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Obliteration.
Without even closing the door, my body starts moving on autopilot as tears drip down my face and onto the floor. One foot in front of the other, my feet take me to the elevator . . . which takes me to the lobby . . . and then I’m walking away. Away from the one person I thought was meant for me.
SHIT, THAT HURT!
“What the hell, Clay?” Rubbing my jaw, I lick my lip and taste blood. I can’t believe he just punched me. In all the years that we’ve been friends, we’ve never fought, and he’s never hit me.
Keeping my eyes on him, his nostrils are flared, his face is red, and he’s breathing hard. He’s really upset over this, whereas I’m silently panicking over Ava.
I don’t understand why she left. There was no note, no missed call, and no text—well except one from Juliet—but nothing from Ava.
Ava.
My face hardens as I stare at my best friend. Whatever. I can’t deal with this right now. He’s not ready to have this conversation with me, and I’m not ready to share. It doesn’t concern him anyway.
For almost twenty years, we’ve been friends, and just like that, a fissure splits into the core of us. He’s my family, and yeah, families get upset with each other, but to me, this is more. It’s more than that. At least I now know what he really thinks of me. All this time, I thought he’d be happy for Juliet and me. Guess I was wrong.
Without saying another word, I turn, leaving him standing in the living room, and walk back to my bathroom to grab a towel.
The front door slams and the silence resumes.
I’ve never been one to cry, but damn, if I sure don’t feel like it right now. To think I was so happy when I woke up.
Hands down, last night wasthebest night of my life.
Between the show and her, I’m not so sure it could ever get any better. Leaning against the counter and staring into the shower, images of us flash through my mind at a rapid pace.
Her smile, her touch, the willingness, the passion . . . I never expected her to be so responsive. It’s been so long since she’s allowed anyone to touch her, I was worried I would be too much for her. Nope. She wanted it just as much as I did.
Damn, I adore her.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips, perfect body that fits so well with mine. My heart squeezes in my chest and I slide my hand up to rub it. Between her, Clay, and Juliet, I’m at a loss and just dumbfounded.
Breathing deeply through my nose, it’s subtle, but the bathroom still smells like us, smells like her. I want to permanently fuse that smell into everything I own.
Squeezing the edge of the counter, I wrack my brain for what to do. I mean, what do Ido? Again, I don’t understand. The panic I’m feeling turns to worry. My jaw clenches and the muscles across my shoulders and neck tighten. Twisting my head back and forth, I flex them to try and dissolve the tension.
Did I do something or say something to upset her? Did I unknowingly hurt her? Sweat beads across my forehead, so I run the towel across my face. Taking in a few deep breaths, I need to calm my racing heart, pull myself together, and figure out what to do next.
There has to be an explanation. She owes me one after last night, and I’m going to get it, even if I have to track her down.
Walking back to the living room, I drop down on the couch, lean forward, and run my hands through my hair. I just don’t understand. She was fully invested in us last night, and I thought we had officially committed ourselves to being something more, something deeper. I know I felt it. And I for damn sure thought she did too.
Shaking my head, the more I think about it, the more I’m certain this doesn’t make any sense. Four hours ago, her head was on my chest, her arm was draped across my stomach, and she had completely tangled her legs with mine as she went to sleep. She was content, she was happy, and now suddenly she’s gone.
The panic I’m feeling borders a little on fury that she would leave without, one, saying goodbye or, two, confronting me if something happened. She’s not the type of girl to have a one-night stand and do the walk of shame. She’s also not the type of girl to stir up a bunch of unnecessary drama.
Picking up my phone, I hit her name, and it goes straight to voicemail.
Voicemail.
Dammit!
I HATE TECHNOLOGY.
If I’d never picked up his phone, I never would have seen her text, I never would have walked out, and I wouldn’t be reliving this heartache seven years later.
A stupid text message!
