If the Sun Never Sets (If Love)

The next month bled by in a string of miserable mornings and starless nights.

Blake tracked the passing of time, not with a calendar but with the shards of his heart. One day, one piece added to the world’s most fucked-up hourglass, until he had nothing left to give.

His life had fallen apart yet again, and without Farrah’s light, all that seeped through the cracks was an ugly dark ooze. It contained everything Blake hated about himself—his deepest fears, his worst memories, his most selfish acts and shameful thoughts.

When he’d returned from Texas, he’d had two choices: tell Farrah the truth about Cleo’s pregnancy, including the fact that he’d never actually cheated on her, or let her go.

The first was the one he’d been so tempted to take. But it was also the selfish choice because even if Blake hadn’t cheated on Farrah, he’d never deserved her in the first place.

Plus, Cleo’s father had been right. Blake did screw up people’s lives. He hurt the people he loved, even when he didn’t want to.

His mom. His sister. Farrah. Cleo. Even his dad, if his dad could hurt.

If Blake stayed with Farrah, he’d hurt her again. It was inevitable, his curse.

So he’d let her go—even if it meant losing himself in the process.

“Hey, man. Congrats on the opening.” Landon strode up to Blake, dressed in a black Hugo Boss jacket and jeans. The dress code for LNY’s opening night was dressy casual, and the guests had followed it to a tee. “This party is killer.”

“Thanks.” Blake slapped on a smile because that was what everyone expected from him. There was no room for darkness tonight, only the lights that blazed throughout the bar and the stars in attendance. Socialites, celebrities, and business moguls alike drifted through Legends, and judging by their laughs and chatter, LNY was a massive hit—three stories of entertainment and escape that had already generated so much buzz they couldn’t keep up with the media requests.

The first floor was classic Legends: a sports bar swathed in the same upscale, down-home decor that made the brand such a hit in other cities. Antler chandeliers swayed over oak tables with leather booths, and huge flat-screen TVs lined the paneled walls, broadcasting every type of competitive sports game you could think of. The gigantic projection screen and eight rows of stadium-style seating in the corner that were reserved for the biggest sports events: NBA playoffs, the Super Bowl, the World Cup, and the Olympics.

If someone would rather play than watch games, they could immerse themselves in the rec room heaven that was the second floor, which boasted pool tables, Ping-Pong tables, dartboards, Air Hockey, foosball, beer pong, shuffleboard, board games, and even a miniature bowling alley.

The third floor was a step up—literally and figuratively—in terms of luxury, featuring a craft cocktail bar that morphed into a nightclub after 11 p.m. It boasted the hottest DJs, the best alcohol, and a 15-foot-tall champagne tower.

LNY was everything Blake had dreamed of. It marked the transition of Legends from your typical sports bar chain to a sports bar and nightlife franchise that took the company and brand to a whole other level.

Tonight was the VIP opening; tomorrow was the grand public opening, and it’d be even bigger. But Blake couldn’t summon the rush he usually got when he saw his visions come to life.

Instead, all he could focus on was Cleo’s voice, echoing in his head in a nightmare.

“We never had sex. You were wasted, and I brought you to one of the hotel suites to sleep it off. But I was too drunk to drive home myself and all the other rooms were full, so I stayed the night. We didn’t do anything. But you didn’t remember what happened when you woke up, and I was so angry with you I lied.”

“You were one of my oldest friends. I’d been in love with you since we were fifteen, and you broke my heart. You ran off to Shanghai and left me behind. You humiliated me! To make matters worse, you went and fell in love with some girl you’d known for only a few months. You picked her over me. Me. The person who’s been there for you your entire life. I waited for you. I waited and waited, until you were finally there, and you did the most unforgivable thing you could’ve done: you gave me hope.”

“You never should’ve dated me, Blake. I would’ve gotten over you, eventually. But you brought me flowers, and you kissed me, and you told me you loved me. You made me fall so hard for you I couldn’t get up, and then you left me there. Alone. That’s why I was angry at you. Even if I said I was ok with us being just friends, I wasn’t. But it was the only way I could keep you in my life, so I lied.”

