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The movie starts playing, filling the room with a whirlwind of sound and distraction. Yet no matter how many explosions burst across the screen, it doesn’t take my focus away from the time.
Conscious that it’s crawling forward.
That six o’clock is coming at us.
That Ryan hasn’t rung.
I thought I knew him well enough to predict how this would go. I assumed the bastard had some semblance of a heart and would want to do the right thing by Cheryl. But his lack of response makes me question everything. I steal another glance at Amber. He wouldn't just leave her with someone as dangerous as me, would he? Knowing full well the harm she could be in? Right?
Amber’s shoulders hunch in around herself. Her head ducks down.
As if she’s wondering the very same questions.
Her tears burst out of her like a storm, furious and tumultuous, and the sound hits me like a punch to the gut. Without hesitation, I encircle her trembling frame, drawing her close to me, trying not to notice how perfectly our bodies align.
“Shh,” I murmur, stroking her hair even as I wonder what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t get to comfort her.
I’m the one who put her in this situation.
To my surprise, Amber leans into my embrace, her tears flowing freely now. The sound of her sobs fills the room, blending with the movie's audio. I hold her close, offering whatever solace I can considering I’m the source of her pain.
I sigh, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I know I've dragged you into this mess, and I don't expect my apology to fix anything, but..." I pause, the weight of my admission hanging in the air. “I'm sorry.”
Amber collects herself, sniffles, then looks up at with tears darkening her lashes. "I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she whispers.
My stomach clenches. I never intended on this causing her so much pain. I never intended on caring that it would…
Her hands twist in my shirt. “He’s not coming for me,” she says, her voice breaking as the words come out as a statement rather than a question.
I blink, drawing her face in my chest. She’s hurting because Ryan didn’t pay up. And she’s being comforted byme.
“He’s probably making me wait till the last minute,” I say roughly, realizing in some twisted way, Amber’s also now invested in this payout. I resist the urge to wipe my hand down my face. Everything is getting more fucked up than I intended.
Amber doesn’t answer, and my phone buzzes, interrupting the stillness. Reluctantly, I reach for the device in my pocket, conscious it’s six o’clock. I glance at the screen to read the text message. It's from Ryan.
Keep the leftovers. You won’t see a cent out of me.
The anger within me flares up like an inferno, tightening every muscle in my body. I feel the heat rising, threatening to burst from my chest. My fists clench involuntarily, and my jaw tightens as I suppress the scathing words that burn my lips. The overwhelming urge to lash out, to release my pent-up frustration, becomes almost unbearable.
The thought of my sister, confined to a wheelchair and barely living above the poverty line, only fuels my anger. Ryan did this to her.
And he’s refusing to take responsibility.
Amber grabs my phone and reads the screen before I can tuck it away again. She stares at it for long seconds before looking up at me.
"He never really cared, did he?" she says, her words laced with a tinge of bitterness. "I feel so foolish, just realizing it now."
I swallow down the rage. I can't let it consume me. Not now, not in front of Amber. She's already endured enough from both Ryan and me. So I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, grounding myself in the reality of the situation, determined to maintain my composure.
I remain silent, acknowledging that Ryan's true colors have been revealed. It's clear that his selfishness extends far beyond what I initially calculated.
And Amber no longer needs to be the collateral damage.
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks—I can no longer keep her by my side. It would be absurd to even consider it. Ryan has shown no interest in her, making any threats related to her futile. It’s time to let her go, to release her from the clutches of the influence of a man who never valued her the way she deserved.
As the weight of this decision settles upon me, a bittersweet sense of liberation washes over. I push to my feet, locking eyes with her. "The bastard never deserved you, Amber," I say, suppressing my emotions as I do the only thing left. I deserve her even less. "You’re free to leave."
I watch as her eyes widen, processing my words.
