I could tolerate Isla hating me, but I could not tolerate the world believing Cade Harrington made her happy.
That was the part that crawled beneath my skin and stayed there.
Hatred made sense. Hatred still connected us. Hatred meant Isla woke up some mornings and thought of me with enough feeling to tighten her hands around a coffee mug, to pause in the middle of a hallway, to remember the body she had touched, loved, repaired and trusted. Hatred meant I still occupied a room inside her, even if she had set fire to the furniture.
Happiness was different.
Happiness was evacuation.
Happiness meant she was leaving me behind.
I sat in the private lounge of the wedding venue with my injured leg stretched before me in a posture I had perfected months ago. The brace sat beside the chair, u
