An ugly sound scraped up his throat. “It doesn’t matter if it’s real, or pretend, or a straight-up lie, it all ends the same. I go back to California tomorrow and I won’t be coming back.”
Right.
Okay.
I gathered myself, trying not to fall to pieces in front of him. I’d have plenty of time for that later.
I felt as if Sebastian had slapped me across the face. How ironic this blow hurt a million times worse than that jerk-of-a-kid who’d pushed me to the floor. Sebastian had been so inclined to save me then, yet he had no remorse in crushing me now.
With my head down, I crept around him, the heels of my boots much too loud against the wood, the hurt taking hold of me too much to bear.
I ducked under the end of the bar and grabbed my purse where it was stowed on one of the bottom shelves, and tried to keep it together when I slunk back out. My eyes glanced across that striking face, all hard lines and curves and scars, averting just as quickly to my feet. “Take me home,” I said through a pained whisper.
He strode across the huge room, eating up the floor like he couldn’t wait to escape, didn’t pause when he passed me by and headed down the dingy hallway.
Wearily, I glanced back at our booth, at the shards of glass scattered across the floor, at the table where he’d stolen another piece of me.
I’d clean up our mess tomorrow.
He said nothing as I followed him down the hall. Quickly, I locked the back door and got into his car.
Tonight was nothing like the night when he’d rescued me.
That night? My choice had been made.
And tonight, Sebastian had made his.
No words were said as he drove me home. He made no move when he pulled up at the curb. The heavy rumble of the idling engine was the only sound to break up the unbearable silence.
I didn’t look back as I wobbled up the walkway on my too-high boots and let myself into the quiet of my house. I climbed the stairs then fell face first into the unmade bed that still smelled like him.
Somehow I’d slipped—tripped—and had been foolish enough to think the dream could become ours. Conflict raged in me. The agony that ate me up with the feeling of being used, at odds with the need to cling to every memory Sebastian and I had made together. To cherish them like I’d promised I would—back when I was fool enough to think it would be enough.
I curled onto my side and hugged a pillow to my aching chest, breathing him in.
And I tried not to succumb to this broken heart.
“GOOD TO SEE THE FRESH AIR in Savannah was so good for your sour mood.” Anthony Di Pietro was all sarcastic brows and ridicule watching me slouched against the leather in the back seat of the town car.
“Just happy to be home,” I said just as hard, this unknown rage boiling in my blood, my anger stony and bristly and damned near out of control. My knee bounced in annoyance and aggression, my focus out the window at what seemed like a never-ending line of houses as we traveled down the narrow, winding road out of Hollywood Hills. The houses were interspersed with tall shrubs, floral trees, and the blurred line of palm trees.
Anthony propped up his elbow on the window seal, index finger at his temple to support his head as he shifted to get a better look at me. “If it’s even possible, you seem more bitter than normal.”
“Not possible.”
In frustration, he shook his head. “The second you stepped off that plane yesterday, I knew something was up. You need to let me in on what’s going on with you. You can’t go walking into this meeting with a chip on your shoulder. Right now, it’s time to play nice and you look like you’re ready to rip the face off the next person you see.”
I tugged at the tie that felt like a lasso around my neck.
Leading me off to the slaughter.
I’d been dreading this fucking mediation since the moment Anthony had convinced me to take part in it. Up until Tuesday night, I’d had every intention of coming here, then turning right back around and hauling ass straight back to Savannah. It’s what’d kept me sane. I’d planned on letting Shea know I had to return to California to take care of some business, no doubt giving her some more of the bullshit answers I’d fed her when she’d asked questions.
And the girl had always just swallowed them. Not because she was naive or half-witted or dumb. But because she respected me, accepted what I would give.
Those quick flashes of truth and touches we’d lived on had been enough to sustain her.
Not anymore.
Because those flickers had caused that sweet girl to fall, and continuing to string her along would be about the most selfish thing I could do.
So I severed it.
Cut her free.
No longer could I handle that storm in her eyes. Couldn’t keep ignoring that feeling I saw in them every time I looked at her. Every time I touched her. The way the feeling swelled—stretching out for me—begging me back with all that hope and beauty and belief.