But I’m not afraid of the pain anymore.

Nor do I have to run.

If my life, and losing Ronan and Lawrence have taught me anything about myself, it’s that I’m a survivor. I’m strong because I’ve been weak. I have sharp edges because I’ve been broken. Through all the neglect of my childhood, the pain, the fear, the heartache, and the lonely days and even lonelier nights, I remain standing.

And no matter what storms life continues to throw my way, I know now that I have the strength within me to weather them all.

So if my story ends with no knight in shining armor in sight, I’m okay with it because I don’t need one to save me.

I have myself.

And that’s good enough for me.

Ronan

“HERE YOU ARE, the man of the hour!”

“Hey, Jackie.”

“Why are you hiding from all your guests? This party is insane.”

I turn in the direction of my sister’s voice, our eyes locking. “I couldn’t stand the noise.”

“Well, I’m celebrating. All your photographs sold out within the hour, Ronan. Again.” She leans against the wall and takes a sip of champagne from a crystal flute. “I’m so proud of you, but I’ve got to say that I can’t get used to seeing them losing their minds over my little brother. It’s trippy.”

I bury my hands in the front pockets of my slacks as I stare at a photograph hanging on the wall, willing myself to feel some sort of excitement or enthusiasm, but it’s of no use. There’s nothing inside me. She took it all with her, leaving the ghost of a man behind.

Sometimes I see her in the curves of a naked woman lying on my bed or in the color of bluebells in the spring. Even after all this time, the smell of rain still reminds me of her. She’s everywhere and nowhere. Between heaven and hell. Her memory raises me high just so reality can slam me down—she’s gone. Every day and every night the chains inside my soul rattle with her name, calling out for her to set me free.

She told me to forget her, to move on, to love again. But I wish she could have told me how to do those things. How can I live a life without her in it when she’s as much a part of me as I am her?

“What’s wrong, Ronan?” Jackie asks quietly.

“Nothing’s wrong. Let it go.” The words sound empty in my ears.

“I think you’re lying to me. You aren’t happy, Ronan. I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile.”

“What’s there to smile about, Jackie?”

Her brown eyes, the same color as mine, spark with light. “Your success!” She spreads her arms, signaling my spacious SoHo flat. “Your life. Everything that you have accomplished on your own. I mean, take a look at this place. It’s ridiculous.”

Yes, I’ve achieved success beyond my wildest imagination and without the help of anyone, but it means nothing to me. Nothing has for a very long time. Soon after Blaire left, I threw my body and soul into my work. I created to fill the gaping hole inside me. It didn’t work. However, it took my mind off of the fucking pain that was threatening to break me in two each and every day without her.

I was selling my photographs in the subway one day when a man stopped and asked me if I had taken them. Turns out he was the curator of a very famous New York museum. The rest is history.

“I better get back to my guests,” I say smoothly.

She grips my arm and stops me from taking another step. “It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

I slant a wry look at her, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I thought that I was doing the right thing by keeping her away from you—”