Page 127 of Stolen Moments

Now that Cameron mentions it, I’m impressed too. I used to visit them often enough to know how much they go at it. I just didn’t know that it extended outside of the bedroom.

“Okay, enough of this. Thanks for the assist while I spent time with my woman. If you ever repeat this story to anyone andembarrass my wife…” He points at all of us. “No one will find your bodies. I will fucking bury you. All. Of. You. Understand?”

Cam, Eli, and I burst out laughing. No way are we going to let them live this down.

Jace ignores us and smooths down his dress shirt beneath his blazer as he walks away, leaving us laughing in his wake, more than a little shocked and awed at what just transpired in the bathroom.

“He’s my hero,” Cameron says, making his way to the bathroom.

God, he’s ridiculous. But he’s not wrong. Jace is a fucking hero. I want what he has with Rylann. I want to be so wrapped in the person I’m with that I can’t keep my hands off of her.

Their relationship didn’t come easy,my inner voice reminds me.

It’s true, Jace and Rylann went years without each other before finding themselves back where it all had started, and they reconnected. Then, when everything came to a head, they still managed to find their way to be together.

Anything worth having is worth fighting for, right?

The old quote gives me pause. I had it, but I didn’t fight for it. I ran away and fucked it all up. Maybe if I fought with Emery instead and listened to her version of the story, she wouldn’t have slipped through my fingers. Now, the only woman I have ever loved is with another man.

“Don’t look too sad, Mase. It doesn’t look like Airport Girl is too serious about her date,” Eli says, reading my thoughts.

“Don’t call her that,” I grouse.

“Fine. Emery doesn’t look interested in her date.”

“And you know that… how?”

He shrugs. “Call it a hunch.”

Eli gives me a wink as Cameron walks out of the bathroom and takes his place.

“See you out there, Mase.” Cameron leaves me standing alone in the hallway with my jumbled thoughts.

Pulling out my phone, I slide it open and bring up my contacts list. Scrolling to her name, I stare at her picture icon. It might be tiny, but I know the picture well. I have it memorized. I took it when she visited me in L.A. that first time and we took a drive along the coast. She was staring out at the sun setting behind the ocean, the light bathing her in soft oranges and reds.

I knew then that I loved her. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I was just too scared to tell her. Her walls were still up, and I didn’t want to freak her out and have her run away from me.

Irony at its finest when I’m the one who ended up running away in the end.

Now, her pictures are hidden away in a folder on my phone because I couldn’t bear to hit delete. I’ve pulled them up to scroll through a few times when missing her felt unbearable. Sitting in an empty hotel room will do that to you. When memories of the woman you love haunt you.

I remember every moment. Every sound of her sweet laughter. Every twinkle of her eye as she smiled up at me. Every video call that would end with me wanting to be near her.

After listening to my brother in the bathroom with the love of his life and thinking about how far they have come, it has me wondering. Could that be me and Emery? Can we get past this?

It sure as fuck won’t be easy.

In the end, I’m pretty sure my choice to walk away did more damage to her, to me, to us. We’ve left too much unsaid and unresolved. Even if what Eli said is right and she’s not into her date, do I stand a chance at getting her back?

I royally fucked up.

But I can’t keep going like this. I still love her, and if there’s even the slightest hope, I need to take a chance and find out before it truly is too late for us.

Doing one of the many things I should have done months ago, I unblock her number. I wish I could see all the text messages she must have sent come in, but they don’t load. A small part of meis glad I can’t read them. Her missed messages would only dig the knife I buried in my chest deeper.

Pulling up my voicemail, I check under blocked messages, and sitting there—like she said—is one new voicemail.

Clicking heels on the tile floor have my attention, and I shove my phone in my pocket. My eyes catch on the black stilettos that will forever star in my dreams as they stride my way. I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve dreamt of those heels digging into my ass as strong thighs wrapped around my waist. How many times I’ve dreamt about the woman walking towards me.

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