Page 93 of My Unfinished Heart

“Good guess.”

She sighs heavily. “Next question, then. Are you in love with Tristan?”

I keep my mouth shut.

“Because I do know him. And I could tell you a few things, too. He has this tendency to leave his journal lying around, and he writes a lot…” When Jayne’s eyes narrow, it’s obvious to me she’s been waiting a long time for this opportunity. She thinks it’s leverage.

But I don’t want to know what’s in Tristan’s journal. I’m not exactly a saint. It’s not my place to judge what anyone does when I deliberately remove myself from their life. “Enough, Jayne. It doesn’t matter. What matters is I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Us. You living here. It’s not what I want anymore.”

She raises her eyebrows and rears her head back. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m serious. I’m sorry.”

“Wait—hold on. Don’t do this, Archer. You’re mad about the party—I get it. It was way too much, I just thought with West back—I mean it was mostly his idea⁠—”

Hearing that asshole’s name makes the hair on my arms stand up. I hold up a hand to stop her. “It isn’t about the party. It’s us, Jayne. This just—it isn’t what I want.”

“Look, you can have Liam—whoever the fuck he is. I don’t care. If you need that, then⁠—”

“I don’t. I don’t want him, either.”

“Then what the fuck do you want? Tristan?”

If it makes any difference, I hate myself for this. I hate myself for leading her on and ending things this way. I hate myself for keeping her around like I have—to fill a space she can’t possibly fill because it wasn’t meant for her. Closing my eyes, I shake my head, mostly in shame.

“You think he still could want you after what you did to him? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Those words hit right where it hurts the most. I don’t know what Jayne knows, but it’s more than I ever wanted her to know. I fucking hate her for prying. I hate her for knowing more about Tristan than I do. And I hate her more for keeping it from me. I hit back hard. “This isn’t about Tristan. This is about you and me. I don’t love you. I’m not ever going to.”

Her eyes fill with shock and hurt. “How is this happening?” she asks as tears gloss her eyes and spill over.

Watching her cry tends to make me weak, so I take a step toward her and rest a hand on her shoulder. Clean break, right? Rip the fucking Band Aid off.

“Do you have a place you can go, or do you want me to clear out for a few days while you figure something out?”

“What?” she cries. “Right now? You want me to leave right now?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers, her chin trembling.

The thing I understand about Jayne is she’s as manipulative as fuck. I can’t leave her a door or a window. I need to show her the tunnel. Her one way out. If I don’t, she’ll find another opening. It’s not like I’ve never had second thoughts about her and me before. “I never meant to hurt you⁠—”

“Shut up! You lying son of a bitch.” She stands and puts her face in my face. “You should know one thing about the little boy in that picture, Archer. When it comes down to you or Connor—and it will—he will always choose Connor. And then you won’t have shit.”

I’ve gotta hand it to Jayne. Volley, volley, miss, ace…

Deuce.

I spend the next few days in my studio over Strange Days. They all end the same, with me drunk and passed out. I’m dealing with Liam by not dealing with him. Doing the whole ghosting thing.

He’ll probably show up at the bar at some point, and I’ll thank him for his time. He doesn’t have expectations the way Jayne did. We have a sort of friendship, which I think will probably hold up without getting physical with each other. He’s not in love with me any more than I’m in love with him, we just have a mutual attraction and good chemistry. Liam didn’t care that I lived with a woman or had sex with her, either. I didn’t mind if he hooked up with other guys.

He never slept over or asked any more from me than I was willing to give. We only fucked once—a long time ago, and I remember it being good—too good. So good it brought up too much for me, and I didn’t want to do it anymore. We’d hang out. Kiss, blow each other, feel each other up, get off, and then he’d go home. He’s touchy-feely, overtly sexual. I’m a little harder to get going, but once I start, I don’t like to stop.