And that was when she realized … Dylan was crying.
Her heart broke for him. For herself. For lost love and shattered hearts. For that empty spot deep inside that felt as though it would only continue to be a dull, aching void without that one person who’d given you something to live for. Without them … it was just unbearable.
Even as she soothed him, Sarah knew she couldn’t blame him for what they’d done. She’d been just as needy. He’d managed to push the demons that haunted her away for a little while, and for that, she was grateful.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling out of her and helping her back to her feet, never once meeting her eyes. “Fuck.”
While she stood there, unsure what to say or do, Dylan rolled the condom off and disappeared into the kitchen. She quickly grabbed her discarded shirt, forcing her arms into it and wrapping it securely around her naked body. When he came back a minute later, his jeans were buttoned, his expression still sad. He looked a little worse for wear, sweat dotting his forehead, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and that was when she accepted what would come next.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered sadly. “So fucking sorry.”
She nodded. She was sorry, too.
He grabbed his shirt from the floor beside the door, and she realized that was the only article of clothing he’d removed. He had even kept his boots on.
“I should go.”
She offered another nod.
“I’m—”
“Go,” Sarah ordered before he could apologize again. She suddenly didn’t want to hear it.
Dylan’s haunted gaze lifted to hers, and Sarah saw the pain and the grief, along with something else. He was genuinely sorry.
And so was she.
“Sarah,” Dylan began, reaching for the doorknob while she white-knuckled her shirt, keeping it closed.
She cut him off, not wanting to hear his excuses. “Just go. No apologies necessary. I know what this was.”
Surprising her, his thick, dark brows lowered, his pain-filled eyes narrowing as though he was waiting for her to explain it to him.
“A distraction,” she said sorrowfully. “That’s what this was.”
“A distraction,” he echoed, then turned and left her standing there, feeling just as she’d felt all those years ago, back in high school, when she’d lost Dylan the first time.
Strange how history repeated itself.
“Do you think you were ready for that?” Elaine asked after Sarah had been quiet for a while.
Sarah knew Elaine was referring to the intimacy she and Dylan had shared. Since she’d left out the part where Dylan broke down and cried, the woman would never know how devastating it had really been.
Rather than elaborate, Sarah shook her head, her gaze darting around the room, taking it in. The celery-colored walls, the rows of diplomas framed and perfect, the contrasting curtains covering the window. She wasn’t in the past anymore. She was here…in this office, spilling her guts to someone who was supposed to help her overcome the sadness that had consumed her for so long. “I don’t think either of us was ready for that. What transpired between me and Dylan will never happen again.”
“Why is that?”
“Because we’re broken.”
“And that means you can’t find happiness?”
Sarah met Elaine’s questioning gaze. “It means neither of us is whole enough to pull the other through.”
“And you think that’s a requirement?”
She shrugged. It seemed logical.
“And how do you feel today? After you’ve had time to process what happened between the two of you.”
“I know I’ll never be the same.” Sarah swallowed hard, still holding Elaine’s steady gaze. “I know that the second Dylan walked out my front door, I wasn’t the same woman anymore.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean…” Sarah dropped her gaze to her hands and took a shaky breath. “I only thought I was broken before.”
“And you aren’t now?”
Sarah lifted her gaze, allowed the imaginary walls to fall in place around her heart once again. “Oh, I am,” she said with certainty. “But I refuse to let it own me anymore.”
“What do you plan to do about it?”
That was a good question. One Sarah didn’t know the answer to. Not yet.
But the one thing she did know…
She was tired of being broken.
Damn tired.
chapter ONE
Three years later, January 7
Present day
DYLAN THOMAS KEPT HIS GAZE fixed on the horizon, watching the storm clouds roll in. For the past ten minutes, he hadn’t been able to move, transfixed by the desolation from the coming storm. Long gone were the thin white clouds and in their place, heavy dark ones that blocked out the evening sun, stirring slowly as they rolled closer. There was something eerily familiar about the scene before him, but he knew it had nothing to do with the place.
The churning water, the darkening sky… It was the same as the emotions that had warred within him for years. Only he was a little more than three years sober now, and the uncomfortable feeling he’d once had when the gloomy, roiling emotions pulled at him was no longer present. He wouldn’t say he was whole again—wasn’t sure he ever would be—but Dylan knew he wasn’t quite as damaged.
He’d been standing here as the outdoor patio filled with people, conversation and laughter pushing away the sound of the water lapping several yards below them. The warmth from the heaters held the chill at bay while the music playing in the speakers overhead drifted softly on the breeze. Every now and then he could make out the familiar words of the Eagles.
“How’re you doing?”
Dylan glanced over to see his sister, Ashleigh, coming to stand beside him, a huge grin on her face. His baby sister looked good. Healthy, happy, despite the tension he could see at the corners of her eyes.
He shifted slightly so he could see her better. “Good. You?”
He had to give her credit, the look on her face said she wanted to believe him. He knew it would take time before Ashleigh truly trusted his words, but it was evident she was trying. It didn’t matter how many days, weeks, or even months had passed, Ashleigh seemed to live in a constant state of fear where Dylan was concerned. Rightfully so considering the hell he’d put his family and friends through over the course of the last decade. He didn’t remember a lot of the incidents his family had told him about, but Dylan knew that the alcoholism had made him do and say plenty of things he wasn’t proud of.
Although he was working his way back to the land of the living, he suspected his sister expected him to relapse at any moment.
“I’m good,” she replied, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “A little tired from all the prep work. But we’ve had a good turnout. Don’t you think?”