Page 17 of My Sweetest Agony

IVY

I thought I had prepared myself this time.

Last night, after I finally got home from work, I spent hours looking at photos of Drew and me together, reminding myself of all those minute details about him that make him so different from Cam.

Even through the tears and sobbing, I could see them.

The way the corners of Drew’s eyes crinkled because of his ever-present smile. The fact that his lopsided grin was slightly more crooked than the one Cam gave Marlo in the greenhouse. The pains Drew took to ensure his hair was always slicked back and perfectly professional looking, while Cam’s seems so wild and unruly. And most importantly, their eyes.

In dozens of pictures taken over the past four years, Drew never looked at the camera—or at me—with the barely repressed darkness that seems to want to overtake Cam’s gaze every time he looks at me.

Whatever torments Cam, it does so in a way Drew never experienced—at least, not when we were together.

So, no matter how much he may look or even sound like the man who was my everything, I can’t let that affect me the way it has during our previous two encounters.

I won’t.

He needs to work through Drew’s death in his own way, which includes searching the boxes in the office to find whatever meaningful possessions and memories might be in there. Just like I need to handle it in mine, which mostly consists of lying in bed alone, clutching his pillow and wondering if it will ever lose his scent, or sitting on the couch staring at the unopened cardboard box that sits on the mantle and trying not to think about what’s inside of it.

I did all this work so that when I opened the door this morning to his hesitant knock, I wouldn’t end up flat on my face on the porch like I would have last time—if Cam hadn’t stepped in and caught me.

Yet, here I am, left hand gripping the doorknob so tightly that my knuckles throb just to keep myself upright as I stare at the man waiting for me to invite him in.

My knees don’t seem to remember all my mental preparations.

And my brain sure as hell doesn’t either.

He isn’t Drew. He isn’t Drew. He isn’t Drew.

I repeat the mantra incessantly, hoping that the more I hear it in my own head, the easier it might be to remember it’s true. But my stomach flips, twisting violently like I’m stuck on a Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair after gorging on fried foods. My heart stutters, as if it isn’t sure whether to beat faster at the sight of him or stop altogether. Every nerve-ending in my body flares to life looking at him as he runs a hand through disheveled hair and offers me a sheepish smile that in no way matches his appearance.

He shifts nervously, glancing around the front yard that desperately needs to be mowed and over the bushes that have begun to grow out of control in Drew’s absence. “Um…hi.”

I somehow manage to swallow, despite my throat being as dry as the Sahara. “Hey…”

Cam’s black brows draw low over his blue eyes, his unease as palpable as my own. “Is it…still okay if I’m here?”

Shit.

“Yes, of course. Come in.”

I force a smile that I hope doesn’t come across as such.

Cam doesn’t know me, so maybe he won’t notice how this entire situation has put me on a perilous edge. I was already walking a thin line between full-blown depression and something worse. And this man showing up so unexpectedly that night has created a new dangerous tightrope for me to balance on.

He takes a step toward me, close enough now that his scent hits me full force.

I retreat enough to give him room to enter, and his shoulder brushes against mine as he passes. He quickly issues me an apologetic half-smile and steps farther in, leaving me reeling as I clutch the doorknob.

Apparently all my preparations couldn’t do shit for the way I react to seeing him. For the way it feels to have the other half of Drew in the home I shared with him…

Breathe.

But that’s a very bad idea.

Because he’s still close enough that when I do, his scent infiltrates my lungs—somehow soothing as it simultaneously wrenches my soul and twists it violently. My body somehow remembers waking to that scent the other night and how safe and warm I felt. How for a brief moment, things felt like they were okay again.

I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes closed, trying to give myself a minute to control the clashing emotions threatening to go into a full-on war right here, right now, with him standing in my entryway.