Taking What's His(49)

So…he had to strike first, and hard enough to hurt her more than he’d ever hurt anyone before. Hard enough to make her forget all about him, even though he’d never forget about her in a million years. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Good luck.”

As he walked out, he focused on the elevators. He had to do this, no matter how much it might hurt. He jabbed the down button, pulled out his phone, and swiped his finger across the screen. Lydia’s latest message popped up. Good luck.

Swallowing hard, he started typing. Didn’t tell him. Changed my mind. I think we should be done now. Quit while the going’s good. It’s over. The feeling is gone.

The elevator doors opened, and he lifted his head.

Standing there, looking fresher than the pure fallen snow on the winter ground, was Lydia. She wore a green dress that hugged her curves, and a pair of boots that hit right below the knee. Her strawberry blonde hair was down, falling in soft waves around her face. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

And he was going to break her heart.

When she saw him, a big smile broke out across her face. “Hey! How did it go?”

“It…” He tightened his hand on his phone, words failing him. For once, it wasn’t because of his fucked up brain. It was because he had no idea how to tell her he didn’t want to be with her, when he really fucking did. “It…it didn’t go.”

“What?” She blinked, the smile fading away slowly. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed hard. “I changed my mind. We’re—”

“It’s about damn time.” Steven came up behind him, grabbed Lydia’s wrist, and hauled her out of the elevator. “You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

Lydia didn’t answer him. Instead, she stared at Holt, who couldn’t look at her. But he could feel her eyes on him. Her phone dinged, and he flinched.

It would be the message he’d sent seconds before the doors opened.

She fought Steven’s hold, stopping right next to Holt. “What’s—?”

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Holt said at the same time.

“Thanks, man,” Steven said.

Lydia blinked. “What’s going on here? Holt?”

“Why do you keep asking him? He has nothing to do with you giving up your life for some fucking idiot.” Steven tried to tug her toward his office, but she didn’t budge. Instead, she glanced down at her phone…and made a broken sound. “Lyd, stop delaying and come on.”

“Oh…” she whispered. “It’s gone?”

“Yeah.” Holt finally looked at her. He locked gazes with her, his chest hollowing out at the confusion, and yes, pain, in her eyes. “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” Steven frowned. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Holt said quickly, turning away from Lydia. He couldn’t stand seeing her in pain—and knowing he’d been the one to cause it. “Absolutely nothing.”

Lydia flinched. “Obviously.”

“What the hell is going on?” Steven looked even more confused. “Is there something I need to know? Do you know who the guy is, Holt?”

It’s me. I’m the fucking guy. Open your eyes.

“No. Why would he know? It’s not like we’re friends or anything,” Lydia said flatly, stepping back from Holt and tilting her chin up. That one tiny step hurt more than it should have, but it was his damn fault. He never should have fallen so hard, so fast. It had been idiotic. “Let’s go. I’m ready for our talk now.”

She grabbed Steven’s hand and tugged him toward the office. Steven, for his part, looked as if he might finally be figuring something out…but then he shook his head and followed his sister. “Did you two get in a fight when he took you home?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “You’d have to be friends with someone to fight with them, or care. He’s nothing to me, and I’m nothing to him.”

That’s not true. None of this is true.

Holt took a step forward. But if he wanted to set her free, then this was the only way to do it. He knew how stubborn she was. If she thought there was even a slight chance that he might be lying…she wouldn’t go.

And she needed to fucking go.

…

Less than two hours later, a knock sounded on his door. He knew, without looking, who it was going to be. It would be Lydia. He almost didn’t answer it, knowing that. But in some masochistic way, he wanted to go through this. Wanted her to yell at him, and tell her how much she hated him. He needed it.

Deserved it.

And then she’d leave him, and he’d never see her again. Or maybe he’d catch glimpses of her here and there, and she’d have a husband at her side. And a cute horde of strawberry-blonde-haired babies. And she’d be so fucking happy, while he…