Blood rushed in Blake’s ears. A familiar cocktail of emotions oozed through his veins—fury, guilt, shame, shock, remorse. All present and accounted for, like perfect students that never missed a class or an opportunity to torture him.

“You okay?” Landon’s brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been acting strange since you returned from Texas.”

“I’m fine.” Blake sucked down the rest of his whiskey and grinned his thanks at a TV actress who congratulated him as she passed by. “Just tired.”

He should’ve been an actor. He could give Nate Reynolds a run for his money.

“I went to a bar that night. I was still so pissed at you, and seeing you…anyway, I had too much to drink again, and I slept with a guy I met at the bar. I don’t remember if we used protection—I wasn’t on the pill anymore—but a few months later, I found out I was pregnant.” Cleo’s lower lip trembled. “It had to be his. He was the only person I slept with after you left for Shanghai. But I didn’t even know his name, and I couldn’t tell my parents that. It’s bad enough I had sex before marriage. If they found out I had a one-night stand and got pregnant by some guy I didn’t know, they would disown me.”

Blake’s hands tightened around his empty glass.

He wanted to hate Cleo. He had hated her for the rest of that weekend, when the tension from his outburst at his father’s party hung heavy in the Ryan household and he’d retreated into his thoughts instead of dealing with the fallout. He’d had to mourn his son all over again, only this time, he’d been mourning the loss of what he thought had been his. Something he’d held as truth, that had defined his life for half a decade, upended in minutes.

Would Cleo have told Blake the truth had the baby been born? Did it matter?

“You made sense. At least we knew each other. We grew up together, and we dated. Everyone thought we’d end up together, anyway.” Tears tracked down Cleo’s face. “I’m so sorry. I was young and stupid and panicked. The secret has been tearing me apart for the past five years, but I had no idea how to tell you. It didn’t seem right to do this over the phone, or that was the excuse I gave myself. But when I ran into you earlier today, I saw that as a sign.”

“I hope you can forgive me one day, and that we can have closure. I said it before, and I’ll say it again—I don’t blame you for my miscarriage. It devastated me—us—but it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. This isn’t to guilt you into forgiving me, but hopefully, it’ll give you the peace you need. We’ve both been through so much. I think it’s time we finally let go of our past and move on.”

As much as Blake wanted to continue hating Cleo, he couldn’t. Partly because they’d both been at fault—him with the accident, her with the deceit—and partly because he’d been relieved. The scales had evened a bit (though it still tipped heavier on his side), and he hadn’t cheated on Farrah. It may have seemed like a small detail in the grand scheme of things, but not to him.

But Farrah would never know because his need to save her from himself outweighed his relief.

“Where’s Farrah?” It was like Landon read his mind, except he didn’t know about Blake and Farrah’s split or what happened in Texas. Blake had been too busy and too miserable to hash out the details with his best friend or anyone else. “I haven’t seen her all night.”

“She couldn’t make it.” Blake’s smile hurt. That was the thing about fakeness—it made everyone around you feel better but ate at you on the inside.

“She okay?” Landon’s worried expression didn’t budge. “She wouldn’t miss a big night like this.”

No, she wouldn’t.

Not unless Blake forced her to.

“As far as I know.” Blake was dying for another drink.

He’d done the right thing, letting Farrah go before she got in too deep with him again. It didn’t matter that it destroyed him to do so; all that mattered was doing the unselfish thing, for once.

“Is it just me, or is it really fucking hot in here?” Sweat beaded on Blake’s forehead. The air thickened, choking him. He needed to get out of here, but it was his party. He couldn’t leave.

His head pounded in rhythm with his pulse.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“There are a ton of people here.” The concern on Landon’s face escalated. “Maybe you should—” He stopped short. “Whoa. Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah, Pat spoke to her publicist, and she agreed to—”

“No, it’s not a celebrity. Blake. Look.” Landon’s eyes gleamed with a strange excitement.

Blake looked.

And looked again.

His jaw dropped.

What the hell were they doing here?

“Blake!” Joy waved at him and pushed her way through the crowd, channeling Tinkerbell with her green dress and blonde waves. “Surprise!”

Behind her trailed Blake’s mother, looking star struck by all the celebrities surrounding her, and a man Blake never thought he’d see step foot in one of his bars: Joe Ryan. His father.