I went to my closet and pulled out a pair of Chucks wondering how it was possible to grieve something you never had. I didn’t even know the man. I was positive his last name wasn’t really Newcomb. I didn’t know how old he was, if he was religious or not, if he liked to watch movies or TV or if he read books for pleasure. I didn’t know if he had brothers or sisters or if his granny was still alive. I knew nothing. Except when I met him, I felt like my life had been jump-started. When I was in his presence, I felt oddly comfortable, making me wonder if I’d been walking around my whole life on edge. I knew I liked the way he smelled, he was good-looking, and he dressed nice. That was the extent of my knowledge.

Yet I felt him so ingrained in my soul that it was painful to think he’d never be mine.

I grabbed my shoes, shoved my feet into them, fixed the heel, and called myself not-so-nice names for being such an idiot on my trek back into the living room.

I had no idea why I was torturing myself by going to breakfast with him. I could’ve said no and sent him on his way.

But like the moron I was, I walked to the front door and asked, “Ready?”

Asher’s eyes came to mine and that hurt, too. I wanted to know those eyes. I wanted to stare into them while he told me stories about all the crazy things he got up to when he was a kid. And I knew they’d be crazy; a man like Asher wouldn’t be boring. I wanted him to hold my hand and smile at me and to make him laugh. I wanted those eyes aimed my way forever.

But that was not mine to have.

And it fucking sucked. However, if he could help me find Elise, I would sit through five hundred torturous breakfasts with him. Later when Elise was home safe and sound we’d open a bottle of wine and she’d listen to my tale of The One Who Got Away. Then she’d jabber on with me about how he wasn’t The One and he was really a dick even though we’d both know that was a lie. But that was what friends did, they let you believe the lie until the pain receded and became bearable.

That was my Elise.

I just had to find her.

13

“Seriously, I want to know how you can eat all that.” Sloane’s fork came up and she used it to jab at my plate of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and pancakes. “And if you tell me you’re blessed with a superior metabolism I might stab you with a butter knife.”

I stared at her from across the table and for the twenty-fifth time since we’d left her apartment, I questioned my sanity. Wilson and Cole were at the beach house waiting for us with questions, and while I had some answers there were more to be had. Yet, I didn’t take her straight to the house like my boss had instructed—I took her to breakfast. Now that the truth was out, Cole and Wilson would get involved. I would no longer have Sloane to myself, so I was taking this time, these last moments of just her and me. It was crazy, it was stupid, but it was necessary. It wouldn’t be long before the case wrapped up and I’d go home, and she’d stay here. My time with her was quickly running out—a thought that made my insides ache.