by Leisa Rayven
“After you gave up on us, I thought you were capable of anything.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well, the reality was a little different.”
“How different?”
I wish I could see his face. But all I have is his voice, low and resonant.
“In Europe, even though I was always surrounded by people, the time I spent apart from you was the loneliest I've ever been. At first I couldn't handle it. I was drinking a lot, sometimes during the shows. I'd go to bars. Get into fights. Then, I'd go home and think about you. Google you. Dream about you. I missed you so much, it made me physically ill. Sometimes I considered taking someone home with me, so I could wake up beside another body. No sex. Just … company.”
I feel his pain. So similar to my own.
At least I'd found Tristan.
“So, yeah,” he says. “Other stuff happened that made me reassess everything about myself and what I needed to do to get you back, but that's a story for another time. The point is, I wasn't having a party while I was over there. I was completely miserable. And alone.”
“But surely you had other … relationships … while we were apart?”
“No.”
His answer confuses me. “But you had … sex. I mean, I'm not sure why I'm asking because the thought of you and other women is …” I shudder. “But you did, right?”
I close my eyes and wait for his answer, tensing in anticipation.
Say “hundreds.” Give me fuel for my fire. Let me be hard. Please.
He's quiet, but every word is filled with heavy sincerity. “Cassie, you have no idea how many times I wanted to have meaningless sex, just so I could get you out of my mind, but I couldn't do it. Every time I tried, I felt like I was cheating. Eventually, I stopped looking at other women. It was fucking pointless. None of them could ever come close to replacing you, even if I'd wanted them to, which I didn't.”
I can't believe what I'm hearing. “Are you telling me that … the last time you had sex was …”
“With you.” It's hushed, like he's confessing.
No.
Not possible.
“But that was …” That night. The night. “The night before you left?”
“Yes.”
It takes a moment for my brain to respond. “But … that's … that's … goddamn, Ethan, three years?!”
He laughs. “Believe me, I know. I don't say this to make you feel bad, but between my self-imposed dry spell and doing this show with you, my balls are bluer than the entire cast of Avatar.”
I still can't comprehend it. “Unbelievable.”
“You're making me feel like a freak.”
“I'm sorry, I just can't understand—”
“Look, it's simple. I didn't have you, and I didn't want anyone else. End of story.”
“So, if we don't get back together, you're just going to continue being celibate?”
There's dead silence for a second, then he says, “First of all, us not getting back together isn't even a possibility in my mind. And secondly, I was never celibate.”
“But, you said—”
“I said I hadn't had sex with anyone, but being celibate means abstaining from all sexual pleasure. I've had plenty of sexual pleasure, usually while having erotic thoughts about you.”
The thought of Ethan masturbating to images of me instantly turns me on.
“In fact,” he says, “I'm having some very erotic thoughts about you right now.”
He lets out a quiet moan, and I have to draw my knees up to my chest to cope with how much I burn for him.
“Can we please talk about something else?”
“Definitely,” he says, quiet and lustful. “Talk about something that will distract me from how much I need to make love to you. Please.”
“Ethan—”
“Fuck, yes, say my name.”
“I'm only going to keep talking to you if I know both of your hands are in plain sight.”
“I can see my hand perfectly well. It's wrapped around my aching—”
“Ethan!”
I hear fabric rustling, followed by a resigned sigh. “Fine. Hands are above the covers. Killjoy.”
His tone is so petulant, it makes me laugh.
“So,” he says before yawning. “You in bed, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Doing anything interesting?”
His innuendo isn't lost on me, but I don't bite. “Actually, I was reading some of your old e-mails.”
There's a pause before he says, “Why?”
“I don't know. I guess I'm trying to figure out how I feel.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
Another pauses. “Did they help?”
“Not really. I keep looking for something that isn't there.” He's quiet for few seconds before saying, “Did you know that I have a whole folder of draft e-mails? Stuff I wasn't brave enough to send?”
“What sort of stuff?”
I hear shuffling and the tapping of fingers on a keyboard. “Hang on. I'll send you some of the less embarrassing ones.”
Almost immediately my inbox lights up with two new messages.
