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“That’s not what I meant. I just—” He blew a slow breath out through his teeth then fixed his gaze on hers. “You will never be happy with that prick.”
Jane shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she muttered. Then she stopped and looked up at him, a frown pulling at her delicate features. “And how the hell was I punishingyou?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Jane.” She pursed her lips and shook her head, defiant to the end. Fine. He’d spell it out for her, then. “Every time you break up with someone, you rock up onmydoorstep, knowing full well I won’t turn you away. Why? Why is itmyshoulder you want to cry on,mybed you want to sleep in?”
“I recall you showing up on my doorstep a time or two as well, you know.”
“And yet you were still the first one out the door come morning.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I left you once, and only because I had no choice. You’ve left me so many times I’ve lost count. I’m done, Jane. I can’t—won’t—be your whipping boy anymore.”
Jane’s mouth flapped open, but for once she was silent. Rafe would have laughed had the situation not been so damned depressing.
He’d loved this woman once. Adored her. Worshipped her. Now all he felt in her presence was pain and loneliness. It was his own fault. He should have put an end to their trysts a long time ago, should have moved on, but—
No. No buts.
It was time to let her go.
He reached around her to unlock the bedroom door, then turned away to refill his glass. The door slammed shut as he slammed down the bourbon, the burn of the alcohol all too familiar on this disaster of a day.
Pouring another shot, he sighed quietly. “Goodbye, Janie.”
Chapter One
Melville’s Cross, August, the second-worst day of Jane Melville’s life.
“Jane,put the fork down and step away from the cake.”
Jane Melville glared at her best friend over the top of her not-wedding cake, silently daring her almost-maid-of-honour to try something foolish—like pry the triple-layer coconut cake from her cold, spinsterly hands.
The cake she’d worked on for the better part of two days.
It was a freaking culinary masterpiece.
And a colossal waste of fucking time.
She shoved another forkful in her mouth then pointed the utensil at the other woman.
“Back off, Bennett. It’s my non-reception, and I’ll pig out if I want to,” she said around the fluffy, coconutty goodness dissolving on her tongue. “Besides, I’m eating for two.”
Abbytskedand rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure gorging yourself on an entire wedding cake is exactly what the baby needs.”
“What would you know?”
If the stiffening of her best friend’s shoulders wasn’t enough to chastise her for such an insensitive comment, her quiet gasp and wide eyes were.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Abby said, smoothing the distraught look from her lovely face. But her words were stilted, her voice brittle as she absently smoothed her hand over her belly.
Abby couldn’t have kids, a point of contention that had contributed to her divorce several years before, and a constant source of heartache for the tender-hearted woman. Although, Jane had to admit, Abby was dealing with it much better these days. Now she had someone in her life who loved her unconditionally.
Unlike me.
Abandoned by her appetite, Jane pushed the cake away. “I’m sorry, Abbs. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Gracious as always, her friend laid a hand over hers and squeezed her fingers. “I know,” she said, then grinned. “But I’m still taking the cake.”
Jane snorted, her lips twitching into a short-lived smirk.
Watching as Abby removed the bride and groom from the top of the cake and hacked it to pieces, an air of detachment settled over her. It was no longer her wedding cake, just a pretty mess of flour and sugar and coconut cream.
