Part 1 of the Steele Forsaken Series.

Chronicles the four months between Steele of Approval and Steele Searching.

For the most effective reading, my work should be read in chronological order as many of my one off's are spun into the history of the characters later on down the line. The chronological order of what I've written to date are as follows:

Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On
Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)
Steele Forsaken (Pt 1 of the Steele Forsaken Series)
Steele Mending (Pt 2 of the Steele Forsaken Series)
Steele Working out the Details (Pt 3 of the Steele Forsaken Series)
Steele Settling In (Pt 4 of the Steele Forsaken Series)
Steele Finding Comfort
Steele Holting on To Christmas (Pt 1 of the Steele Holting on To the Holidays Series)
Steele Holting on To The Holidays (Pt 2 of the Steele Holting on to the Holidays Series)
Holting on to the Moments
Steele Cold Relief
Steele Cloned
Steele Hurdling Obstacles
Steeling the Big Apple
Steele Dying to Get it Right
Holting Steele (Pt 1 of the Be Steele My Heart Series)
Be Steele My Heart (Pt 2 of the Be Steele My Heart Series)
Steele Pursued (Pt 1 of the Steele Tested)

Standard Disclaimers apply: I hold no ownership or rights to the series or characters. I simply choose to borrow the characters I love to write.

Chapter 1: What Was There Left To Say?

He left that fateful night, without a word, a letter, a collect phone call. The only contact he'd made, if one could call it that, was when he'd mailed the Agency's restored license to her on his way back to his flat from LAX.

The only thing he'd written then was the Agency's address on the envelope. What was there left to say?

She'd ended them again, stunning him. Only a couple nights before, they'd been curled up on the couch at his flat together, watching Dark Victory (Bette Davis, George Brent, Humphrey Bogart, Warner Bros., 1939). The evening had been filled with tender kisses, soft touches, quiet words. Tucked behind her on the couch, arm wrapped around her waist, her head nestled on his arm, he'd been so utterly… content… that it had been he, for a change, that had dozed, waking only when she extracted herself from his arms and leaned down to press her lips against his cheek, bidding him a good night. He'd slept on the couch that evening, where her scent still lingered, where he imagined he could still feel her warmth, wishing that it was she still near instead of only the memory of her.

What was there left to say?

He'd thought to fight back this time, unlike after her decision in Cannes when he'd gone along with blithely with her decision even as his heart ached, even as he knew he'd wait her out until she came around. He'd considered it his just desserts at the time, for what he'd done, and had had little choice but to wait her out, hope that she'd rescind her edict. She'd at least left the door cracked open by recognizing the value of their partnership.

But this time? She'd disengaged wholly from him. The finality of her decision was there on her face, in those lovely brown eyes, in the flatness of her normally lilting voice. He'd been only able to sit and watch as everything he'd come to cherish in his life imploded. Partner? Gone. Dearest friend? Gone. The woman his heart had pined for the last three years? Gone. A career he took pride in? Gone. All in the few moments it had taken her to utter the words, lifelessly, as though they'd cost her nothing even as they'd cost him everything.

"All I'm suggesting is that maybe we take some time, think about it for a while. That's all."

What was there left to say?

She'd obliterated him, then had stood and with the grace that had enthralled him for years, left his flat without another word spoken, without a single glance back. He'd sat frozen in the same place on the couch trying to figure out what had happened. How? Why? The only thing that came to mind was the loss of the Agency license, for which she held him to blame. Nearly an hour had passed before the realization came to him. In restoring the license to her, perhaps he could set this right. But he knew above all else two things: Firstly, he could not withstand another four months of strain between them, four more months of having her near but only able to draw her close when he dared to step across the line; and, secondly, this time he wouldn't simply accept it for fear of her outright banishing him – no, this time, he'd fight. But in the end…

What was there left to say?

He'd done as he'd planned, through threats and intimidation the Agency's license had been restored and placed in his hand before he left the Bureau offices. He'd gone directly to the office, knowing all too well that she buried herself in her work in times of upheaval. He'd even attributed her that: despite how it had appeared, she would be troubled as well. The light in her office blazed bright from the street below. He'd been surprised to find the door locked, even more surprised to find her not there. Even more stunning was the hastily scrawled note he'd found on her desk: Mexico City, Flight 1429, 8:30 PM, Gate 21. His mind had fumbled. She? Running? He'd left in pursuit of her, thinking to tell her…

What was there left to say?

He'd watched the last of his hope crumble, one piece at a time, as he stood in the departure lounge at LAX. First he boarded. Even as the thought had crossed his mind, he'd dismissed it. No, not her. She would never do this, not this of all things. He'd clung to that thought as though it were a lifeline, even as he scanned the breezeway for her. He found her, thought to call out. Noted her bag. Stood silent. Watched as she boarded the plane behind the man she'd met a mere forty-eight hours before, at best. Heard his heart, his faith, his trust, shatter like Waterford crystal tossed into a fireplace.

What was there left to say?

For three years he'd stayed for the dream of her. For three years he'd waited to finally know her in the purest of all forms. For three years, he'd cast aside his former ways, choosing, instead, long, lonely nights filled with nothing more than the memory of the last time her lips had been beneath his, the last time he'd tasted her, felt her in his arms. For three years, he'd devoted his time to changing into the man she needed him to be. For three years he'd waited her out, giving the time she needed to get past her fears, her inhibitions. In less than three minutes, she'd made it clear, all he'd done was still not enough. Then, less than three hours later, she'd destroyed everything he'd ever believed of her.

What was there left to say?

Turning to look out the window of the plane, he watched the lights of LA fading into darkness, and began trying to obliterate his memories of her.