From: EthanHolt
To: CassieTaylor
Subject: Too much of a pussy to send this to you.
Date: Thu, February 9, at 1:08a.m.
Cassie,
We're in France. I've stopped drinking and have been getting help for over six months now. I'm learning to take responsibility for my mistakes.
I take responsibility for hurting you. If you'd never met me, you wouldn't be in pain right now. I hate that I did that.
Of all the people in my life that I fucked up, you are the one I regret the most.
I think about you a lot. Dream about you.
I wish I had the guts to send this to you, but I probably won't. Still, writing it soothes me. I'm working on being open and honest with you, but I guess I'm not there yet. When I am, rest assured, you'll be the first to know.
France is beautiful. I stood at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower today and looked up at it. There are very few times in my life I've felt so small. The day I left you was one of them.
I miss you.
Ethan.
I opened the second e-mail.
From: EthanHolt
To: CassieTaylor
Subject: I need you.
Date: Mon, June 9, at 12:38a.m.
Cassie,
It's my birthday. I don't expect to hear from you, but fuck, I really need to.
I want you here, in my apartment. In my bed. Kissing me and making love to me and telling me you forgive me.
I need it like air. I'm drowning without you. Please.
Please.
Earlier, I was sitting on a bench on the banks of the Tiber, and there were all these people there holding hands and kissing. Happy and in love.
They made it seem so easy. Like giving their heart to someone else isn't the scariest thing in the world.
I still don't understand that.
Don't they know the power they're giving to that other person? The absolute future-forming dominion?
Don't they understand how much it's going to hurt when it all goes wrong? And let's face it, ninety percent of those couples won't still be together a year from now. Even six months from now.
And yet, there they are, hugging and lip-locking, completely oblivious to the pain that's coming for them.
Unconcerned and trusting.
That was always something I struggled to be.
It was almost impossible to turn off the internal countdown clock that screamed at me daily about all the ways you could hurt me. After all, history proved that eventually, everyone leaves me. Why would you be any different?
Now I know that you were.
Are.
The thing is, underneath all the bullshit that made me push you away, there were parts of me that clung to you when I left, and
now, without you, I struggle to function.
The thought that keeps me up at night is that I had my chance to be whole and right, and I blew it.
Please tell me I'll get another chance. Don't tell me this is how I have to live now.
I can't. Being without you is too hard.
I miss you so much it hurts.
Ethan.
I feel like I've been punched in the chest.
This is exactly what I'd needed to hear, so many times.
I realize I'm gripping my phone to the point of pain. “They … God, Ethan … They're beautiful. Why didn't you send them?”
He sighs. “I don't know. I thought you hated me.”
“I did, but … if I'd read those e-mails, maybe I would have hated you less.”
“I wish I'd had the guts to lay it all out for you back then, but I just wasn't ready.”
“And now you are?”
“Ask me anything you like, and I'll give you a straight answer.”
“Anything?”
“Absolutely.”
I take a breath and ask him the question that's haunted me for years. “In all your e-mails, why didn't you ever say you loved me?”
I can almost hear his shock. “What?”
“You never said it. In any of them.”
“Cassie, I did say it. All the time.”
“I've just read through them all for the hundredth time, and you didn't say it once. You said you missed me, that you wanted to be friends, but there's nothing about love.”
“There's no fucking way that's true. I … I—” He takes in a shaky breath. “I thought it all the time. It seemed to be in every word I wrote to you but … I— Shit, Cassie.”
He growls in frustration.
“Ethan, it's fine.”
“It's really fucking not. Of all the things I should have told you, that's at the top of the goddamn list. But whether I said it in the e-mails or not, you have to know that I— I really do—”
“Ethan, stop.”
“Cassie—”
“No. I don't want you to say it just because I brought it up.”
“That's not the reason.”
“Still, just don't, okay? Not tonight.”
He exhales, and thankfully, he doesn't push it.
We make small talk about the show for a few minutes, but when I stifle a yawn, he tells me to go to sleep. I don't argue.
