Dom lay sprawled on the couch, his hands resting on his chest, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but his mind was anywhere but in the room. His mother’s words had been playing on an endless loop in his head, refusing to let him rest. He had tried, really tried, to push them aside, to pretend they didn’t matter, to act like they weren’t slowly chipping away at the walls he had built around his heart.
At first, he convinced himself that the best course of action was to forget—forget that he had ever met Stephanie, forget that she was about to walk down the aisle and marry another man, forget that every fibre of his being screamed at him that she was meant to be his. But forgetting was proving to be an impossible task. How could he erase someone who had embedded herself so deeply into his soul?
