Page 55 of Fighting Gravity

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and he was so fucking relieved to see emotion from her that he didn’t hold back his own. “You love me.” Tate’s voice cracked. “And it scares you to death. You think you’re the only person out there afraid of heartbreak? You just need to learn to sit with the fear like the rest of us.”

She wiped the tears off her cheeks and shrugged. “I don’t want to. You can wait for me to magically learn to trust, like I haven’t been trying to do just that for two damn years, but I’m not coming back.”

“Because I make you feel too much?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Tate knew the truth.

He threw one last argument at her. If emotion wouldn’t win, maybe rationality would. “You are contractually obligated to provide administration services during the construction of my hotel. You’re stuck with me a while longer.”

Her blank mask was back in place. “I’ll have Andrew handle the hotel. He’s an incredible project manager.”

Tate swore in French.

Rosie used the distraction of the untimely arrival of Quinn to turn and walk out. For good. She walked away without any backward glances or regretful looks. If Tate didn’t know her better, he’d think he was the only one there with a broken fucking heart.

30

Rosie drove straight to Elle’s apartment without calling ahead. She didn’t cry on the thirty-minute drive into Victory. Her thoughts were too fuzzy and muted to materialize. She felt wrung out and limp. She knocked on the door to Elle’s apartment, her overnight bag hanging loosely from her hand. The bag felt like it weighed a literal ton.

Elle poked her face out the door in answer to Rosie’s knock. Then she opened the door wider and stepped aside, her shapely brows pinched together in concern. Her copious brown locks were tucked into a bun, and she was in cozy floral pajamas though it was only dinnertime.

“Good thing I just ordered enough comfort food for two. Should be here any minute.”

Rosie followed her in, where Elle took the bag from her hand and slung it on the nearest barstool.

“What are we having?” she asked.

“Lorenzo’s. All the carbs. What else?” Elle wrapped Rosie in a hug. She didn’t ask what was wrong or why she was there.

“Perfect,” Rosie replied into Elle’s hair. “Tiramisu?”

“And wine. Wanna stay?”

Rosie nodded. She grabbed her bag and headed into Elle’s bathroom. She washed her face, popped out her contacts, and put her own hair in a bun. Instead of the loose, comfy pj’s she was craving, she had brought a sky-blue negligee. Thankfully, it covered all the important bits.

When she joined Elle again, her friend was plating what looked like cheesy baked ziti and slabs of garlic bread, while a bottle of red decanted on the counter.

Elle flicked her gaze her way. “Want a T-shirt? I saved some of Chen’s. I mean, you look like a lovely mermaid in that nightie, but we both know I’m not the intended audience.”

“The nightie is fine.”

Rosie made her way to the kitchen, positive at least a week had passed since she’d woken up that morning. First the emotional high of her conversation with Jeremy, followed by the abysmal low at Tate’s as she realized she wasn’t ready for love, that she might never be ready. Loving someone meant placing your glass heart in their clumsy hands and asking them not to drop it. How did people do that?

As she watched her closest friend take small steps to help them both feel better, a nameless emotion fluttered in her chest. It wasn’t strong enough to be gratitude, but it wanted to be.

She took both plates to the table so Elle could bring the wine. Elle’s phone vibrated loudly on the glass table as they settled in. Her face crumpled as she read the text that had come through. She held the phone out to Rosie, twin tears sliding down her cheeks.

“What am I supposed to do with these? He keeps sending them.”

Rosie took the phone from her and saw a photo of Chen, all geared up in a jet. She could see the sadness in his eyes through his aviators. His cockiness, the ever-present sure way he moved, looked to be lacking.

“He clearly misses you as much as you miss him.” Not that the supposition changed the situation.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone.” Elle dropped her fork with a sigh. Neither of them had gotten further than pushing pasta around their plates. “I mean, it’s not like he’s dead. He’s doing what he loves closer to his family. My heart shouldn’t hurt so badly.”

Rosie’s stomach clenched in sympathy. “You need time. He’s only been gone a couple weeks, and you were ready to marry the man.”

Elle winced. “I still don’t know if keeping that little nugget of information to myself was the right move. At least I know I didn’t hold him back.”

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