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“I don’t believe you. If you had, you couldn’t have done that to me. Either of you.”
“Holt. Please.” She grabbed my arm. “Give me another chance. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”
“I’m not a stand-in, Celia. I’m not giving you a second chance.”
“We deserve it.” Her nails dug into my forearm, and I shrugged her off.
“Love doesn’t look like this. I want more in life than a woman who plays with the emotions of men she supposedly loves for her own gain. I’m done.” I hadn’t been able to see that she hopped from man to man. I’d been blinded by what I thought we had. Baker had shown me what a relationship should be, even if that hadn’t ended well either.
“You love me.” She’d always known exactly how to play me.
“Yeah. But not enough to let you walk all over me anymore.” She reached for me again, but I stepped out of reach. “You should leave.”
My feet carried me toward my family, and I didn't look back. I pushed through the crowd and froze when hurt green eyes met mine.
Easy.
She clambered from her seat and rushed toward the door. Trish and Andrew looked around to see what had spooked her when they saw me.
Trish rushed after Baker while I stood there. Frozen between past and present.
Two worlds collided.
And I couldn’t move.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Baker
“Baker. Wait up.”
Trish grasped my hand just before I made it to the door.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m here for you, but I can’t stay.” My heart pounded against my ribcage, images of Holt and that woman from the picture assaulting me.
“You’re not going back to New York, are you?” she asked, panicked.
“No. I just . . . need to regroup.”
“I’ll go with you.”
I shook my head. “Stay. Everyone’s having a good time.”
“I’ll be worried about you.”
“And I’ll be fine.”
“Thought you weren’t coming until Friday?”
My breath caught when Holt appeared behind Trish.
“Want me to stay?” She touched my shoulder.
“We’re ready to call it a night.” Andrew led the rest of the group, who had their coats on before I could say anything to Holt. “The hotel is sending a car over.” His phone pinged with a text. “Here it is.”
Mr. Dixon patted Holt’s back. “You’re not driving are you, son?”
He turned red. “I, uh—I can get a cab.”
