Cal turned away and looked at the urn full of bright red flowers. He glanced back, met her eyes. “No. But I’ll fly back to Vegas at regular intervals. We can still be together.”

“You’ve had me pegged from the beginning. I have been afraid. Afraid of making stupid mistakes and letting Mom down, letting Allie down.” Monica’s eyes darted away as she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure about much in my life right now, but I know I want more than regular intervals. I don’t deserve it. I know that, but I want it.”

“Monica, I’ll give you everything I have, darling.”

“On a part-time basis. When it’s convenient for you.”

Cal couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t promise her tomorrow, let alone forever.

“Before she died”—Monica crossed her arms and glanced away—“my mom told me to follow my heart. She said it wouldn’t let me down. I thought it was the morphine talking, because my heart leads me in the wrong direction every time.” Nibbling her lip, she sniffed. “But I don’t think I’ve been listening to my heart. I’ve been listening to my fear.”

His steps ate up the distance between them. Placing his hand beneath her chin, he raised her face until she looked at him. “That’s what you’re listening to right now—fear.”

“No.” Tears filled her eyes. “Look at me. I haven’t cried in years, and now I can’t stop. You run from everything too, Cal. It’s who you are, and I’m not judging you, but I don’t want to be a part of it either.” She grabbed his hand and kissed his palm. “I have to go.”

He stood silent as she walked away. Cal opened his mouth to call her back, but what for? He didn’t have anything lasting to offer her. And she did deserve more. More than an uneducated sod like him.

Not for the first time, Cal wished he were a better man.

He’d never felt so utterly alone. Not even when he’d lost Babcock. And he had no one to blame but himself.

* * *

Sitting in her car, Monica ran her hands over the fuzzy steering-wheel cover and glanced at the pink dice Cal had bought her. Had she made a terrible mistake?

She was tired. Mentally. Emotionally. Monica had never been so open with anyone the way she had been with Cal. It sucked her dry.

Walking away from him was the hardest thing she’d ever done. The easy thing would have been spending the night in his arms. Every night, as long as he decided to stick around. And Monica would do whatever it took to keep Cal happy, to keep him by her side, because that’s who she was. Today had been chock-full of revelations, none of them particularly pleasant, but she’d learned one thing—she was tired of making herself over to please other people.

Cal tortured himself because he’d wanted to leave Babcock. But he’d stayed because the woman who raised him had been sick and dying. Australia was a onetime deal. Monica couldn’t depend on him. He’d admitted it himself.

She needed to figure out who the hell she really was, without worrying about Cal leaving or when he would come back. If he’d come back. So Monica ended it, and shattered her own heart in the process.

She wasn’t sure what to do next, where to go. She couldn’t go home and lie on the bed where she and Cal had had sex this morning. God, was it only this morning? Today seemed like an eternity.

She reached into her purse, grabbed her phone, and speed-dialed. “Hey, can I come over?”

Twenty minutes later, she kicked on Evan’s door, juggling a bottle of Patrón, a carton of ice cream, and her computer bag.

When he answered, Evan’s gaze bounced over her, then he snatched the bottle from her hand. “I’ll get you a spoon.”

Once they’d settled on his sofa—purple suede—he swirled the tequila in his glass and raised one brow. “I have fortification. Now spill.”

Monica blew out a breath. “I hate my job. I’m in love with Cal—I didn’t get vaccinated. I got the disease. Your advice is the worst. And the ballroom flooded, so the gala’s off. My life is a shitpile.” She scooped a spoonful of Chocolate Therapy ice cream into her mouth. It wasn’t therapeutic and would probably go straight to her ass.

“My God, it’s you,” Evan said before leaning over and kissing the side of her head. “Monica Campbell, my best friend. She’s back, ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the muted actors on TV. Then he toasted her and took a sip.

“No, Ev, I’m not the same. I don’t even know who I am.”

“Self-awareness is completely overrated. So, you’re in love with Cal. He seems like a decent guy.”

“He’s not forever material, but damn, I wish he were. He’s so funny and he’s smart and his smile is lopsided. He’s an artist with cars. But I want it all, Ev. I want the ring and the ’til-death-do-us-part crap. How can I be happy, wondering when he’s going to bail?”

“You’ve got it bad.” Evan scrunched farther down on the sofa, propping his yellow-socked feet on the glass coffee table. “Why do women need forever?”

“I think I have issues.”

“No,” he gasped, “not you.” He took a sip of Patrón and wiggled his toes. “Monnie, my friend, we all have issues.”

“I mean with my mom. When she got sick, I felt scared and alone, so I started looking for affection in losers, thinking if I could conform into what they wanted, I’d be worthy. I even did that with Ryan.”

“Oh God, stop, I’m begging. All this navel-gazing is going to make me drink until I pass out, then my eyes will be puffy tomorrow. Look, I date crazy orange women with big, fake tits. Probably because my dad paraded cocktail waitresses and showgirls in front of me during my formative years. You work with what you have. But, Mon, I know you.” He set his glass on the table and turned to her. “I know you. You’ve never been in love before now. Maybe Cal is good for you.”

She shoved the spoon into the ice cream and set the carton next to his glass. “I just broke up with him. Not that we were really together.”

“Despite your criticism of my advice, I’m going to leave you with one more nugget of wisdom. If you find love, grab it. You don’t know when or if it will come around again.” Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his brown eyes. For once, he wasn’t being a smart-ass.

“I can’t think about it anymore tonight. I’ve got a board meeting tomorrow and a gala to cancel. How about you? How’s Hope?”

“Heather. We broke up. She hated my clothes and accused me of being color-blind. And why don’t you just have the gala at Allie’s house? She’s got that fricking mansion. The garden is big enough to hold everyone. Have tents or whatever out there.”

She stared at him. “That’s insanely brilliant.”

He shrugged. “I have my moments.”

So the next question—give Allie advance notice, or bring it up at the board meeting? Allie would feel pressured at the meeting, less inclined to say no. Monica was determined to make this event happen by any means necessary. She could ask Allie’s forgiveness later.

“Can I take a shower?” she asked. “And borrow some sweats to sleep in?”

“Like I own sweats.” He waved a hand toward the hallway. “You know where everything is. Go on, and I’ll make up the sofa. I’m not giving you my bed.”

“Thanks.” Monica tapped the side of his face with her palm and headed down the hallway.

“Hey,” Evan called.

She turned around. “Yeah?”

“It’s all going to be all right. Your sucktastic life, I mean.”

“Sure it is.” Evan must have been drinking something stronger than tequila if he really thought that. Nothing ever turned out okay. Not her mom, not her job, not her terrible decisions with men. Although Cal didn’t feel like a bad decision. He felt just right.

But if Monica had taken a chance on Cal, she’d never be secure. Even though he’d offered her regular intervals. That was a big compromise for him. But security was important to her. More important than spending time with the love of your life? Whoa. Who said Cal was the love of her life? Except that he kind of was.