You were protecting yourself.
She's right. That's exactly what I’d been doing.
I drag myself off the floor and stumble to the living room, collapsing onto the couch that still smells like her. Like vanilla and that coconut shampoo she uses. I grab one of the throw pillows and press it against my face, breathing her in, and the pain in my chest owns me.
What have I done?
My phone pings in my pocket, and for one desperate second, I think it's Jade. That she's changed her mind, that she's coming back, that we can fix this?—
It's fucking Mila.
UNKNOWN: Are we still on for tomorrow?
Rage flows through me so fast, I nearly throw my phone across the room.
This is her fault. Her fucking texts and insinuations, her voice on the phone planting doubts in my head about what happened that night?—
No.
I stop myself, my hand shaking around the phone.
This isn't Mila's fault. Not really. She didn't force me to drink with her or make me follow her to her room. She didn't pry my lips open and kiss me.
I didallof that. Every choice, every lie—that was on me. Shame burns my cheeks.
And here I was, going to meet her for fuckingcoffee.
I hate myself.
I delete Mila's message, and then I block her number.
It should have been done two fucking weeks ago. The second I landed back in LA; I should have wiped her out of my life completely.
But I didn't, because I’m a fucking prick.
I need to talk to someone. Anyone. But who? Ross doesn't know the full story, and even if he did, he's not exactly equipped for marriage counseling. He’s only a colleague. My mom would be devastated—she loves Jade like a daughter.
I have fucking no one, and it’s my fault. I poured everything into my work and my wife, and now I’m regretting it.
What about Katrina?
I almost dismiss the thought immediately. Katrina fucking hates me right now, and rightfully so. She's Jade's best friend, her fierce protector. She'd sooner cut off my balls than listen to my side.
But she's also the only person who might help.
I pull up her number and call her, my heart thumping like it wants out.
She answers on the third ring.
"What do you want?" Her voice is icy.
"Is Jade there? Is she okay?"
"She's in my guest room crying her eyes out, so no, I wouldn't say she's okay."
Fuck. My poor baby.
"Katrina, please?—"
