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And it didn’t make one bit of difference.
He pauses, and I would be lying if I said that a blip of hope didn’t bloom in my belly, my heart, my soul.
But that pause is a fraction of a second.
Then it’s gone.
Just like him.
And then…
I’m alone.
Just like normal.
“Why?” I whisper once he’s long gone. “Why did you stop loving me?”
Thirteen
Stefan
“Why did you stop loving me?”
I heard those words all fucking night.
Interspersed with dreams about the slick heat of Brit’s cunt, with the sounds of her moans, with the way she cried out my name.
A decade of her in my arms, my bed, my dreams.
But it was the first time those memories had become a nightmare.
I groan and shove myself out of bed, knowing that I slept for a collective hour, that I would likely feel more refreshed if I had just pulled an all-nighter like my (much) younger days.
Unfortunately, that’s not what I did.
Unfortunately, I did a lot of dumb fucking things last night.
And I still have to meet my parents and Rox for breakfast at Molly’s.
Something that will likely happen soon because my daughter is an early riser and my parents—my blissfully happily married parents (which is a mindfuck and a half)—are more than happy to oblige her in that.
I’ll be getting a call within the hour to meet them.
And I’ll be glad for it.
Because it’s got to be better than sitting here and remembering what a fucking moron I am.
Remembering how much Brit has got to hate me.
Remembering—
I’m so lost in my own head that I almost miss the soft knock at the door.
But it catches on the edges of my hearing and it’s enough for my swirling thoughts to halt for a moment, for relief to cascade through me.
I don’t care if it’s a former teammate or my parents back early to kidnap me for Molly’s or a kid selling wrapping paper or someone trying to convince me that their newest type of carpet cleaner is the best.
It’s a distraction from my dumbass brain, from my dumbass actions.
