Free A Love So Tragic by Stevie J. Cole Page B

her, hugging me tightly. The soft scent of White Diamonds is everywhere. That smell so very her, so comforting. I drag that deep into my lungs, and all the tension in my body melts away. I’ve missed her so much.
    She pulls back and looks at me with that stern mothering glare she has. “Your mind can tell you a million different things, Peyton, but your heart, if you really listen to it, is always telling you one.”
    I wake up, my pulse hammering inside my chest, covered with a sheen of sweat, and my pillow soaked with tears. The dreams I have of her seem so real. Part of me wants to believe the state of unconsciousness is a gateway to another realm, one that allows me to talk to her and hold her. I take a deep, staggered breath as I wipe the cold tears from my face. My mind whirls with thoughts, and I know I’ll never get back to sleep. The soft blue backlight on the clock illuminates 5:03 AM. Of course, Isaac is still sound asleep, snoring. I kick the down comforter off, grab my robe from the foot of the bed, and slip it on as I make my way out of the bedroom.
    I groggily stumble down the stairs, through the foyer, living room and dining room to the coffee pot. I plop a pod of Hazelnut Cream in and press the start button. It’s been two days since Nicolas called me. It was just a conversation between old friends I tell myself, but I know that’s a fucking lie. If that’s all it was, I wouldn’t feel the need to hide it from my best friend. I tell her everything but haven’t breathed a word about any of this mess, and why? Because I feel guilty, which should tell me something.
    I’m careful not to bang the pots and pans around when I grab the skillet. Several minutes later the kitchen is filled with the smell of sausage. I cook eggs and pancakes, and just as I am setting the table with the plates, Isaac walks in.
    His brow wrinkles as his gaze drifts from the table to me. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and walks over, resting the back of his hand against my forehead. “No fever,” he says, smiling.
    “Nope. Just couldn’t sleep and thought it’d be a nice surprise.”
    He kisses my cheek, brushing his hand over my arm. “It is. I’m such a lucky man.”
    He sits down at the table and takes the coffee, bringing the steaming cup to his lips. He stops and arches a brow at me. “There’s no arsenic in here, right?” he asks.
    “No.” I take the seat next to him. “Just laxatives,” I say, smiling.
    “Mm, that’s sweet of you.”
    We sit at the breakfast table silently eating, and when he’s finished, he takes his plate and sets it in the sink. “So, why couldn’t you sleep?”
    “I had a dream about Momma.” I shrug. “I just couldn’t go back to sleep after that.”
    His hand caresses over my back before squeezing my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.” And then he walks out of the room to get ready.
    He knows I hate when people tell me it will be okay. I allow that comment to dig at me, right down to my core. My fingers curl into fists. “No!” I shout, slamming my hand down so hard on the table the dishes rattle. “It won’t be okay. Maybe for you, it will, but it won’t for me.” I shout. “Stop telling me that!”
    He comes back into the kitchen, glaring at me. “What the hell, Peyton? I was just trying to make you feel better. I mean, hell, I don’t know what to say to you about it.”
    “No, you don’t!”
    All I can think is that Nic knows what to say to me, and Isaac doesn’t. And it makes me want to punch him in his pretty playboy face for not taking me back to his house instead of mine, for letting me fuck him when I was drunk as hell and vulnerable. I'm not saying I'm not to blame because I am, but damn, I just wish it had never happened. I clench my fists so tight my nails slice into my skin. My jaw clenches as I imagine slamming my knuckles into his nose so hard it busts and blood goes everywhere.  I know he can see anger in my eyes because I can feel it burning behind