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My shoulders slump, all conditioning and training to school my emotions gone as I make my way back into the house. I walk past Flynn’s replacement, eyes straight ahead and ascend the stairs.
Tears are falling, rolling hotly down my cheeks by the time I make it to my bedroom door. The sobbing comes the second I fall onto my comforter. The numbness fades away after a few seconds, unleashing a torrent of pain.
Used.
Something I never thought I’d feel where he was concerned.
He knows how people treat me. I’ve whispered the confessions more than once, confessed how disposable I feel with my own parents, with the people I can’t really call my friends.
He was well aware of all those things, and he still walked out without looking back. It feels like a great big fuck you, a middle finger and the last word to an argument I didn’t even know we were having, punishment for all the times I snuck out and challenged him.
What I thought was the beginning of something amazing was just his final kiss my ass.
Tears fall, my makeup from last night staining my stark white sheets.
I don’t know how long I let the pain dig its way into my bones, but it’s dark outside by the time I crawl out of bed. I hate him. Hate the way I feel. Hate the thought of his name, but it doesn’t keep me from crying again as I climb in the shower and wash the scent of him from my skin.Chapter 25Flynn
When Wren walks into my office two days later and slaps a fucking tabloid on my desk, it isn’t the sight of me leaving that fucking hotel like a thief in the night that draws my attention. It isn’t the fact that the sun hadn’t even crested the horizon or the caption declaring Remington Blair: Did She Use Protection with Her Protector?
All of that is concerning, making my chest hurt and fists clench.
What keeps my head lowered, eyes focused on the rag in front of me is the second picture, the one of Remington walking out of the hotel with her head up, shoes from the previous night in her fist. I’ve seen that stubborn look on her face more than once. I’ve been a witness to the strength in her spine. She has the same stature when her parents walk past her without acknowledgment, when she’s feeling like she’s facing the world alone.
Only it wasn’t her parents or her shitty friends that put her in that position two mornings ago. I did that. I’m responsible for the stiffness in her shoulder, and the pink on her cheeks that’s holding back a dam of emotions.
“He wants to see you,” Wren says on a sigh.
I don’t bother looking up or moving. I knew this was coming. Deacon was on a long weekend with his wife, Anna, when the team returned on Sunday. It was only a matter of time before getting my ass chewed out by the boss.
“He said now,” Wren says, a look of concern on his face when we meet eyes. “Sorry, man.”
He walks away, shoulders slumped as if he’s just given me disastrous news.
I follow him out of the office, turning left when he goes right in the direction of his own space. I’m numb to all of it at this point, knowing nothing can make me feel worse. Walking away was nearly impossible. Even as explosive as we were together, Remington and I come from completely different worlds. I live in a two-bedroom condo. She lives in a mansion worth more than a small country. I work more than I sleep or play. She lounges by the pool and gets bi-weekly pedicures.
We just don’t mix. Passion is only a part of the equation, and even though we have that in spades, everything else will just get in the way of that.
“Fuck,” I grunt, covering my eyes when I open Deacon’s door without knocking. Seeing his wife straddling his lap while they make out like teenagers is the very last thing I wanted to see. I turn around. “I’ll come back.”
“Stay,” my boss snaps. I freeze but keep my back to them as they whisper goodbyes so sickly sweet, I may end up losing the coffee I’ve been living on for the last forty-eight hours.
Anna pats me on the back as she slips past me, her face a sad contradiction to the situation she just left with her husband. Oh, this is bad if she’s feeling sorry for me.
When Anna closes the door behind her, I face Deacon, falling into the chair across from him. I’d rather be sitting for the kick in the nuts.
“God, I love that woman,” he sighs, his eyes planted across the room where Anna just exited.
“Cool.” It’s the most I can manage.
