Page 3 of Fractured Destiny

She caught my vibe without me having to explain it.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Neeley.”

She held my eyes just long enough to make the room disappear. “Don’t forget me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna remember you.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth before she stepped closer and rested her thumb against my wrist. “How ’bout you come home with me so I can make sure?”

I was stupid and brazen enough to believe the world had finally decided to give me everything I’d ever wanted. “How ’bout you come home with me instead?”

Suddenly we were in the hallway. Brick at her back. My fingers in her hair, her tongue in my mouth. Then, the Uber. My hand under her dress shoving her panties to the side to find her slick and ready. For the entire drive, she and I went at it while the driver pretended he didn’t see anything.

The night comes back the way it always does. More vividly now, with her here in the flesh.

Not in order. All at once.

I didn’t ask questions a smarter man would think about. I’d never had a woman so beautiful allow me to fuck her without boundaries. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t have stopped myself for anything on earth.

It felt pre-ordained or some shit.

After hours of mind-blowing orgasms, unlike anything I’d ever contemplated, she fell asleep with her cheek over my heart. I was ready to ask her to move in with me and be mine forever.

My big head thought we had connected on a different level.

The next day, I woke up to an empty bed with her name scribbled on a torn scrap of paper. No number. No way to get in touch.

For over an hour, I sat naked on the edge of the bed, wondering what I’d done wrong to scare her off.

Waited to feel something other than hollow.

I never did.

Even three years later, I can’t escape the woman whom I’ve never been able to forget. The only question is, why does she have a different name and what the fuck is in the folder she’s holding against her chest like a shield.

“You’re Neeley,” I manage to spit out.

It’s a name I’ve sung eleven hundred times on three continents. Today it feels like sawdust.

“Well, no.” She sits across from where I’m standing. “Actually, my real name is Noa.”

Noa.

Anger takes hold. Fast, stupid, and hot. Three years of agony arrives all at once. Right behind it, crowding into the same emotion, comes the fear.

A woman doesn’t track you down after three years for no good reason.

I force myself to look at her instead of through her.

Neeley—Noa is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but the woman in my bed seemed lit from the inside. Burning, impossible to hold on to. This version is quiet. Dulled. Her hands are folded in her lap and something in her face seems weary.

“Well, why are you here?” It comes out like an accusation.