by B. Celeste
He doesn’t say anything.
“You’re mad.”
“I’m just … tired.”
Tired. He’s been tired a lot lately. And based on the way he rolls up his shirt sleeves and gives me his back as he opens the dishwasher to load it with dirty dishes from the past two days, he’s more than that.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, walking over to him. Helping him stack the dishes, I grab one of the pods from the cupboard and pass it to him. He closes the front and presses start, going back to his beer on the other side of the kitchen.
“How’d the presentation go?”
“Like shit.”
I frown. He’s been working hard on it for two weeks now, so knowing that it didn’t go well only makes my guilt tenfold. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He’s short with me. “No.”
Slowly, I nod. “Want me to cook something? I think there’s pasta in the cupboard. I can make spaghetti. Or we can order delivery.”
He sips his beer and looks at me before rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I’m just going to head upstairs. I’m sure you have work to do. Order something for yourself if you want.”
Pulling out his wallet, he sets it down on the counter in front of me and gives me a chaste kiss on the forehead before walking away. And instead of following him like I should, I give him space. Grabbing my cell, I call for delivery, sit down in front of my computer, and immerse myself in a world that’s not this one.
I should have thought more about why that is but find myself brushing it off like always.
A few weeks later I walk home from Jamie’s office to see Parker’s bag already on the floor by the door. When I walk in further, I notice him sitting at the table, posture slumped, not moving an inch.
And I know. I just … know.
“You’re home early,” I note cautiously. It’s about two hours before he normally comes home and last I remember he didn’t tell me he’d taken time off. He never does.
Then again, neither do I.
I walk over to him and kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t respond. He just looks at me with hesitant eyes, his lips pursed, one hand wrapped around a bottle of his favorite beer.
At three in the afternoon.
In front of him are the remaining wedding invitations that need to be addressed and sent out. Stacks of prepared ones rest off to the side in envelopes with addresses printed across them in a mixture of our handwriting.
“Jamie told me to tell you hello and congratulations on the new job,” I say when he doesn’t make a move to speak. I settle onto the stool and watch him. “I hand delivered her invitation. She said she’d be there. Both of our parents also reached out.”
Again, nothing.
“Parker?”
A heavy breath escapes his lips, not really a sigh, but something heavier. “I’m sorry.”
Two words.
Two final words.
I swallow. “For what?”
His head tilts. “You know what.”
I do.
“You’re always so busy with your writing, promoting, Jamie has you travelling…” He keeps going but I don’t listen to all the reasons why this is ending. This. Us. Another relationship that I have to say goodbye to.
Except this is different.
My eyes go down to the ring on my finger, which I twirl for a moment before pulling it off. It feels strange to see the slightest difference in skin tone from where the silver band rested for all this time. And when I put it on the counter and see the slightest reflection of light against the diamond, I find myself not doing anything more.
Not talking.
Not frowning.
Not crying.
I just feel empty as I slide it toward him.
“You keep it,” he whispers, gripping the beer a little tighter. His voice is raspy, like he really is sorry. I’m not sure why. “It’s yours, Kinley. Do what you want with it.”
“I really don’t—”
“It’s yours,” he repeats.
But do I want the memory of him around like I do the small plastic tote of other memories that I store under the spare bed across the hall from our room? Do I want to add it to the origami birds, notebooks, and bows? The more I think about the time capsule of rejection, the more I want to cry.
I don’t though.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
Maybe he is.
But not for the same reason I am.
Because for some reason as I stare at him, and all I can think about is silver eyes, dark hair, and a cocky grin. None of those things should cross my mind when my fiancé is breaking off what could have been forever.
So, I close my eyes and try to summon the emotion that makes sense for the moment. The tears. The sadness. The anger. But the only thing I come up with is emptiness, and the hole in my heart that Parker mended a long time ago begins to reopen from the stitches he pulls out as he apologizes again before squeezing my hand.
He’s sorry. I am too. For trying but not hard enough. For caring but not hard enough. And for loving him but not as much as he deserves.
I watch him leave.
Stare at the ring.
And crawl into bed.
Once again, my mind goes to Corbin Callum and it becomes impossible to deny that a lot of mistakes were made in the past that isn’t the past at all.
I know then that our story isn’t over yet.
Epilogue
Kinley / 28
Bouncing Ellie in my arms as I read the email from Jamie, I listen to the soft coos coming from my lap before looking down at a pair of big, round silver eyes staring up at me.
“Mommy got a new book deal,” I coo back, tickling her tummy until a big smile stretches across her face and she breaks into a fit of giggles.
Glancing back up at the attached document I need to print, sign, and send back to Jamie, I can’t help but grin until my cheeks hurt.
After the promotional tour ended and the movie released, the public swarmed the theaters and made Through Shattered Glass a box office success. Despite my worry that our media attention would garner negativity toward ticket sales, I soon realized it did the opposite. The more interviews we did opening up about our past, the more people wanted from us.
We still have people who make nasty comments about what we did to Lena, but for the most part people are over it. In fact, one news outlet had their entertainment staff write a review on the movie that said we were “the couple that America was rooting for”. It helped that Olivia supported us in the interviews we did together, and even some we did separately, telling the reporters that she wished she could find a love like ours.
Very few people questioned the journey it took to get that kind of love because those who saw the movie believed that even the roughest kind of relationships deserved a happy ending.
