Page 25 of My Sweetest Agony

Am I?

I lean back against the counter to put more space between us and assess him.

Everything about the man standing in front of me screams dangerous, from his tattoos, to his haunted eyes, motorcycle jacket, and the secrets he keeps.

But I can’t not see Drew standing in front of me, too.

This is his brother, a man raised by Nancy just like Drew was. And I can’t imagine, for one second, that she would’ve raised a son I couldn’t trust with a key to my house.

“You’re Drew’s brother. We would’ve been family if things had been”—I suck in a long, deep breath to keep myself from releasing a sob—“if things had been different. I trust you. Feel free to come by whenever you want.”

His dark brows draw low over stormy eyes. “You’re sure?”

Am I?

Even questioning if it’s the right decision, I nod gently, and he slips the key into the pocket of his jeans and clears his throat, retreating a step.

“Thank you for this. I guess maybe I’ll see you next time I stop over.”

I give him a tight smile. “I’d like that.”

And as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I would.

Talking to him, hearing his stories, made me feel for one brief second like somebody else understands my pain. There is somebody else on this planet who loved Drew the way I did and is suffering just as badly. Someone who understands he also had secrets, which I can’t ever bring up to Nancy.

My eyes start to fill with tears, and Camden’s retreating steps stop.

He watches me carefully. “If me being here is too much for you, I won’t come back, Ivy. I don’t want to make this any harder on you than it already is.”

“No.” I swipe away the tears from under my eyes. “Today was good. Really.” I offer a half-smile. “That’s the first time I’ve laughed in weeks.”

He gives me a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. You need that, to laugh, to sleep.” His emphasis on that final word makes it clear I’m doing a shitty job covering my exhaustion. “And to eat.” That penetrating gaze sweeps over me again. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“What?”

I glance down at myself, even though I know he’s right.

At least ten pounds since Drew died.

My appetite seems to have vanished along with my fiancé.

“Just take care of yourself.” He swallows stiffly. “Drew wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

With that, he turns and stalks from the house.

The click of the door closing makes my eyelids drop, and I stand frozen in place in the kitchen, gripping the counter behind me as I consider what just happened.

I so badly wanted to be angry at him, wanted to hold it against him for whatever shattered their relationship.

But he’s grieving, too.

I lost my other half, but so did Camden.

And maybe the only way to find ourselves again is not to forget that we lost the same person.

8

IVY