to ask him to stay, I wanted to tell him that it was too soon, but I didn’t know how. He was Julian Tennyson. Did he even care?

The wind picked up, and still he stood there, hands in the pocket of the jeans I’d helped take off, expression hopeful.

“Let’s go.” The EMT hit the roof of the ambulance and closed one door.

And still I said nothing.

I still had time.

I opened my mouth and all that came out was “Thank you.”

And I knew, though I had somehow survived Noah’s death, I would never get over the expression of rejection on Julian’s face as the second door closed.

Never.

Chapter Twenty-Two

JULIAN

Waking up from a coma only to find out that everything has been taken from you . . . sucks.

It’s painful, both physically and emotionally.

But watching that ambulance drive off rivaled that feeling and then trumped it when I finally walked into my brand-new penthouse apartment that overlooked the city.

Alone.

No chocolate chip cookies.

No roaring fireplace in the corner.

No laptop keys to hit.

Just nothingness.

I didn’t even get her phone number.

I should have asked.

I was going to, but then she just gave me this look of . . . no. I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted her to be ready, I wanted her to be excited, to say something, anything.

I wasn’t stupid, I knew that I never fought for Izzy, but I never thought in my wildest dreams that the next girl I fell for would refuse to fight for me.

It didn’t just sting my pride.

It hurt my heart in a way I wasn’t prepared for, stole the air from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe normally.

I grabbed a bottle of Maker’s Mark and sat in my living room.

In the dark.

And poured.

And when the doorbell rang, I nearly knocked over my drink in anticipation of seeing her, only to realize halfway to the door that she didn’t know where I lived, and if she didn’t want me with her in the ambulance, she sure as hell wasn’t going to seek me out and show up on my doorstep.

Fuck, I could still smell her on my skin.

Taste her on my lips.

I pulled the door open to find Bridge giving me a knowing look before lifting a bottle of expensive whiskey and saying, “So, Keaton Westbrook?”

I almost slammed the door in his face.

Except I had no one else.

Literally.

And I was that low.

So I hung my head, let him in, grabbed the whiskey, popped the cork, took a giant swig, and muttered, “I like her.”

Bridge was quiet, and then he burst out laughing. “Well, did she write you a note back, or are you still waiting for her to circle yes or no?”

“Jackass.” I shoved him. “I didn’t come right out and say it. She was dealing with things, and you know how I’ve been. I just . . . it doesn’t matter. I’m still technically on vacation, maybe I’ll go to Colorado or something . . .”

“Bullshit, you aren’t going anywhere, especially if she’s here in the city.”

He was right about that, I needed a distraction so I didn’t end up at her doorstep drunk off my ass. “You think they’ll let me come back to work early?”

“That would be a no,” Bridge said immediately. “But you do have a few weeks to get your stalker skills on. She’s not going back to LA until later this year. She goes between both cities, just in case you weren’t aware, and I wish I wasn’t aware, but apparently Izzy follows her on Instagram.”

I almost threw myself against a blunt object. “Of course she does.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

I stared into the bottle of brown liquid wondering how much alcohol it would take to numb the space between my ribs that wouldn’t stop hurting. “Talking won’t make it better.”

“Make what better? Because the way I see it, we arrived to save a day that didn’t really need saving. Your hair was a mess, her mouth was swollen, color high. Oh, and you had only pants on and looked way too happy to see me. The last time you smiled at me like that was never, so what happened?”

I let out a rough exhale and ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a hopeful idiot, that’s what happened.”

“Hopeful?”

“We had sex.”

“NO!”

“I’m seconds away from shoving you out my window, you’ve been warned.”

He grinned. “I figured as much, the entire house was like this cozy little—” He stopped when I shot him a glare. “So what’s the plan? Are you going to call her?”

“I don’t have her number.”

“Why?”

“Because it never came up? Because maybe to her it was a one-time thing? Because she just buried her boyfriend less than a year ago, and I’m not stupid enough to think I could compete against a dead guy when I couldn’t even keep my own fiancée away from my brother. I don’t know, Bridge, you tell me!” I didn’t realize I was pacing until I looked down. Shit. I took another swig straight from the bottle and waited for him to say something.