Cracking open my eyes, I moan miserably.
I look around my room. How the hell did I get here? The last thing I remember is sitting at a table at the Wolf’s Moon drinking my sorrows away.
My gaze lands on my nightstand where a tall, sparkling glass of ice water and three pain relievers sit. I swallow them down with one gulp. The water extinguishing the burning thirst scratching my throat.
The faint sound of music plays behind my bedroom door. I slowly slide out of bed to investigate, my head spinning like a top.
“Oh.” I sway on my feet. “Fucking tequila.”
I shuffle out of my room and down the hall into the kitchen. I find Tate standing at the stove, The Chainsmokers singing about Paris playing from his phone.
“Mornin’, sunshine.” He smiles obnoxiously as bacon sizzles in a pan.
I grunt.
“Ready for breakfast?” He shows me the scrambled eggs he’s making.
I cover my mouth, my stomach turning. “Nope.”
His smile fades. “Just toast, then?”
“Just nothing.” I hold up a hand. “I don’t think I can keep anything down.”
“Ahh, Jose Cuervo’s revenge.” He’s way too chipper this early in the morning.
“It’s vengeful all right.” I rub my temples.
“You remember anything from last night?” Tate asks nonchalantly as he pushes the eggs around with the spatula.
“Nothing.”Everything. One look at him and it all came rushing back to me. All the terrible, vile, indecent little details. His rejection. That memory is the worst. My stomach roils from embarrassment, instead of the queasiness this time.
He just nods. I want to scream. There’s a pain in my chest, and it’s from more than one loss. It’s from two. One I had no control over, the other I could have prevented. They hurt equally the same. I wrap my arms around myself, sorrow crashing over me like an unexpected wave.
“Dove, are you all right?” Tate sounds genuinely concerned. It annoys the shit out of me. Why is he here? Why is he even wasting his time? He should be with Stefania.
“Fine. I’m going back to bed. You don’t have to clean up. Lock the door on your way out.”
“You kicking me to the curb?”
I turn just in time to hide the hurt on my face. I suck in a deep breath to steady my shaky voice because tears are threatening.
If I answer honestly, the response would be no. It would be stay and come to bed with me. It would be stop fucking around with Stefania because you were mine first.
I bite my lip until it hurts. That’s not my response, though. My response is “Yup.”
I slam the bedroom door behind me and fall face first onto my pillow. I don’t want him to hear me cry. I don’t want him to know I’m broken. I just want him to leave. No, I want him to stay. No, I don’t know what the fuck I want. I just want to stop hurting, all the damn time. I can kill a man in cold blood, but I can’t warm up to the man I want. The man I’m drawn to, the one I burn for.
I can’t trust.
Therefore, I’m broken.
All I keep thinking about is the damn song the mariachis sang that night in New Mexico. The one about the man who lies to all his friends about the woman he doesn’t love anymore. But who he’s really lying to is himself. Because he does love her. More than anything, but he can only admit it to her.
It's not exactly my situation, but it’s close. I have feelings for Tate, but I can’t admit it to him or myself. And now, he’s gone. Figuratively, anyway, and I only have myself to blame.
“Dove.” Tate knocks on my bedroom door.
“Please just go away.” My words are muffled.
