Even If It Hurts

by Marni Mann

  As my hands settled over his shoulders, his went to my face, thumbs on my jaw, and I found that rhythm we both needed. The pace that caused his grip to tighten, forcing a build through my stomach, and when I neared that place I couldn’t return from, my eyes opened.

  “Oh God.” I quivered over him.

  His thumbs were at the corners of my mouth. “Kiss me.”

  I did, and that was when I completely lost it.

  An orgasm started at my core, tearing through my chest, rippling up to my fingertips where I was holding him so close that there wasn’t even breath between us.

  I felt him come just seconds behind me, his hips giving several hard thrusts, meeting me while I rocked over him.

  His hands almost squeezed my face as he emptied himself and moaned, “Chloe.”

  When we both stilled, we stayed there in sweaty arms and exhales, and there were even tears while we held on to each other in a way where love couldn’t escape. It stayed just between us, in the windy city of Amsterdam, where it belonged.

  And after I spent the night in his arms, Oliver got into a taxi with me. Once we arrived at Schiphol Airport, he had the driver park along the curb of the departure gate.

  I stood on the curb, like I had six years ago, while Oliver got my suitcase out of the trunk. I watched his hands work as expertly as they did in the kitchen, lifting the heavy bag as though it were flour. I watched the way his face smiled as he looked at me, moving closer until his palms were on my cheeks.

  “Mmm,” I breathed, turning my face so I could nuzzle into his hand.

  He said nothing as he stared at me. Once again, our time was limited, as we knew the taxi couldn’t stay parked there forever and I had a flight to catch.

  But Oliver took these moments to really look at me, and he finally said, “Six weeks.”

  I nodded, and the first tear dripped.

  “I know that feels like forever, sweet girl.”

  He pulled me against his chest, my cheek now resting over his heart, and I heard the way it was beating for me.

  Beating so fucking hard.

  “I love you,” I whispered. I reached for his sweatshirt and held the material between my palms, squeezing it into me, my nails stabbing it as hard as I could. “You know I hate saying good-bye, Oliver.”

  He looked at me, his thumbs swiping under my eyes. “We don’t have to.” He pressed his lips to mine, his breath filling my lungs before he pulled away and said, “Because even if it hurts … you’re going to come back to me, and we’re going to start making plans for our future.”

  “One day, I hope the hurt will finally go away,” I said so softly.

  He gazed down at my lips before he briefly kissed them. “I love you,” he finally replied, the words hitting my face, slipping inside my mouth so I could swallow them.

  And once I did, I smiled at him and breathed, “You’re so perfect.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand, my chest making it impossible for the tears to stop.

  I took a step back, and our arms stretched. And even though I had the suitcase handle to hold on to, I still couldn’t let go of him.

  “You know what I’m going to do, sweet girl …”

  More wetness hit my cheeks when I nodded. “You’re going to watch me walk away.”

  “Yes.”

  Once again, I didn’t think the tears could stream faster at how much this man loved me.

  My foot felt like it weighed a million pounds when I lifted it over the pavement to take a step, our arms extending to the point where our fingers could no longer hold on.

  And they broke …

  I took a final look, and then I put my back to him and hurried inside.

  It was the only way, or I wouldn’t go.

  Once I was in the terminal, I rushed past the crowds to the glass window that overlooked the outside. From here, I was able to see Oliver. He was standing where I had left him, still staring at the entrance as though he was visualizing me move through it one last time.

  Then, he got in the taxi and shut the door.

  As the driver pulled away, my hands slid down the glass, and my ass hit the ground. Sobs racked my body while I tucked myself into a ball, rocking over the airport floor.

  When I was finally strong enough, I took out my phone and pulled up my messages, finding the one I wanted. As I sobbed with the rest of the emotions I had left in me, I started to type.

  Me: I’m coming home. xo

  Part Four

  A love … that never ended.

  Forty-Nine

  Oliver

  “What in the fuck are you still doing here?” Jake asked as he popped his head into my office. “Don’t the important people get to leave early?”

  “Then, we’d both be gone,” I said, laughing at my best mate as he sat in the chair in front of my desk. My eyes were on the T-shirt he wore, and I remembered when we’d grabbed it after a concert at The O2 when we were back in London, visiting family. “Do I need to give you a pay raise? Your shirt has a goddamn hole in it.”

  He looked down, shaking his head. “It’s fucking Noah,” he said, referring to his nine-year-old. “Emma’s been teaching him to do the laundry, and there’re rips in everything. I don’t know why my wife thinks it’s such a good idea for this to be his chore if everything I fucking own is ruined.” He smiled as he adjusted himself in the chair. “Good thing I work for the largest travel booking site in the country and you can afford the pay raise I’m going to hit you up for.”

  I turned my chair, my hands leaving my computer, to face him. “You’re my CFO. If you want a pay raise, you know how to make it happen.”

  We were both laughing when there was a knock at the door, and our assistant walked in.

  “Should I come back?” she asked, glancing between her bosses.

