What If Volume One

Paris – January, 2017

Jamie began to sob.

This was too much. His chest hurt so badly that, for one irrational moment, he genuinely thought his heart might give out. And then all of this bullshit would have been for nothing.

Louis moved toward him, but Jamie lifted both hands in front of his face as if he needed to protect himself.

“Stay away from me.”

Louis stopped dead.

Jamie was protecting himself.

From him.

The realization ripped through Louis harder than anything Jamie could possibly have said. His beautiful James, who had once trusted Louis enough to sleep beside him, to give him his body, his secrets, every insecurity and every ugly fear he’d carried inside himself, had just raised his hands because he thought Louis might hit him again.

Who the fuck had Louis become? What had he done? What had loving Jamie turned into?

Jamie lowered his hands only when Louis stepped back, then turned toward Jacques.

And somehow, he was still Jamie.

“Sir, thank you for your kindness and your hospitality. I need to go now.”

Fucking perfect. Always polite. Always righteous. Always worried about everybody else, even when his own heart was being ripped apart.

Fucking James fucking Alexander fucking perfect Montgomery.

“Mr. Montgomery, I...” Jacques hesitated. “Please, you don’t have to—”

“Thank you, sir. It’s okay. Really. I’ll be out of your hair.”

Jamie glanced toward Louis but couldn’t seem to hold his gaze anymore. Then he looked back at Jacques.

“And, um... congratulations on your engagement.”

“James,” Louis whispered again.

Jamie shook his head. “No.”

That one word was worse than screaming. Louis would have taken every outburst, every angry word, every insult Jamie could have thrown at him over that one no.

Before Louis could say anything else, Jamie turned and ran.

He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, flying down them so quickly his feet could barely keep up. He needed to get away from Louis, from that apartment, from Paris.

He needed Landon. Hetty. Taylor. His mother. His father. Anyone who could tell him what the fuck he was supposed to do now. He needed air.

“Jamie!”

Louis tore the apron from around his waist and threw the kitchen towel onto the floor.

“Jamie, wait!”

He ran after him.

Jacques stared after them for half a second before grabbing his keys, slamming the apartment door shut, and rushing toward the stairs.

This was turning into a fucking nightmare.

“Jamie!” Louis shouted again.

But Jamie kept running. Down another flight, around the corner, through the entrance and outside.

Cold January air struck his face, but Jamie barely felt it. His vision was blurred with tears, his cheek burned, and his chest hurt so badly that breathing had become almost impossible.

He didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t care. He just ran, with no idea which direction he’d originally come from. He didn’t look left or right. Paris became nothing but a blur of buildings, pavement, cars, voices, and noise around him.

“Jamie!” Louis’ scream came from somewhere behind him.

Jamie ran into the street.

Louis saw the truck first.

“JAMIE!”

The horn blasted through the narrow street.

Jamie turned his head, but it was too late. The truck was coming far too fast for the narrow Parisian road, its brakes screaming as the driver desperately tried to stop.

Louis was still running, Jacques appearing behind him.

“JAMIE!”

For a fraction of a second before the impact, Jamie saw the truck.

Then his body disappeared from Louis’ view, and Jamie’s world went dark.