One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(95)
“RB just texted,” Sean says, checking his burner behind the wheel before turning his engine over. “Cecelia’s at the Apple Festival. Alone. I’m going.”
“No,” I jerk my head, even as my heartbeat ramped up.
“I have to, man,” his voice a plea. “I have to see her. Give her something,” he snapped as he pulled out of King’s garage, turning in the direction of Main Street—decision solidified. “Ten fucking months, Dom.”
I lost that dispute before it started, too lost in my own shit to put up much of a fight—all of it drained from me with the dread of the months ahead. My real battle began as I sat idle in his Nova, hand on the handle as hellacious minutes ticked by and our flight time drew closer. Mere blocks away, she was somewhere in the crowd, aware of the truth about my parents and Tobias’s existence, aware that we lied and manipulated her, but unaware of where we were going and for how long. Forbidden to make her cognizant unless we want our wings clipped. The only thing I urged Sean to tell her and he refused before exiting. “I’ve already told her that day is coming, and she’ll wait, Dom. She will.”
After ten minutes in that fucking car, the overwhelming urge to leave her with something from me had me stepping out just as Sean stalked back down the alley to his driver’s door, looking as fucked as I felt. His return had my heart hitting concrete that I missed my own window. We had a plane to catch, and if we missed it, we may never fly again. My dashed hopes had me spiraling until I turned and saw Cecelia racing straight toward us.
Toward me.
Stopping feet away as she looked up, and our eyes connected.
“Please, Dom. Please don’t go.”
Turning toward the window, instead of the late-night backdrop, all I can visualize is that sun-drenched day in an alley thousands of miles away. A moment in time I can’t get back, no matter how fucking much I want it. I don’t even have to close my eyes to see it vividly—long hair blowing around her face, watery blue eyes pleading as tears for me roll down her cheeks, hands pressed to her chest with her confession.
“I love you.”
It was the opposite of what I expected.
It wasn’t anger that greeted me when she cornered Sean and me in that alley but a mix of determination and vulnerability in her expression before she fell apart with her confession. We’d readied her as much as we could without the full truth, but judging from the look of her, she was suffering as much as we were. She knew the truth about our deception, and she still loved us.
Loved me.
There was no trace of hatred for the fact we’d wronged her so horribly, lied to her, deceived her. She tracked me down. She’d followed Sean to make sure I knew she loved me. That no matter where I was taking that love, she was willing to let me pack and part with it, even if I didn’t deserve it.
All I can see is anguish twisting her flawless face, the desperation in her voice as she moved toward me, and I jerked my chin, refusing her, denying us both as my brother’s warning played barrier.
But the true reason was, if I so much as took another step toward her, I never would have gotten back in that car.
But I made the decision. I chose my brother and the club. I left her there without returning the sentiment or giving her anything she deserved after she did the impossible and forgave me.
Leaving those words unreturned is a regret I’ll carry until the day I die, even if I do get a chance at redemption. I never once truly deserved her love, trust, loyalty, or faithful heart.
Fuck my brother for denying me that moment, for being the very reason I’m ripped right down the fucking middle and have been for these long torturous fucking months. It’s been far too many days since I’ve laid eyes on her, heard her voice, her laugh, drank in the look in her eyes, touched her, fucked her, let myself love her.
Every mile between us ripped me apart as we sped toward the airport. Sean remained wordless the entire ride. It was only when we silently commiserated in wait for the plane that Sean again tried to console me, surety in both tone and delivery. “She’ll wait for us, Dom. She will.”
It was as our flight was about to board that it occurred to me that Tobias and Cecelia might have collided at Roman’s house. It’s when I voiced as much to Sean—realizing that I was still privy to the camera feed—that he perked up as I frantically searched the recorded storage of that day. Seconds later, my throat burned as we were granted a parting gift.
As our flight was called, Sean and I watched the soundless standoff play out from every angle at the pool. Mortified as Tobias hovered over her and tried to humiliate her by hiding her bikini top, which had us both fucking fuming.
It was after enduring a few tense minutes of his berating that she came back swinging with the same ferocity, hitting him with the lotion bottle in the back of the head as Sean and I shared a pride-filled expression and loud chuckle, both of us in fucking awe of her. Though we couldn’t hear a damned word of it, we didn’t really have to, the body language between them telling enough from what we caught. From the second they collided—our worst fear playing out before our eyes—we knew that conversation was damned. Hostile posturing took place on both ends, and the back and forth was intense before Cecelia finally snapped and engaged him with her real power—pleading with her heart to his retreating back. Sean’s eyes reddened as we both watched her while dragging our suitcases down the jetway, knowing that whatever she was saying was for us—while she hoped her heart-filled plea would somehow sink in.