It's been four years since I left Long Island. And in that time, I still haven't found anyone right for me. No man has ever come close to what he was, even if he broke me into a million pieces.

I shake my head and round the corner. Through teary eyes, I see a new sign up ahead. "Crown Mechanic." Underneath it, the "open" sign blinks with an arrow pointing to the door underneath. Haven't seen this place before. Must have just opened up in the last week. I've been too busy with the gallery opening recently to pay much attention to my surroundings.

I ease on the brake, but the van jolts to a stop in front of the shop. Something new to add to the list of things wrong with it.

Outside, the air is crisp enough that I raise my coat. There's no way that I can go to sleep now. Not without recounting the last couple years in excruciating detail.

There is no part of me that is ready to get rid of this van. My next option would be to fix it up. Every estimate that I've gotten is way to out of my price range. A tune up and a fresh coat of paint is all it really needed anyway, at least in my mind. Just enough work done on it that it'll get Jean off my back until at least summer.

Inside, it's warm and stuffy. The sounds of loud machinery come from the far corner of the room, followed by a loud hiss. There's a desk at the front entrance, but no one manning it. A silver little bell hangs to the side with a sign that reads "Ring me for service." My palm hits the top of the bell, but there's no ring.

This isn't a good sign.

What kind of shop doesn't even have a working bell at their front desk?

"Hello? Is anyone here?" I make my way through the middle of the garage. Cars are lined up on either side of the walls, each in a different state of disrepair.

Every step that I take is calculated. I need to be careful, or otherwise I'll be up all night washing the oil stains off my heels. I might hate my heels right now, but that doesn't mean I want to ruin them.

Every little hop is a little game inside my head. I make it to the end of the garage with no problem. The loud hissing is coming from in there.

"Hello?" I shout, growing tired of this shitty service. This place isn't off to a good start if they can't even keep someone at the front door.

The roar dies down, along with the hissing. A wind moves up my back, sending a shiver along with it.

I have a bad feeling about this. Something in my gut is telling me to run. That I shouldn't be here this late.

I hop back over the cluster of oil spills. A new-found determination courses through me. Red lights and alarms whistles inside my head, but I can't quite understand why. All I know is,the faster I get out, the better off I'll be.

"Can I help you?" A voice thunders behind me, stopping me mid hop. One foot in the air, and the other aching for relief. There's something familiar about the voice, but I don't want to turn around. "Are you not going to turn around?"

His shoes sound off as he walks toward me. I try to rationalize the voice that I'm hearing. Husky, deep, almost baritone. There's no way that I could ever forget a voice like that. Not after I spent all of high school and almost all of college listening to him tell me how much he loved me.

My head is dizzy and my calves are throbbing. I close my eyes and take in a breath. Somehow, I find the willpower to turn around.

The light behind him shines bright and for a moment, all I can see is his silhouette. When I adjust to the light, I let out an audible gasp and almost fall down to the ground.

What the hell is he doing here? There's no reason for him to be here. He should be thousands of miles away in Long Island.

I left home to get away from him. He's the last person that I want to see right now.

"Are you just going to stand there with your mouth wide open all night?" He inches toward me, hands ready to close my mouth. I take a step back and bring my own up to guard myself. To get away from the man that destroyed me all those years ago. "Camilla?" There's a hurt look on his face when I pull away, but he doesn't move forward. "I didn't think we would be meeting like this to be honest."

Thump. Thump.

I can feel my heart beating in the middle of my throat. Each breath that I take is shallow and not enough to keep my body going. Each passing second, I can feel the periphery of my vision growing blurrier and blurrier.

The longer I stay here, the worse off I'll be. And that's not just because I'll faint in front of him. I need to put some distance between us.

Any place is better than here. I'd rather be in Hell right now than be standing in front of Arthur "King" Stone.

The man who broke my heart and then trampled all over it. The one guy who I still haven't been able to get over after all this time. Even after all the things he's done to me.

To add insult to the injury, he's standing in front of me looking better than he ever did before.

Chapter 2.

He wipes his hands against a small piece of cloth, trying to get the grease off. There are smudges of oil on his face, but that doesn't take anything away from his features. His jawline is pronounced and a short trimmed beard covers it. The quick flash of his blue eyes almost throws me off my guard as he starts his walk toward me. His bulging shoulders and arms sway, the white smudged t-shirt struggling to keep his muscles contained. There's so much that I want to say to him, but I struggle to keep myself together.

