* * *

I threw up when I found Gideon's key to my apartment lying on the breakfast bar.

I barely made it to the sink.

When my stomach was empty, I was left with pain so agonizing it was crippling.

I clung to the edge of the counter, gasping and sweating, crying so hard I wondered how I'd make it through another five minutes, let alone the rest of the day.

The rest of my life.

The last time Gideon had returned my keys to me, we'd broken up for four days.

It was impossible not to think that repeating the gesture signified a more permanent break.

What had I done? Why hadn't I stopped him? Talked to him? Made him stay? My smartphone signaled an incoming text.

I stumbled to my purse and dug it out, praying it was Gideon.

He'd talked to Cary three times already, but he'd yet to contact me.

When I saw his name on the screen, a sweet, sharp ache pierced my chest.

I'm working from home today, his message read.

Angus will be waiting out front to give you a ride to work.

My stomach cramped again with dread.

It had been a tremendously difficult week for both of us.

I could understand why he'd just given up.

But that understanding was wrapped in a gut-gnawing fear so cold and insidious that goose bumps swept up my arms.

My fingers shook as I texted him back: Will I see you tonight? There was a long pause, long enough that I was about to demand a yes or no answer when he sent: Don't count on it.

I have my appt with Dr.

Petersen and a lot of work to do.

My grip tightened on my phone.

It took me three attempts before I was able to type: I want to see you.

For the longest time, my phone sat silently.

I was reaching for my landline in a near panic when he replied: I'll see what I can do.

Oh God .

Tears made it hard for me to see the letters.

He was done.

I knew it deep down in my heart.

Don't run.

I'm not.

It seemed like forever before he replied: You should.

I debated calling in sick after that, but I didn't.

I couldn't.

I had been down that road too many times.

I knew I could so easily fall back into old self- destructive habits to dull pain.

It would kill me to lose Gideon, but I'd be dead anyway if I lost myself.

I had to hang on.

Get through.

Get by.

One step at a time.

And so I climbed into the back of the Bentley when I was supposed to, and while Angus's grim face only made me worry more, I locked it down and slid into the autopilot mode of self- preservation that would get me through the hours ahead.

My day passed in a blur.

I worked hard and focused on my job, using it to keep me from going crazy, but my heart wasn't in it.

I spent my lunch hour running an errand, unable to tolerate the thought of eating or making small talk.

After my shift was over, I almost blew off going to my Krav Maga class, but I stuck it out and gave a similar amount of focus to the drills as I'd given to my work.

I had to keep moving forward, even if I was heading in a direction I couldn't bear to go.

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