In the morning, I feel like crap. My hangover isn't too bad, but I had terrible dreams in which Holt left me, over and over again, and each time, I took him back, all the while getting angrier with myself each time I did it.
I've barely shuffled out of the shower, when my phone beeps with a text from him.
Intrigued, I open my laptop and find a single e-mail.
When I open it, my screen explodes.
I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVEYOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE
I scroll down pages and pages, stunned, until finally, I reach the bottom.
Just in case you didn't get what I was doing, I've written “I LOVE YOU” 1,162 times—one for every day I was away. And please don't think this was some quickie copy and paste declaration. I typed each and every one individually as penance for being too much of a dumbass to make it crystal clear how I felt about you.
I know you think I left because I didn't love you, but you're wrong. I've always loved you, from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I ranted and railed about love at first sight, because the concept is fucking ridiculous to me. But the very first day I saw you at the auditions for The Grove, it happened, and you ruined me without even saying a word. I saw you there, trying desperately to be something you weren't just so they'd like you, and I wanted to pull you into my arms and tell you it was going to be okay.
From that moment, I knew you were meant for me. But I was pigheaded enough to refuse to accept it.
I have no idea how or why you were able to love me. I was an asshole, so busy trying to run from my feelings, I didn't figure out you were my gift; the precious reward I'd somehow earned with all my pain. I'd spent so long believing I got what I deserved when people left me, that I didn't stop to think I got what I deserved when I met you. I couldn't comprehend that if I stopped being an enormous insecure jackass for five minutes, that maybe … just maybe … I could keep you.
I want to keep you, Cassie.
That's why I came back. Because as much as I used to think you were better off without me, you're not. You need me as much as I need you. We're both hollow without the other, and it's taken me a long time to realize that.
Don't be as stubborn as I was and let the insecurities win. Let us win. Because I know you think loving me again is a crapshoot and that your odds are grim, but let me tell you something, I'm a sure thing. I couldn't stop loving you if I tried.
Am I still terrified of you hurting me? Of course. Probably the same way you're terrified I'll hurt you.
But I'm brave enough to know it's absolutely worth the risk.
Let me help you be brave.
I love you with everything I am, and I swear to God, I'm n
ot going to hurt you again.
Let yourself love me back.
Please.
Ethan.
I sit there and look at the screen for a long time, alternating between laughing and crying.
Somewhere in there, the fire in my bitterness sputters and dies. The sensation is strange, because it's what kept me going when nothing else would, and without it I feel naked in the worst way. Soft and vulnerable and more fragile than glass.
Yesterday I'd wondered what it would take to grant me my epiphany to change. I guess Ethan baring his soul in an e-mail did the trick.
One of Tristan's favorite sayings is, “Be the change you want to see.” I guess that's what Holt's done. He's made himself strong enough for both of us.
My hands tremble as I send him a text.
I've barely pressed send when there's a knock at the door.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many people were instrumental in making this dream of publishing a reality, it will be impossible to mention them all, but I'm going to give it a red-hot go.
My unending thanks go out to the following people:
First, bestselling author Alice Clayton, who not only encouraged me from the start but who blessed me with incredible generosity and support. You are astonishing, Alice. None of this would have happened without you. Truly.
To my agent, Christina, who took a chance on an unknown Aussie and made her dreams come true in the most epic of ways. You and the whole team at Jane Rotrosen Agency have been astonishing in your guidance and kickassery. You're all rock stars in my eyes.
To my editor at St. Martin's Press, Rose, who has infected everyone around her with boundless enthusiasm and belief in this book— lady, you're a marvel. I can't thank you and your team enough. (Well, I could, but it would get embarrassing after a while.)
To my Sprinkle Queen, Victoria Lawrence, who contributed so much in helping shape these words, and to my lovely pre-reader, Heather Maven, who held my hand when I was freaking the hell out about this whole process. Without you lovelies, I'd still be climbing a wall somewhere, devoid of words and sanity. (PS. You're both pretty.)
To my beautiful Filets—the most amazing group of supportive, helpful, and hilarious women a girl could ask for. I don't know what I would have done without you—especially you, Nina. (Hint: It probably would have involved lots of alcohol and ugly crying.)
