Page 108 of Impossible Love

I make it through the revolving door and sigh in relief—my car is out front, just as the pilot promised. I’ll thank him later. I drive home too fast, gunning through yellow lights, half-blind from the tears welling in my eyes. The tires squeal as I find my garage parking spot. I take the elevator to the twentieth floor and fumble for my phone to unlock the smart lock of my condo.

The instant I step inside and the door closes behind me, I fold in two, hands on knees. The apartment spins around me. I crumple to the floor.

I’ve lost my tidy little life. It’s gone. I can never go back.

The only family I have is a user and a criminal.

I cry. Eventually, I push up from the floor and stand, thinking to myself that life as I know it may be over, but I’m still alive. I’m breathing. My heart may be broken, but it’s beating. And I have very important work to do. It’s already in motion.

I somehow get myself changed into sweats and a tee shirt, open a bottle of white wine, and pour myself a glass. I take it to my piano bench and sit down at my beloved Fazioli baby grand. Once the investigation begins, I’ll lose my piano. Anything bought with my father’s dirty money—my home, my car, my jewelry—gone.

I glance at the scores propped on the music rest—Chopin, Liszt, and Fauré. I place my fingers on the keys and the condo fills with the first few chords of “Let it Go” from Frozen. I bust out laughing because, if that isn’t fucking perfect, I don’t know what is.

But my laughter turns frantic. The belly laughs bring another flood of tears. I drop my cheek to the keys and sob.

I’ve lost my only family, my father. More accurately, I’ve lost the illusion of the man I thought he was.

I’m about to lose the material things I thought provided stability and freedom.

I’ve lost my professional identity.

And worse than any of those things, I’ve lost Cal. What a pointless tragedy. The loss is more than I can take.

Hardheaded. Argumentative. Unforgiving. I was all those things. So was Cal. And for nothing!

He’ll never speak to me again.

A pitiful wail escapes my lungs. I hold the exhale in silent misery until I can’t breathe. From the depths of my low-oxygen despair, I feel a light touch on my shaking shoulder.

“I’ve got your double-fudge brownie ice cream, Victoria.”

I drag in a gulp of air and glance up at Millicent. She stands by the piano bench, a paper grocery sack balanced on the extra-large banker’s box gripped in her hands.

“And not a moment too soon, it seems.”

Chapter 57

Cal

It’s been a month since Victoria left, and not a day goes by that I don’t beat myself up for what happened between us.

I’ve learned I can’t spend too much time alone with my thoughts, so I’ve come up with a variety of ways to distract myself. I go out on the range with Special K most weekdays, dragging my ass home too tired to do anything but eat and sleep. Other days I work with Evander to manage the fallout from Arlo’s arrest and make changes to the structure of Yosemite Ranch business operations. I’ve been spending more time with my dad, who took his best friend’s betrayal as hard as would be expected. I’m helping Finn with the new filly he recently acquired too.

And I’m working on some new commands for Sarah Connor and Ripley. After moping around for weeks and searching for Victoria all over the ranch, they’ve finally given up.

But that still leaves the nights. And it’s those damn hours in the middle of the night that have nearly killed me. Her scent, the silky softness of her skin, her hot mouth on mine as I take her over and over again…it’s all I see in my mind’s eye when I’m awake and all I dream about when I’m asleep.

All I want is Victoria, back in my arms, in my life, and in my bed.

Losing a woman can be tough, but it’s never left me busted up like this or made me feel this lost. But then again, Victoria was not just another woman. I loved her.

I still do, despite it all.

One night, the memories got so unbearable that I jumped out of bed and began doing mathematical equations for fun, but even that didn’t work. Where did my brain go? Right to comparing love to the chemical and material components of explosives. I thought about how these two very different things progressed in the exact same stages: heat, impact, friction, and detonation. At least it made me chuckle to myself, which is a rarity these days.

I made the mistake of sharing my discovery with Declan, and he laughed for a solid ten minutes. Then he told everyone else, and I haven’t been able to live it down.

From now on, for as long as this suffering continues, I’ll suffer in private.

---