Page 126 of Until Then

But what is a man my age doing with someone like her?

Look what happened to Brooks. How could I seriously think I could get my happily ever after with her? I’m more likely to leave her as a widow.

“Yeah.” I shove my hands into my pockets, breathing through the discomfort in my chest that comes with my spiraling thoughts. “Maybe a fresh chocolate croissant, too.”

“Sure. They’ll be out of the oven in a couple of minutes.”

Once I’ve paid, I pull out a stool and wait, watching the town outside the window wake up.

I should head home and talk to Izzy. It would be the smart thing to do. The right thing. Only I’m not sure I’m capable of it.

“Here you go, Derrick.”

At the sound of Cindy’s voice, I hop up and stride for the counter.

“Did you need matcha for Izzy?”

I flinch, and my chest constricts. Fuck.

Clearly, Cindy could see the reaction, because her face falls.

“No, not today.” I force a smile.

“All right,” she says, though her expression is wary. “See you next time.”

Head down, I rush back to the shop and lock the door behind me, then head straight for the back. I don’t use the space often, but along with the couch, there’s a fridge back here, as well as a small counter and sink and a microwave. The amenities will make hiding out here relatively easy, I suppose.

Hiding out—like a fucking wimp. Why? Because I don’t have the nerve to face the woman I love? To tell her how terrified I am to love her, only to leave her too soon? No one should have to suffer the pain I’ve had to endure, especially her. The anguish on Maura’s face two days ago? Her soul-crippling cries? How could I possibly put Izzy through any of that?

I gulp my coffee, ignoring the way it scalds my tongue and throat, desperate for its comfort. But rather than steady me, it makes my heart rate take off. The damn organ beats out of control, and my chest goes tight. Shit. It feels like I’m having a heart attack.

Fuck.

Maybe Iamhaving a heart attack?

The tightness in my chest turns to shooting pain that makes me clutch at my T-shirt.

No.

No.

No.

Digging through my pockets, I search for my phone before I remember that I tossed it onto the couch. I stagger across the room and scramble to dig it out from between the cushions.

Why did I turn my phone off?

Gasping for air, I drop to my knees and power it on.

What feels like a lifetime later, it comes to life. With shaky fingers, I type in my password to unlock it, then dial.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m…” I struggle to get oxygen into my lungs. “I’m having a heart attack.”

34

IZZY

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