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"Violet, I love—"
"Don't finish that sentence. It's only going to make this worse."
I believe that he loves me, even without him saying the words.
I thought that was enough.
But it's not.
I pull my blanket tighter. "I… I love you so much, Ethan. I was watching you at the show and my heart was so full it was ready to burst out of my chest. I could see all that happiness on your face. I could see that you were finally where you belonged. You love the stage. You love the guitar. You love Dangerous Noise. Don't you?"
"Yeah."
"I thought I was okay with that coming first. I thought I was okay knowing that music would always matter more to you than I did. But I'm not. I want you to look at me the way your friend Drew looks at his fiancée Kara. I want to trust you to keep your promises. I want to know that if you ever have to choose, you'll choose me."
He stares at me with all this hurt in his deep blue eyes.
The kettle whistles.
"I'll get that." Ethan pushes himself off the couch. He moves to the stovetop and makes me a cup of tea. He turns and presses his back against the counter. His eyes meet mine. They're still wracked with hurt.
But he says nothing.
I can only barely get the words out. "You're going to be late."
"Vi, I…"
He wants to fix this, but he can't. Neither of us can. He's got the love of his life and I'll never be able to compete with his guitar.
His eyes turn to the floor. "I'm sorry."
Then he goes to the door.
And the door is closed.
And he's gone.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Violet
Time slows to a crawl. The sheets smell like Ethan. The whole room smells like Ethan.
It's not fair that he occupies this much space in my mind. Dammit, I really thought things were different this time. He promised he'd make this work. He held me while I cried. He planned that whole trip back home, just to ease my pain.
Fuck, he held my hand while I got a tattoo.
I thought I wanted him to stitch together my broken heart. And he did. But then he tore it in half again.
I shower so I won't smell like him. The water is hot and it's pounding my back and the only thing I can think about is him holding me while I cried.
The tile wall is slick against my palm. I can't get a grip. All my ideas about spending a glorious half an hour in here with Ethan get ugly. I think about him in another shower, with another woman, stroking her and pinning her to the wall and driving his cock deep inside her.
Do I mean that little to him?
Right now, I don't know.
Right now, I don't know anything.