  “No, no.” I waved her over.

  “I wanted to give you this before I left.” She held up a folder and then set it on my desk. “It’s the list of interview questions that the station sent over. I printed them out so you can prep.”

  “Oh, I’ll take that,” Jake said, snatching the folder before I could grab it.

  “I’m going to call and have your dinner delivered,” she said. “Would thirty minutes be all right?”

  Knowing there wasn’t anything in my fridge at home, I thanked her and followed it up with, “That’s perfect.” When she left, I glanced over at Jake. “How do they look?”

  He got up from his chair, reading as he walked to the window. When he returned to my desk, his grin gave me my answer, but he still said, “You’re going to have fun with some of those.” He took a few steps toward my door. “See you in the morning?”

  “You bet.”

  Once I watched him leave, I opened the top of the folder and began to go over the questions.

  The interview was for the largest business publication in Europe, and they had named me as the highest-earning CEO of the year. The feature would stream live for sixty minutes. It would also include a pre-taped segment, which had filmed at my office, to show all aspects of the business I’d built in Amsterdam after resigning from International Bookings ten years ago.

  As I got further down the list, I realized what Jake had meant.

  Oliver Bennett, at fifty years old, you’re officially Amsterdam’s most eligible bachelor. Has there never been a leading lady in your life?

  The question had no relevance whatsoever to my company, but I understood their interest. How could someone my age, with my success, never settle down? It was actually something I was asked often, but the answer I gave was never honest. The one I would give during the interview wouldn’t be either.

  Because no one in this world needed to hear that I had been in love two times in my life and both were with the same woman.

  The first was when we had been just kids, and as much as I’d wanted to tell that gorgeous girl not to leave London, I couldn’t. I wasn’t going to be the man who had taken her virginity and her future. I couldn’t live
with that kind of guilt. The only thing I could do was let her go.

  It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Nothing made me move on. And I never really settled down, partly because I was young and having such a blast with my mates. And partly because Chloe was the girl who had come into my life and turned it upside down.

  And then six years later, when the European managers had been forming their US teams, I had seen Chloe Kennedy Hamilton on the list, and every memory I’d tried to let go came rushing back.

  I had to have her in my life again.

  I didn’t know how much of her I would get; the name change told me she was married. But there was a reason we’d been brought back together, and I had to find out what it was.

  I had no expectations when I met her in that corridor. I just wanted to be near her one more time, and if her presence was all I got, I would take it.

  But slowly, that sweet girl began to let me in more, and it was like the six years we had been apart had never happened. And she slid into this pattern of traveling home to her husband and spending the rest of the month with me.

  All I wanted was what we never got a chance to have the first time.

  The possibility of a future.

  And those six months …

  They were so fucking hard on her.

  They were so fucking hard on me.

  But they were a gift, and we both knew that.

  And we had known when she came back for her second contract, she was going to have to make a decision.

  I walked over to the window, pushing my palms on the glass, looking over this city that had always been so hopeful for me, and I remembered when I’d watched Chloe walk into the airport in Amsterdam.

  That evening, I’d waited for a text, telling me she had landed.

  I got nothing, and she didn’t reply to any of the ones I’d sent her.

  Because of her husband, I agreed I would never call, and as much as it hurt, I wouldn’t break her trust, so all I could do was wait.

  Every fucking minute was tortuous.

  When Monday morning came and I still hadn’t heard from her, I went to Sven’s office and asked if he’d been in touch with the American team to see if they had arrived. I’d tracked the flight, so I knew the answer already, but he assured me everyone was fine. I then asked about Chloe specifically, and he told me that on her last day at the office, right before she left for the evening, the contract she’d signed was actually for termination. She’d canceled the six-month extension and discontinued her employment.

  In that moment, I knew … she’d made her choice.

  I didn’t hate her.

  I could never hate her.

  I always knew there was a possibility she wouldn’t choose what we had.

  Maybe there were signs that I’d missed from that night. Perhaps I should have known she wasn’t ever going to come back to me. That on the curb, outside of departures, was the last time I would ever get to kiss Chloe.

  But when I thought back to that memory, I didn’t look for the holes. I just recalled the love that was in her arms when she held me and what it felt like to have her in my hands.

  Those were the things I focused on.

  And all these years later, I knew she still had love for me because she never unfollowed my social media page and she never kicked me off her private one.

  In my heart, that was her way of making sure I was okay.

  For a long time, those pictures of her were what got me through it; they were the only things I could hold on to. And I used them as a window into her life where they answered questions I would never get to ask her.

  Fuck, there were some big moments.

  I got to see her body grow each time she was pregnant—the first two with boys and the last, she’d finally gotten her girl with red hair. I watched her children age and go off to school and Chloe’s family take holidays with Molly and her husband and kids. Even now, it looked like the two best friends still got together for drinks every week.

  My God, she’s a beautiful mum.

  As that thought gripped me, I walked over to the bar in my office and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, bringing it up to my lips and swallowing until it was gone.

