Page 50 of The Mood Board

“Bailey?” I asked quietly, hoping against hope all she needed was reassurance.

“Liam, I can’t do this.”

The words were so quiet I almost couldn’t hear them, but they were still a shockwave that left me unable to think.

“What?” I finally managed, ice creeping through my veins.

“I can’t do this,” Bailey repeated, louder this time, as though trying even to convince herself.

“You can’t do what?”

I knew I didn’t want to hear what she had to say, but I had to—I had to know that what her expression told me, what my gut was telling me, wasn’t true.

It couldn’t be true.

“Liam, I can’t do this with you anymore. I can’t be with you anymore.”

For a heartbeat and then another, I couldn’t comprehend what Bailey said. I didn’t want to understand it because what she said made no sense. It was too terrible to consider.

It couldn’t be true.

“What?” I managed, stumbling over the words.

“Liam, I can’t be with you anymore.” Her voice cracked at the last words, and tears spilled from her eyes and tracked down her cheeks.

“Why not?” The ice was speeding through my veins, spreading numbness throughout my insides.

“The press is hounding me—I can’t go home without them following me. I can’t go to dinner or get coffee. It’s been a nightmare, and it’s starting to affect my business. I’ve had clients fire me because they didn’t want to be a part of the scandal or called for comment.”

The ice stole my breath, the numbness spreading to my mind until thinking was like wading through ocean waves.

“Bailey, please—” I managed, the words breathless, my hand still pressed against the glass as though that could somehow stop her words, hold back the inevitable from happening. “Please, don’t do this.”

Her face crumbled, and she buried it in a hand as her shoulders shook from sobs. Then she drew in a deep, ragged breath. “Liam, I have to. I know you don’t understand, but I have to.”

“No, you don’t.” I leaned forward and pressed my hand against the glass until it was painful. “This isn’t forever, Bailey. I’m sorry about the paparazzi, but this isn’t forever. They’ll forget about me.”

For a moment, it looked like Bailey might relent, but then she shook her head. “Liam, I have to.”

“No, Bailey, please. Please don’t do this.”

Desperation warred with the ice and the numbing nothingness. I wished I could break the glass, jump through, and hold her there until I could make her see how wrong she was. How much, how urgently, I needed her.

“I’m sorry, Liam. I love you, but I have to do this.” She met my gaze, her lips trembling as fresh tears poured down her face. “I hope someday you can forgive me.”

It couldn’t be true—I wasn’t going to believe it.

“No, Bailey, no. Please don’t do this. Bailey, please, please don’t. Bailey!” I pounded on the glass as she smashed the receiver down and pushed herself out of the chair, escaping through the door the guard held open for her.

“Bailey!” I shouted again and felt a hand at my elbow.

“That’s enough, Mr. Bradford.”

The guard had my arm in a tight grip, even as I pounded on the glass over and over. He yanked the receiver from my hand and hung it up before dragging me away.

I had stopped struggling when we left the visitation room, but only because it was futile. More than that, the numbness had spread to my entire body, and I didn’t have the energy to put up a fight—not in prison. I didn’t need that kind of trouble.

When the guard returned me to my cell, I collapsed onto my cot, still trying to make sense of what had just happened, even as my cellmate tried to pick up his interrupted conversation.