"Wha-What the hell are you doing here?" I say, my lower lip quivering as my brain tries to comprehend what it's seeing.

This can't be happening right now. Yet, there he is. In the flesh, walking toward me with that signature gloating smile of his. The left side of his lip gets caught as if an imaginary hook is keeping it up.

Seeing that smile is what starts to make my skin burn. The past comes rushing back with full force, making the hairs on my arm stand. The last person that I wanted to see is standing in front of me, looking better than ever.

King stops halfway toward me, his shoes resting in one of the oil slicks I had avoided before. He crosses his arms, holding that signature smile, and studies me for a second. That smile of his is what won me over a long time ago, when he was just a troublemaker. Correction, still a trouble maker as far as I know.

"Is that how you greet an old friend?" He starts toward me, eyes moving up and down my body, taking me in. "It's so good to see you." He brings his hands out, almost touching my cheek, before I bat them away.

I take a step back, but don't stop. My eyes fixate on him, body shaking as he stands tall over me. There's no reason that he should be here.

Last time I saw Arthur was at my graduation. He busted through the front entrance, the one the graduates were using to climb the steps. Drunk and full of half apologies, he grabbed the microphone from the Dean and started screaming my name.

It was a small college, everyone knew who he was. All the graduates and parents looked in my direction, but all I could do was shake my head and ignore his drunken words. The last time I saw him, he was being dragged back behind the stage by three security guards.

The next day, I packed up everything and decided that it was time to move on, to the dismay of my family and colleagues. Even when everyone was telling me that I was taking this too hard and being too drastic, I still left. When I needed them to back me up, they dropped the floor under me. Siding with King rather than their family.

At the time as far as I was concerned, there was nothing in Long Island for me anymore. Only bad memories and a broken heart.

In the morning, I let my finger run along the West Coast of my globe, until it randomly stopped on Portland.

I figured it was a good enough distance to put between King and I. Being on the opposite side of the country and having several mountain ranges between the both of us seemed like a good idea. All in the hopes of starting anew with someone who might treat me like I was actually worth something.

Apparently, it wasn't far enough. 'Cause here he is standing in front of me. Acting like four years hasn't passed and as if nothing has happened between the two of us.

Even through all that I can't help, but take him in. He held himself together over the years.

He always did.

It's something he picked up growing up in foster care. He always told me that he needed to be fit and strong to take care of himself, 'cause no one else would. And in the end, that's what he did.

He fought for and protected himself. Throwing away what we built for some floozies that told him what he wanted to hear. Skanky girls that only cared about what spot he finished at his underground races.

I press a shaking hand on my beating heart, trying to calm myself down. Even after all this time, I'm still not over his betrayal.

How could I be? Arthur and I were the perfect couple. At least, that's what I thought.

Growing up, everyone always knew that we would end up together. His foster parents and mine always thought the same. It was almost like it was destined to be.

I was the artistic and carefree person, while Arthur was grounded and tough. We complemented each other. The whole opposites attract mumbo jumbo that people in bad relationships tell themselves. Shakespeare couldn't have written a better love story.

It wasn't until high school that we made it official. There were bumps along the way, just like any normal relationship. Arthur got caught up in the wrong crowd and dropped out of school, concentrating on making a name for himself on the back streets of New York by racing. And I supported him all the way.

I still loved him and supported whatever he wanted to do with his life. I thought he felt the same for me when I went off to pursue my liberal arts degree.

I guess not.

Sometime in the four years I went to college, things changed.

And I got more artistic experience. So much so that I started gaining recognition for my art pieces. The local newspapers covered my work and Arthur distanced himself. Whenever I brought any of my shows up, he would get mad at me and leave our little apartment.

He'd spend all of his time racing, illegally, through the streets of New York while I stayed up nights wondering if he was dead or severely injured.

Every night he wasn't next to me in bed was spent awake. In the end, he decided that cheating on me was the best thing to do for our relationship. I could have lived with him dropping out of high school, even getting involved with the wrong crowd. But the one thing I could not stand was cheating. And on top of it all, he did it just to spite me.

During the last semester, I had my suspicions.

The early mornings, he would sneak into bed, thinking that I was still asleep. When I brought up the different perfumes that covered his body, he lied and told me it was just my imagination. Toward the end of my semester, I grew tired of it all and ended it days before graduation.

In my mind, I wanted to get as far away as possible from him. When we broke up, I was still ailing of a broken heart. I knew that if I didn't do something drastic, it would only be a matter of time before I forgave him. And then I would be back on square one.

