Page 74 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

“But—”

He shuts the door, cutting off the flow of my words, and I watch as he rounds the hood and opens the driver’s side.

“Thorn,” I begin when he sits down and starts up the car.

“River,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair, exasperation lacing his tone. “Can we just not?”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Then…I just nod.

He backs out of the spot, drives us back to his apartment, and the silence grows heavier with every mile that passes.

It settles on my shoulders, sits on my lungs.

And by the time we’re riding up the elevator to his apartment, it’s stifling.

He disappears down the hall the moment we’re inside, and I stand in the entryway for a few minutes, trying to figure out what’s going on, to figure out the next steps I should take.

Obviously this is a stressful situation, and I feel awful for whatever part I’ve played in it.

But I don’t know what’s going on in his head.

Is he mad? Does he blame me? Is he scared? Does he need me?

Turns out I don’t need to sort out the answer to any of those questions. Because by the time I start moving—determined to ask him to explain, even if I have to bribe him with a dozen sugar cookies—he’s already coming back out…

With my suitcase held in his hand.

And I don’t know if it’s the expression on his face or the suitcase itself or the brutal, heavy silence, but I know.

It’s over.

Done.

He’s done with me. He’s had enough. He’s going to do anything and everything to push me away, to make sure I never get to the soft center of him.

And…I can’t fight for someone who won’t do the same for me.

Or maybe…it’s that I won’t.

Never again.

I grab my jacket from the coat rack by the door, shrug it on. “I’ll call an Uber,” I say, reaching for my phone.

His phone.

Right. Something else to put on my to do list—buy my own phone and return his.

He stills for a second, a flurry of emotions passing over his face. There’s pain and anger, resignation and resistance, worry and determination. But he just nods and says,

“Good. I’ll pack up the rest of your things.”

Twenty-Three

Thorn