  When I set the bottle down, I took out my phone and pulled up my photos, finding the same one I always looked at every time I needed her.

  I’d taken the picture in a pub in London, the night Jake had sung to her from the top of a table.

  That was almost thirty years ago, and we had been so young and in love.

  Blind to the pain that was waiting for us in the future.

  But those months were real, and so were the ones in Amsterdam.

  As I looked back at my life, I could say it was wonderful. There had been many women. Lots of smiles. Hours of laughter.

  But at this age, I could say I’d never had anyone like her.

  She’d once told me she hoped the hurt would finally go away.

  After watching her leave me twice, I didn’t think it would.

  And, damn it, sweet girl, it never did.

  Author’s Note

  When the idea for Even If It Hurts came to me, I knew it was going to be an extremely challenging story to write. If you’ve read me before, you know I don’t shy away from sensitive topics, but after penning twenty-five books, I can say, this was the toughest and the hardest.

  You see, when I craft stories, I become the character. I live their pain and sorrow, and I experience life through their eyes. The emotional upheaval it took to put myself in Chloe’s shoes was one I hadn’t expected or prepared for. I can assure you, I went through many boxes of tissues while writing her journey with Lance and Oliver.

  If you follow me on social media, you’ve seen lots of pictures of my husband. What most of you don’t know is that we’ve been together for nineteen years, college sweethearts who were absolutely crazy about each other, much like Oliver and Chloe. Because of my experience with falling in love, I’m fascinated with the concept of first love. I wanted to explore what it would feel like to lose that love over an uncontrollable circumstance and what it would look like if he came back into your life at a different time, place, and under much different circumstances.

  I know Even If It Hurts is a hard limit for many of you, but I hope you can close this book and feel every emotion I weaved into this story and every tear I shed. I hope you’ll feel the love that Chloe had for Oliver and Lance. And I hope that somewhere on those final pages, you were able to find some forgiveness for Chloe, a woman lucky enough to be loved by two of the most amazing men ever.

  xoxo,

  Marni

  Acknowledgments

  Nina Grinstead, there are no words for this one. Our baby forever. Love you so, so, so much. Team B.

  Jovana Shirley, with every book, this statement only becomes truer—I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone but you. I treasure you and the love that you give my books. Love you so hard.

  Hang Le, my unicorn, you are just incredible in every way.

  Judy Zweifel, as always, thank you for being so wonderful to work with and for taking such good care of my words. <3

  Chanpreet Singh, thanks for always holding me together. Adore you, lady. XO

  Kaitie Reister, I love you, girl, so hard. You’re my biggest cheerleader, and you’re such a wonderful friend. Thank you for being you.

  Donna Cooksley Sanderson, thank you, thank you, thank you—for a million and one reasons. I love you so much and I cannot wait to hug you again. xx

  Nikki Terrill and Andrea Lefkowitz, you girls are my soul sisters. Thank you will truly never be enough.

  Kimmi Street and Crystal Radaker, my sisters, I love you more than love.

  Ratula Roy, words will never do justice to how much I love and appreciate you. You mean everything to me.

  Ricky, my sexyreads, I love you.

  Julie Vaden, as always, thank you for letting me pick your brain. You’re the best. XO

  Extra-special love goes to Hilary S
uppes, Kayti McGee, Chris Fletcher, Elizabeth Kelley, Jennifer Porpora, and my group of Sarasota girls, whom I love more than anything. I’m so grateful for all of you.

  Mom and Dad, thanks for your unwavering belief in me and your constant encouragement. It means more than you’ll ever know.

  Brian, my words could never dent the amount of love you give me. Trust me when I say, I love you more.

  My Midnighters, you are such a supportive, loving, motivating group. Thanks for being such an inspiration, for holding my hand when I need it, and for always begging for more words. I love you all.

  To all the bloggers who read, review, share, post, tweet, Instagram—Thank you, thank you, thank you will never be enough. You do so much for our writing community, and we’re so appreciative.

  To my readers—I cherish each and every one of you. I’m so grateful for all the love you show my books, for taking the time to reach out to me, and for your passion and enthusiasm. I love, love, love you.

  Marni’s Midnighters

  Getting to know my readers is one of my favorite parts about being an author. In Marni’s Midnighters, my private Facebook group, I post covers before they’re revealed to the public and excerpts of the projects I’m currently working on, and team members qualify for exclusive giveaways. To join Marni’s Midnighters, click HERE.

  About the Author

  USA Today best-selling author Marni Mann knew she was going to be a writer since middle school. While other girls her age were daydreaming about teenage pop stars, Marni was fantasizing about penning her first novel. She crafts unique stories that weave together her love of darkness, mystery, passion, and human emotions. A New Englander at heart, she now lives in Sarasota, Florida, with her husband and their two dogs. When she’s not nose deep in her laptop, working on her next novel, she’s scouring for chocolate, sipping wine, traveling, or devouring fabulous books.