Corbin knocks on the door to my office, Penny brushing against his shins and staring at the way I hold our daughter. “What’s the smile for? Did she do something cute that I missed again?”
Ellie notices her dad looking at her and reaches out, squirming in my hold. Corbin doesn’t waste time taking her from me, bouncing her in his arms and peppering kisses across her rosy face until she laughs.
She looks just like Corbin in the ways that count—same eyes, same hair, and the kind of flawless structure that makes me worry she’ll be a heartbreaker someday. Just hopefully not like her parents.
“Rave sent me a contract for the sequel,” I announce, practically bouncing in my chair. “I was afraid they wouldn’t want an extension, but they thought that writing about Beck and Ryker’s life after the first book was brilliant. They even think a second movie will be picked up. You know, if that’s something you and Olivia would be into.”
He grins. “I’m so proud of you for writing that. And you know I’m there if the rights are sold, Little Bird.” His eyes go to the watch on his wrist. “Speaking of which, we need to start getting ready. Your parents will be here soon to p
ick up Ellie and then we need to leave for the airport.”
My stomach dips knowing I’ll have to kiss my baby goodbye for the first time since she was born almost a year ago. “Maybe I should stay home with he—”
“Absolutely not,” he cuts me off, giving me hard eyes that make it difficult to argue. I press my lips together. “Your Mom and Dad said they’re more than happy to watch her while we’re in California.”
“I know but…” But nothing. I know he doesn’t want to leave Ellie behind either, but he’s handling it far better than I am.
“How long have we planned this?”
I don’t answer.
“Years. Eleven to be exact.” My shoulders slump. “You promised me in high school that you’d be my date to the Oscars. You’re not going to back out on me, are you?”
I frown but say, “No.”
“Good.” He nods once. “Congratulations on your deal, Little Bird. I told you you’d get it.”
I honestly wasn’t as confident. Rave didn’t give me the boot when the world seemed to hate me because they were making too much money to care about morals. And, oddly, I was grateful for that. But that didn’t mean they’d pick up a sequel I’d never anticipated writing. How could I? The first book was written from pain, anger, and hopelessness. There was no way I knew back then that I’d be here, living in a house with Corbin and our daughter, about to go to the Oscars where my fiancé was nominated in two categories.
And I know, deep down, he’ll win both.
Corbin walks over and bends down to press a kiss to the crown of my head. “Things are looking up for us. We’re in a good place, have a beautiful kid, and families we’re on better terms with. We made it, baby.”
I swallow and nod, loving this man and everything we’ve gone through because it led us right where we belong.
“Just remember what you promised about tailoring my dress to fit if I get fat,” I murmur, knowing that the baby weight hasn’t come off me as quickly as I’d hoped despite my daily workouts.
It’s the Twizzlers.
The stupid, stupid Twizzlers.
He chuckles. “Anything for you.”
I just roll my eyes.
And less than twenty-four hours later, sitting in the audience surrounded by people I’ve spent my life fangirling from the confines of my house, I get to watch Corbin walk on stage, accept his Oscar for best male lead, and stare me right in the eyes as he delivers his speech.
His normally gravelly voice is raspy as he fights off the emotion that mirrors my own. “Little Bird, the only person I can truly thank right now is you. This was your book, your story, and I’m just lucky to be along for the ride. Thank you, baby. I can’t wait to watch you flourish. I love you.”
The audience claps as he raises his trophy. I swipe at my cheeks as Olivia reaches over and squeezes my arm gently, smiling at me as Corbin gets escorted off the stage while the hosts make their way back out to continue the show.
Sniffing back tears, I look down at the little blue origami bird resting on my wrist right above the fly with me tattoo written in Corbin’s handwriting. Corbin has the same one pinned to his black tuxedo jacket.
When he returns to our table, he kisses me, the people around us whistle, and I get lost in the boy with silver eyes all over again.
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Also by B. Celeste
The Truth about Heartbreak
The Truth about Tomorrow
The Truth about Us
Underneath the Sycamore Tree
Where the Little Birds Go
Acknowledgments
This duet would not have happened without an army of supporters who helped me polish it off. I never thought I’d do a duet or series, but here we are. I am so grateful to all who helped me beta read and edit it and make sure Corbin and Kinley’s gritty love story turned out exactly as it should have.
My homegirl Micalea Smeltzer always gets a shoutout because I would get nothing done without her. She’s my sister, my bestie, my Momager, and everything in between who’s there through thick and thin. Love you, M!
My personal assistant Jessica deserves a huge shoutout because she takes care of, well, everything when I lock myself away and write. She never bats an eye when I message her in freak out mode about life when the stress gets to be too much for me. Thank you for having my back, Luther.
To my beta readers who help me polish off each book and make it tip-top shape for finals edits and publication – you rock! Micalea, Alisha, and Jess, you girls have no idea how much I needed you with these books. Thanks for helping me make this love story full circle when I had my doubts I could make it happen. We did it, and nobody died. Go us.
Letitia Hasser, my amazing cover designer, always kills each and every cover. I told her I wanted something abstract and unique, and she delivered. I’m so grateful to be able to work with her to bring my covers to life.
As always, I love my readers. I can’t say it enough that your support means the world to me. I get to live my dream and be happy for probably the first time ever because I get to write. Thank you for your continued love and support.
About the Author
B. Celeste’s obsession with all things forbidden and taboo enabled her to pave a path into a new world of raw, real, emotional romance.
Her debut novel is The Truth about Heartbreak.
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