Page 138 of Until August
“I know,” he said. “That’s what makes it so much harder.”
* * *
After August walked me to my front door and kissed me goodnight, finishing the evening on the note we’d started—a real date with my own Prince Charming—my footsteps were as heavy as my heart as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom.
The bedroom I’d shared with my husband.
Photos lined the walls of the hallway. Our wedding day. Our honeymoon in Tuscany. Cruz shooting hoops with Luca. Cruz, Frankie, and me at her college graduation. She was in the middle, dressed in her cap and gown, and we all wore big smiles.
In my bedroom, I stepped into the walk-in closet and inhaled the scent of cedar. One side was mine, the other Cruz’s. His shoes lined the shelves—dress shoes, high-tops, running shoes, brand-new Air Jordans still in the box.
I ran my fingers over his suit jackets and crisp, starched button-downs. His linen shirts and pressed trousers.
A few weeks after Cruz’s attack, the dry cleaners called to say they had one of his suits and a few shirts. I’d picked them up and removed the plastic film before I hung them. Just as if I was still expecting him to wear them someday.
I grabbed his favorite Lakers hoodie from the shelf and put it on.
It used to smell like him, and for months, I’d wear it to bed until it finally started to smell more like me than him.
* * *
“What are you doing?” Luca asked, his voice soft as if he was worried that I’d have a mental breakdown before his eyes.
I blinked at Luca and tried to dig my way out of the wreckage.
“I fell asleep.”
On the floor of my walk-in closet. Under a mountain of Cruz’s clothes. I’d pulled them all off the hangers last night. Ripped the shirts with my bare hands. I’d cried and cursed and fell to my knees.
I’d fallen asleep clutching a framed photo to my chest. Cruz and I on our wedding night. I was in my wedding gown, and he was wearing a white dress shirt and gray pinstriped trousers, his tie loose around his neck. We were lying on the bed in our hotel suite, and I was feeding him wedding cake. When I captured the moment, he had chocolate ganache on his chin and a smile on his lips.
I remember thinking that nobody in the history of time had ever loved anyone the way I loved Cruz Vega. It simply wasn’t possible. I felt so grateful and lucky. So excited to embark on this journey with my true love.
I shoved the clothes aside and stood on unsteady feet.
The closet felt like a tomb.
Quiet. Airless. Suffocating.
The walls were closing in, and it hurt to breathe.
“I don’t know what to do, Luca.” My voice wobbled on the words.
Luca cursed under his breath, and in one long stride, he was standing before me. Then he pulled me into an awkward hug and patted my back a few times. Doubtless, this was his attempt to comfort me.
He didn’t have any answers for me. He didn’t even try to pretend that he did. Finally, after a few seconds of back-patting, he released me. He stepped back, his eyes darting around the room, looking at everything but me.
Watching him struggle to come up with something to say was almost amusing.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet, clearing his throat before he spoke, “You good now?”
I almost laughed. “Yeah. That hug… that fixed me right up.”
“Okay, good.” He’d obviously missed my sarcasm. “If you wanna skip work today, I’m sure August can cover—”
I shook my head. “No. I need to be there.”
“Okay.” He backed away, looking unsure. “But if you change your mind….”
