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“Fuck you,” I hiss, walking away.
“Callie, stop. You don’t understand. I have no idea who that girl was—”
“Stop! Oh my god! Stop! You fucking asshole!” Tears race down my cheeks. This isn't happening. Please let this be a bad dream. “I just caught you. Like, holy shit, I just caught you cheating on me.”
“Babe, no—”
“You piece of shit!” My fists slam into his chest over and over until I lose my battle and break down. “How could you?”
“I didn’t. I just walked in—”
I push him off me. “We’re done. You hear me, Easton Cruz? We. Are. Done!” He grabs me, but I panic and yell to the guy walking past, “Help. Please, help me. I don’t know this guy, and he’s harassing me.”
“Seriously?” Easton looks at me, shocked.
“Back off, man.”
“Don’t fucking touch me. She’s my girlfriend—”
“I am not. I’m nothing to him.” Then I take off running, hearing him scream my name as I go.
***
I lock myself in Easton’s room. Ditching the glass, I take a deep pull from the bottle. I keep myself busy by snooping through his things. It seems he’s become a minimalist in the past couple of years because there’s nothing of sentimental value in his drawers or nightstand.
I smell his shirts and help myself to a pair of sweatpants. In the closet, I notice a small shoebox in the corner, hidden behind a pile of boots. I pull it out, sit with my legs crossed, and pop off the top of the box. My lips part, and I suck in a sharp breath. I reach down and pick up the first photo. It’s Easton and me on our second date. He took me to a concert, and I remember forcing him into the photo booth. I told him the best memories are the ones captured in a retro picture machine. Beneath that is a pile of photos. All of me. Of us. I pull out the stack of cards I gave him. Love letters that I wrote to him.
My chest tightens at the two printed tickets I never used. I must have dropped them that day when I walked in. Two tickets to Raging Against the Machine. Still intact. Why has he kept all these things? I shouldn’t be going through this. It feels wrong. I return the photos to the box when something else catches my attention.
A small black box.
Cautiously, I reach for it and pick it up, but something stops me from opening it. Like whatever’s inside will wreck me all over again or destroy whatever healing I’ve achieved up to this point. I put it back and shove the box back where I found it, hurrying out of his closet to find where I left the bottle of wine.
Why does he have that? I tip the bottle back. I haven’t seen many, but if I were a betting woman, I would say that was an engagement ring. But for who? Once upon a time, I would have thought it would be me. But nope.
Chug.Definitely not me.
Chug.Definitely never me.
God, I hate him.
I take one final chug, fall onto the bed, and bawl my eyes out.
***
Easton
I toss and turn on the couch and cover my face with a pillow, but nothing muffles the sound of her crying. She’s been at it for hours. At first, I sat and drank my bourbon, refusing to care. I wasn’t the only one to blame here. And until she realized that, I wasn’t giving in. She wronged me, too. She’s just not admitting it because she thinks I don’t know.
But the more the crying went on, the more it dug at my heart. I hate hearing her cry. It’s always been my weakness. I would slay anyone who made her upset. And to know, at this moment, that person is me weighs heavily on my conscience.
I turn over again, but it’s no use. I can’t take it anymore. Getting up, I prowl down the hall and open the door without knocking. It’s dark in the room, but I can see the silhouette of her lying on her side. Without permission, I crawl onto the bed behind her.
I pull her body into mine, her shoulders still quivering, and I fucking hate every second of it. I nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry. I never want to be the reason you’re upset.” Her body shakes, and I tug her closer, pressing my mouth to her shoulder blade. “Please don’t cry. It kills me when you cry.” I grab her hip, encouraging her to face me. She’s hesitant at first.
“Please. . . I need to see your face.” She shifts, and my heart stops when I lock eyes with her. God, she’s so beautiful. “I’m sorry. For everything. For ever hurting you.” I cup her face, rubbing my thumb against her wet cheeks. “I love you, Cal. I’ve only ever loved you. I’ve never stopped.”
Her chest is wracked with sobs, and I pull her closer and hold her while she cries. “I love you.” I kiss her nose, then her cheek. “I love you, Cal. Do you hear me?” I kiss her temple and brow. I wish I could siphon all the sadness out of her. Take her pain and make it mine. No matter how bad it’s been for me, I’ve never wanted her to suffer.
