The truth was, she’d been utterly selfish. She had taken advantage of his memory loss after the accident, not admitting it to herself at the time, but hoping—praying—it would never come back.
She’d brought all this on herself.
Just like she’d done fifteen years ago.
Caleb had trusted her implicitly then too, so much so he’d opened himself up to her—the first person he’d ever done that with after enduring such a punishing and isolated childhood—and she’d thrown his love and trust back in his face, deeming it worthless.
Then she’d hidden, like a coward, avoiding him at every turn until he’d been forced to come to her dorm room and practically break down the door to speak to her. She’d been afraid to face his disappointment in her so had put up a wall of ice to protect herself, telling him she’d made a mistake, he was too wild, too unpredictable for her, they could never be happy, not in the long run. She needed someone more stable, like Jimmy. He’d looked at her as if his world had just crashed in around him, before turning and walking away.
And that had been the last time he’d ever spoken to her. From that point on he’d acted as if she didn’t exist. He’d looked through her as if she was nothing—a waste of space.
And she’d known deep down that she’d deserved it.
He’d practically gone to ground after that, skipping the lectures where she’d normally see him and never seeming to be at his dorm room when she dropped in, hoping to catch him and apologise and explain her horrible behaviour. And then he’d gone back to Spain as soon as the last lecture had finished, pushing past her when she’d tried to talk to him as if she meant nothing to him any more.
It had left an aching hole in her that had never closed over, even fifteen years later.
Because he’d been the love of her life.
It had tormented her more than she’d wanted to admit to herself over the years, chipping away at her self-respect, causing her to find fault in every man she’d dated, leaving her to wonder whether she’d ever be happy in a relationship again.
Until now.
But just when she’d thought she’d paid her dues and things were finally good between them again she’d lost him all over again.
CALEB MARCHED INTO his apartment, slamming the front door so hard behind him the angry sound of it reverberated around the space for a good few seconds.
How could he have let this happen? He’d known there was something strange going on but he’d blamed it on his memory loss instead of looking harder at the woman who had appeared out of nowhere like a ray of sunshine on a dark day.
Slumping onto the sofa, he winced in pain as his cracked rib reminded him that he’d been weakened by the accident in more ways than one.
But then hadn’t he known, deep down, that there was more to her story than she was telling him and he’d let himself fall for her anyway?
Because he had—hard and intensely. The thought of being with her had consumed him over the last few days, just like it had when he was younger. He knew why he’d not wanted to look too closely at what was going on. It was because he’d wanted her to be genuinely interested in exploring a relationship with him—wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
So he’d allowed himself to trust her, to begin to care about her—no, who was he kidding, he’d fallen in love with her and she’d used that to get what she wanted from him.
Once again she’d played him for a fool.
He felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest. All that emotion that had been building inside him from the moment he’d seen her again swelled to an almost unbearable size, closing his throat, crushing his lungs, filling his head with unbearable pain.
No doubt she was already at the airport, ready to head home, happy in the knowledge that she’d achieved her objective here: to get him to sell her his battery, no matter what she’d had to do to get it.
Anger flashed through him, propelling him off the sofa and towards his bedroom where her things were still hanging in his wardrobe and sitting on his shelves.
Well, he wanted them gone. He didn’t want a trace of her left in his house now. He couldn’t stand the pain of thinking about what he could have had if only she’d really wanted him.
Grabbing her small suitcase from where she’d stashed it in the wardrobe, he stuffed her clothes roughly into it willy-nilly, not caring how much it hurt his rib to do so—in fact, welcoming the pain it brought because it momentarily overrode the ache in his heart—then went to the bathroom and scooped all her toiletries into it too, forcing down the lid and roughly zipping it up.
Picking up the case, he strode to the front door, opened it, then tossed it into the hallway, where it bounced a couple of times before coming to rest on its side, looking battered and forlorn in the grandiose, brightly lit space.
Pushing away a rush of anguish, he slammed the door on it and strode into his kitchen, grabbing a glass tumbler out of the cupboard and splashing a good measure of whisky into it.
He knocked it back, feeling the burn in the back of his throat and registering the warmth as it hit his stomach, though deriving no pleasure from it whatsoever.
Pouring himself another large shot, he took it into the living area and slumped down onto the sofa again, staring out of the window at the dark night sky, which had become stormy with wind and rain that lashed against the glass, trying not to think about how painfully alone he was here in this big echoing apartment.
Despite the way Elena had treated him, his traitorous body still ached for her. His throat was tense from holding back the urge to rage and swear at the world, his chest tight with sorrow and frustration.
He knew, with ringing clarity now, why he’d deliberately sabotaged his engagement to his ex, Adela. He’d been afraid to trust her love for him for this very reason. His survival instinct had kicked in and he’d pushed her away before she could do it to him first.
Because he’d been afraid of something like this happening to him again.
The sad truth was he’d fallen for Adela in the first place because she’d reminded him of Elena. Adela had exhibited many of Elena’s traits; she’d even looked a bit like her, but of course he knew deep down that she could never be her. That was why he’d broken off their engagement. It wouldn’t have been fair to Adela to have always been second best in his heart.
Perhaps he was destined to always be alone. It would at least be easier that way. Like it had been when he was younger.
He was also acutely aware now that keeping his relationship with his mother at arm’s length had had a serious effect on the way he dealt with all his close relationships to this day.
At least after her cancer was diagnosed he’d made sure to visit her more and they’d brokered a kind of unspoken peace between them. He’d never totally understood the life choices she’d made, but he’d come to finally accept them, and her. During those sad, desolate hours at the end of her life she’d made it clear to him that she’d always loved him and that she regretted the distance that had always been between them.
It had torn him up inside, the futility of it, because she was gone now and all he was left with was a sense of deep sorrow for the time he’d wasted spurning her instead of loving and accepting her for who she was.
And now he’d lost the woman he’d hoped to spend his future with too.
The woman he loved.
Knocking back the second whisky, he closed his eyes and tried to blank his mind of her—to shut out the pain and grief that made him feel as though someone had stripped