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What? How did he—? “You want to see other people?”
“No. I want you to see other people.”
I shook my head. “What about you?”
“I don’t want to see anyone.”
Something about the way he said it made my anger soften for a moment. “Quinn,” I said, lowering my voice. “You need help.”
“And you need more than I can give you.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “All I want is you, just as you are.”
He cleared his throat and wiped a napkin across his lips. “Like I said, that’s more than I’m prepared to give.”
“Well,” I said, hoping sarcasm could hold back my tears. “Speaking of fun—” I went to the counter and brought over the small white pastry box I’d picked up on my pizza run. “These are for you.”
His eyes widened as I set the box down. “What is it?”
“Dessert,” I said, turning on my heels and making a beeline for my room.
“Where are you going?” he asked as I swung my door open.
I turned to look at him, sitting there without so much as a bead of sweat on his brow, as if tearing my heart out was all in a day’s work. “I’m full,” I said before slamming my door shut.
Full of hurt. Full of pain.
Full of disappointment.
