Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“You do. But you’re not getting one.”
A million more things I want to say, a million thoughts swarm my head, but I swallow them down. There’s no point in arguing with a brick wall.
I leave, pacing back to the elevator while trying to shove a cocktail of emotions to the deepest part of me so I don’t lose it in front of him.
I honestly believed we were friends.
I was even beginning to get butterflies when he looked at me. I entertained daydream fantasies I had no business entertaining. And my stomach would somersault with each text message notification.
But he’s nothing more than that cruelhearted stranger from the bar.
And that’s all he’ll ever be.
“Astaire.” He says my name as I reach for the call button.
I keep my back to him.
“Astaire, wait.” His voice is closer now.
The elevator chimes. The doors part. His hand hooks my elbow and he presses the “close” button.
My ride disappears.
“Look at me.” He turns me to face him, but my attention is fixed on the patterned carpet. “Look at me.”
With a finger beneath my chin, he softly lifts my gaze to his.
“You’re crying.” He traces the pad of his thumb across my cheek.
I brush him away. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Act like you care.”
His chest rises and falls. “But I do. I care way too fucking much.”
He slips his hand over mine and leads me back to his apartment. A moment later, we’re seated on his sofa. He buries his face in his hands, breathing hard before sinking back in the cushions and staring toward the gray city scape beyond the wall of windows.
Seconds feel like minutes, dripping by with each patient tick of his mantel clock.
And then he takes my hand. “Astaire, there’s something I have to tell you.”
My heart rattles in my chest and my hand tremors in his. Those aren’t words that normally accompany good news. The last time I heard them was the day of Linda’s cancer diagnosis. The time before that, my foster father was delivering the news that my mother had stopped trying to regain custody and I was officially a ward of the state.
“I had my guy do some digging.” His gaze holds mine. “Turns out my heart donor … was your fiancé.”
His words don’t register until I’ve replayed them in my head a couple more times.
“Why?” I have a dozen questions, but that one comes out first. “Why did you check into that?”
“Because the date in your fiancé’s obituary matched with the date of my transplant. And based on the non-identifying information I was given, things were matching up. I wanted to know.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods, no hesitation. “Trevor Gaines. Age twenty-five. Math teacher from Worthington Heights. January seventh.”
Tears blind my vision and I can’t wipe them away fast enough. Without saying a word, Bennett disappears into the next room, returning with a handful of tissues and taking the spot beside me again.
I get the sense that he doesn’t handle tears well—but these are happy tears.
He studies me, motionless, like he isn’t sure what to do, what to say.
If I could speak, I’d tell him simply sharing this information, being here with me is more than enough.
“Are you okay?” He waits a few minutes before asking.
Drying my eyes, I nod again and again. And then I throw my arms around him and hug him harder than I’ve ever hugged anyone in my life. His heart beats against mine.
Trevor’s heart.
Bennett lets me hold him, and after a while, he holds me back too.
Eventually, I release him. I sink back. Drag in a jagged breath. Look deep into his ice-blue gaze for the first time all over again.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” I take his hand.
“You’re not upset about it?” He squints.
“God, no. Why would I be?” I dab a crumpled tissue at the corner of my eye. “Remember when I told you that the past year has been filled with brilliantly painful yet beautiful moments?”
He nods.
“This is one of them.” My voice is a broken whisper, but I push on. “A part of Trevor—the best part of him—gets to live because of you.”
He says nothing, and his attention flicks to the window again. I can practically hear his thoughts … he thinks I’m being too optimistic.
Linda always told me everything happens for a reason.
Everything.
There’s a reason Bennett Schoenbach was put in my path that night.
And again …
And again.
I move closer, lifting my hand to his chest with a bit of reluctance. “Do you mind if I …”
With a moment of consideration, he takes my hand and presses the palm against the thin fabric of his white tee, over the steady drum of Trevor’s heart.
Eyes closed, I focus on the soft, gentle thumps.
“This is so surreal.” A smile claims my lips and a tear slips down my cheek. “I wish you could have met him.”