One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(100)

Closing my eyes, the sting intensifies in my throat, the thump in my raw chest serving as a reminder while the image of them surfaces.

Cecelia lying beneath my brother, wearing next to nothing. Tobias, bare-chested, in his briefs, staring down at her like she was everything he ever wanted.

It was apparent by the intimate exchange that they were more than familiar with the other physically. With timing being everything, it seemed Sean and I arrived in the nick of time to witness them in the midst of falling and confessing. My brother’s declaration being the first. “You warned me not to fall in love with you. You said you wouldn’t make room for me.”

“You told me you wouldn’t.” Cecelia’s heartfelt reply served as a sledgehammer, driving in the reality playing out in front of us.

I didn’t have to see the look in her eyes to know she was giving her heart to him . . . a heart that could never be mine again. So, when he opened his mouth to voice his reply, I took the opportunity to personally deliver his karma.

Grunting through the pain, I shake my head to try and disburse the sight of them—to no avail.

So, this is heartbreak.

The word seems weak in comparison to the feeling.

Obliterated feels more fitting. Insignificant as well, in the sense that it seemed our time together meant fuck all to her—at least from where I stood this morning, watching her give her love away . . . to my brother.

My gut feeling in France had proven to be on point, and as I feared and deep down knew, I lost my place with her during and because of my absence.

“Where have you been?”

That question hadn’t surprised me as much as the discovery that the man I looked up to my whole life—whom I respected and revered—was only too happy to keep that answer hidden so he could take my place.

My brother stole my ignorant bliss.

The hardest part?

I let him.

Eyes stinging, I scrub my face against my T-shirt sleeve to clear my vision, unwilling to lose a second of the time I’m stealing.

My anger for my brother can be easily conjured, but my fury for her is much harder to find. Cecelia had been just as blindsided today.

If I hadn’t seen her learn of his deception—hadn’t witnessed or heard firsthand the lengths Tobias went to in an effort to keep her in the dark—then maybe I could hate her.

But I did see it, along with her fight to remain upright, visibly shaken by the sight of Sean and me. There was longing mixed with incredulity in her eyes—like she had been starving for the sight of us but never thought the day would come. That was proof enough that Tobias failed to take either of our places in her heart.

Even if that’s a fact, it’s too late.

Too late.

Keeping my focus, I draw another jagged inhale as her confession rings clear in my ears. “I waited for you. I made myself sick. I cried for you both every night for months. I waited and waited, and you never came for me.”

Though I credited myself with personal growth before we landed, I lashed out at her in a mix of hurt, anger, and jealousy—which Cecelia rightfully called me out for. I turned my back on it all then, and she cried out. She called after me, begging me not to go—the same way she had in that alley—pinning me with the same words. “Don’t, Dominic. Please don’t go.”

Even if I lost my place with her, she still didn’t want to give up on me. She wanted to understand what happened and, more so, how I could walk away from her—from us. “You mean to tell me you’ve been waiting this whole time to come back to me?”

“I chose wrong,” I admit hoarsely, drawing my knee up and resting my forearms on them while gritting my teeth through another blow.

My brother purposefully led her to believe we left her by choice, making her think it was our decision. That was the last nail in his coffin, and we all felt it hammer home. I thought that was the worst of it until Sean nailed Cecelia with both accusation and statement. “You love him.”

She didn’t deny it . . . because she couldn’t.

It was obvious my brother found his salvation in her the way I had—his refuge. Only last night, I was in that hostel feeling sorry for him. Pitying the fact that he had no idea what it was like to experience reciprocal love.

He knows now, along with how terrifying the idea is of losing it.

Especially losing her affection, her, period. Which is my current reality.

“I fucked up,” I choke out, palming the back of my head, trying my best to absorb the break happening inside me.

My brother’s heart may have matured, but by his actions tonight, it was obvious that when it came to Cecelia, it had grown into something dangerously possessive. He had come to King’s frantic, begging us not to withdraw our protection one second and condemning us the next.

“. . . you two idiots parading around like men, like soldiers, when you don’t know a fucking thing about sacrifice. And with her, you sacrificed nothing! Not a fucking thing! Until you know what that is, you aren’t capable of being the man she needs . . . and you know all too fucking well that you lost her the minute you shared her.” That blow was for Sean, and I knew he felt it before Tobias fixed his gaze on me. “And chose this life over her.”

Guilty.

Of all of it.

Tobias had succeeded where Sean and I failed—he chose her. He put her first, before himself, before the club, before us.