Page 44 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
“I made a mistake,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I never should’ve left like that.”
I take a slow sip of my coffee and set it down carefully. My pulse is pounding in my ears, but on the outside, I’m ice.
“You didn’t just leave, Ava. You lied. You ran. You made me think we had a future, and then you vanished without a trace. So forgive me if I’m not exactly eager for a reunion tour.”
“I know,” she whispers, her voice cracking as she wrings the strap of her bag in her hands. “I know what I did. And I know I have no right to show up like this.” Her gaze drops to the floor, and when she looks up again, her eyes are filled with something raw—regret, shame, something close to contrition. “But I’ve thought about you every day since then. And then I sawthe article about you… and her… I just…” She swallows, clearly struggling. “I realized I never should have let you go. And maybe I never said it before because I was too much of a coward, but I’m saying it now.”
Ah, the article and that damn photo from Nassau. Charli and I. Happy. Real.
I stare at Ava, a cold realization settling in. “You saw the article, andthenyou remembered me and your lack of an explanation or apology?”
Her chin trembles. “It wasn’t like that.”
“No?” I laugh, bitter and low. “Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like you missed the version of me who belonged to you. Too bad. That guy died in that airport that day.”
She takes a shaky breath, eyes glistening and head nodding. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. In person. You deserved that. I needed you to know that what I did… it wasn’t about you. It was about me not knowing how to stay when things got real.”
My voice is cold steel. “Yeah. I figured that out when I watched you board another plane with someone else.”
She nods, swallowing hard. “I’ll go. I didn’t come here to mess up your life again. I just needed to say it. To your face. I needed to know, you know.”
She turns, hand on the door, and I don’t stop her.
"I don't care what you need or don't need, Ava. Not anymore." This is closure. Not for her—for me.
She nods and walks out as fast as she arrived, and I don’t even realize I’ve been gripping the back of my chair until I hear the creak under my hand. I sit down slowly, chest tight, head spinning, when my phone buzzes again and another text from that unknown number glows on the screen.
Unknown Number: Thank you for not slamming the door in my face.
My thumb hovers over the delete button and then, without responding, I block the number.
I look back at my view of the ocean and exhale a slow breath. Reaching for my phone again—this time, I call Charli - because there’s only one person I want to see right now. And it damn sure isn’t my past.
It’s after seven when I make it to the park for kickball practice. My team’s already warming up on one field while Charli’s huddled with her crew on the other. She’s in leggings and a tank top, her hair piled on her head like she’s ready to win and laugh doing it. She sees me across the field and flashes me that cocky grin—the one that makes my chest ache in the best damn way.
I grin back and jog toward my team, the familiar competitive spark lighting in my chest. I line up the kick and send the ball sailing across the field, clean and powerful. It lands deep in the outfield, earning a chorus of whistles and hoots from the Walking Ladies that seem to always be here. Not to be outdone, I follow it up with a textbook slide into second base, popping up with a grin like I’ve just won the damn World Series. My teammates explode with exaggerated cheers, clapping and laughing.
From across the way, I hear Charli yell, "Show-off!"
"Only for you, sweetheart!" I shout back without missing a beat, tossing her a wink.
My teammates groan in unison.
“Dude, we get it,” Eli says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’ve got a smokin’ hot girlfriend and a hero complex. Can we dial it down before the rest of us look completely useless?”
“Yeah,” Parker adds from third base, smirking. “Some of us are still trying to impress the single ladies without turning kickball into a Flex-Off.” He stretches his legs like he’s prepping for a marathon, but he’s clearly showing off too, just weirder about it.
“Jealousy is loud,” I call over my shoulder.
By the end of practice, we’re sweaty, competitive, and grinning like kids on the last day of school. But just as I’m about to grab my water bottle, something catches my eye.
A figure in the bleachers. Alone. Watching.
Ava. What the hell is she doing here?
As I watch her out of the corner of my eye, she says nothing. Doesn’t wave. Just sits there, stiff and unreadable, her expression a mix of regret and something else I can’t quite place. The storm clouds from earlier still linger in the sky, and for a second, the mood matches her face—gray, unresolved. She sits for a few more minutes, hands clenched in her lap, and then finally rises. She doesn’t look back. Just turns and walks off, slipping away from the field like a shadow at dusk. Good riddance.
Charli jogs over to me, catching the tail end of whatever expression I’m wearing. “You good?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow. Her smile brightening up my entire day.