So I got away from it all. The lies and hole he left in my heart.

Yet, here he, is standing in front of me. Only blocks away from where I live. Somehow, the thousands of miles between us wasn't enough to keep Arthur "King" Stone away.

"You're not an old friend. Friends don't hurt those they love," I spit back in his face, heels clacking on the concrete floor as I step back. I knock into something behind me, my ankles bend underneath me, and he's quick to jump towards me. "Don't you dare," I yell, anger seeping out of every pore of my body.

I steady myself and kneel down. The concrete floor sends a cool shiver up my body as I hold the red heels in my hand. I pace backward, not taking my eyes off of him.

Part of me wants to run away and hope that this is the only time I ever see him again. The rational part convinces me that it's only wishful thinking. This world isn't big enough to get away from King and his bullshit lies. Deep inside of my stomach, something gnaws me.

It's possibly a part of me that never got the explanation that I wanted. A sober explanation that laid out the reasons for his cheating. It's the part of me that keeps my mind up at night wondering what could have been.

The one that remembers the good times King and I had, before we drifted far apart. The part that blames me for pushing him away and not giving him the attention that he needed.

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts out.

Fuck that!

I'm not the one to blame here.

He is.

I look up at him, the hairs on my forearms growing rigid. If I could breathe fire right now, he would be burned to a crisp. There's so much anger smoldering inside of me that I could probably kill him. Anything to take away that gloating smile of his.

"Cami, don't be like that. I was young and made a mistake. Let me show you that I've changed." He saunters toward me like he didn't have a care in the world. My hands shoot out, looking for something to grab.

Not taking my eyes off of him, I grab onto something hard and long. A tire wrench.

Perfect!

I wave it out in front , forcing him away. "Are you really going to hit me with that?" He steps back and holds his hands to his side, like he's just been caught red-handed.

"I haven't made up my mind yet. But if you keep coming toward me I just might have to." I fling the pipe out in front of me, arm straining to keep the heavy metal from slipping from my grasp. It must be at least ten pounds. If I'm not careful, the only one who might get knocked out is me.

When I'm sure there's enough distance between us, I throw the wrench to the ground and head for the door. I press my body against it. Sending it flying against the brick wall with a clatter. A chilly Portland winter breeze greets me.

Out of the corner of my eye, before the door swings shut, I see Arthur hold his spot. He hadn't moved during my retreat, the tire iron at his feet.

I thrust my hand into my jacket, hand fumbling for the keys. With one eye on the garage door and the other on the van, I hurry inside. I need to get out of here before he changes his mind.

Before he tries to walk back into my life.

In the darkness of the night, the car key grazes the plastic of the steering column until I find the hole. Tears well in my eyes, but I swallow my feelings and turn the key.

At first, there's no sound. When I'm about to give up hope, a small pop sounds from the exhaust pipe. The van roars to life like I've never heard it before. Or maybe that's just how badly I'm feeling.

I slam my foot on the gas and marvel at the fact that it moves without a problem. It hasn't started that fast in months. Something is finally going my way.

The needle struggles to pass the 30 mph mark all the way. I don't stop. Not until I'm in front of my loft.

I must have blown through at least three stops signs on the way here. Somehow, I haven't gotten pulled over. I slam the door behind me and look down the street, making sure that he hadn't followed me home. The hinges on the front door squeak as I push inside.

I bound up the stairs two or three at a time. The faster I get inside, the sooner I can make sense of everything that just happened. The hallway light above my door flickers on and off before I get inside.

I let out a deep breath and lean against the door. None of this makes any sense. Everything about tonight was so perfect until I saw him. Just when I was getting my life together and making a name for myself he has to show up and ruin it all.

I run my hands up my face and slide down the door, concentrating on steadying my breathing. That's when I notice that something is off.

On the living room table is a can of soda. I pick myself up and walk toward it.

This is not what I need right now.

Drops of dark, sugary water slowly slip down the side of the can, forming a brown stain at the base. When I pick it up, the pool of soda sticks to the can.

It's been like this for at least a couple hours.

I know for a fact that I didn't have any soda this morning. I'm on a strict diet that doesn't allow any sugary treats.

I grab the TV remote off the couch and hold it over my head. "If anyone's in here, I'm calling the police. I don't want any trouble," I say, my voice shaking and not giving off the sense of confidence that I want.