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A private plane flew me back home, where I stayed locked up with bottles of whisky, bourbon, and anything spare left in my liquor cabinet. A quick email telling my parents I’m working from home got them off my back.
The pain came in waves. Anger, resentment, and grief—three very different emotions are wreaking havoc on my fragile ego.
Addison’s voice replays in my head like a broken record, unable to play anything else.
“We’re over.”
My jaw is still bruised from my brother’s retaliation, but the pain is nothing compared to the emptiness of Addison gone from my life.
So, I do what is necessary for such circumstances. I begin packing my things ready for my move to San Francisco.
The tedious task is mind-numbing and coupled with the lack of sleep and dark circles around my eyes—it’s better than being in the office and having to deal with people.
It’s late-night when there is a knock on my door. I half-expect it to be Mom or Ava—knowing those women are overbearing with the need to wrap me in cotton wool like I’m a goddamn baby.
Before I open the door, I inhale a breath then finally open it. My brother is standing on the other side with a slightly bruised nose, wearing his favorite jersey and a bottle of whisky in his hand.
“You look like shit,” he tells me.
“So do you,” I counter while turning my back and walking away from him. “Why are you here?”
“Waiting for my apology.”
I fold my arms beneath my chest. “You’ll be waiting a long time. It’s easier if you see yourself out.
Cruz ignores me, walking toward the kitchen and retrieving two glasses from the cupboard. He pours the whisky, leaving out the ice, then walks over and hands it to me.
“Drink,” he commands.
I drink it because it’ll temporarily numb the pain, not from his command.
Cruz scans the apartment, eyeing all the boxes stacked. “You’re moving?”
The warm liquor hits the back of my throat, but I continue to drink until the glass is empty. “Yes.”
“Do Mom and Dad know?”
“It’s their idea.”
“Where are you moving to?”
“San Francisco,” I answer flatly.
“I’m not going to apologize to you for punching your face. You deserved it after hitting mine. You won’t get an apology from me because I’ve done nothing wrong to you,” he states with confidence. “Addison is the person who deserves an apology. What I did to her was wrong. I crossed the boundary, and I hate myself for it.”
“I won’t argue that,” I mutter.
“Don’t do this to her.”
My head snaps as I glance at him with contempt. “I’m not good enough for her. So, before you want to place blame on me, I’ve done nothing wrong but fallen for a girl who doesn’t feel the same way.”
It pains me to even admit the truth to someone else, especially since I haven’t even accepted the truth myself.
“You’re a dick,” he shouts. “She fucking loves you. If you can stop acting like a self-entitled jerk, show her you fucking love her.”
I swallow the lump inside my throat, shutting my eyes with no strength to fight at this moment.
“She made her intentions clear,” I say in a low voice.
