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So I bit my tongue.
I kept the words in.
And we both fell into more awkward silence until, eventually, the stress and worry of the day, as well as the solid orgasms, caught up to me.
I passed out cold.
I woke up alone.
I tried like hell to tell myself that it didn’t bother me, that this was how it was supposed to be.
But I’d always been the one to leave first.
Somehow, that made it feel different.
Being the one left made this strange, uneasy feeling move through my belly, up through my chest, and wrap around my throat.
Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I let out a pathetic little whimper. Because it was just me. Because no one else would hear it.
Then I showered, dressed in the clothes from my weekend bag I always kept with me, did my hair and makeup, and checked out.
I didn’t go back to Shady Valley.
Some chickenshit part of me just wasn’t ready yet.
Instead, I took myself on a shopping spree I probably shouldn’t have, spending money meant for my “Get out of Dodge” fund if the shit ever truly hit the fan.
I took myself to lunch, then dinner, before I finally had no choice but to head back home for my shift.
There were no notes.
No flowers.
No boxes full of heroin.
Not for a few days.
Not even a couple of weeks.
But then, of course, there was.
And when I went to stash it with the others, well, I realized I had a huge, epic, fucking problem…
CHAPTER FIVE
Slash
No one had seen Erion since that night that Cillian told me about.
The optimistic side of me said that he probably saw there was nothing for him left in town and headed out to find some of his extended family in other areas of the country.
The thing was, my optimistic side was small. Fucking minuscule, even.
The other, more practical and pessimistic side of me thought that a man who’d been behind bars when his family had been slaughtered and locked up and chased out of town, wasn’t going to just walk away silently.
I damn sure knew I wouldn’t.
I would want to stay.
