I shove him and he falls backward onto the carpet, blood gushing from his nose as I go in for more. Bending down, I get one more smash to his jaw before she places her hand on my shoulder and soothingly whispers in my ear, asking me to stop, telling me he's not worth it.
My fight dies at the sound of her voice, carelessly flinging him down. Facing her, I worry there'll be disappointment or anger in her expression, but there's only love. Tenderly taking my hands, her fingers lightly graze over my abraded knuckles.
"Let's put something on this," she suggests, leading me away from the mess on the floor.
As I search for Anna to make sure she's okay, Tripp catches my eye, indicating he'll take her home. With a shared look and a nod, we leave.
The thought of being alone with Sweetness is pure bliss. All I want is to lose myself in her and forget about asshole Greg or psycho Franco. I'm going to park that for tomorrow and sink so hard and deep into my woman.
Now
Carys
STEPPING OUT OF THE cab with my mind on my bed, I misjudge the curb and falter. My vision swims with fatigue, my hand scrambling to hang on to the car door to steady myself.
I closed the bar tonight, and it was a later night than usual. Even though I only do it once a week, it always kicks my butt. I'm not as young as I used to be, and while thirty-two is still young, it's moments like these that are a glaring reminder that time is the enemy.
Just thinking about Evan brings home the full impact of that truth, all the wasted years, the countless times I let him make a sacrifice for noble but stupid reasons. I shudder at the many months, weeks, and days and what it would amount to. I want to stop the clock, take back the time we lost. It's fruitless, but something I wish for.
It's only been a few days since the confrontation with Greg and I haven't seen Evan since, but we talk daily. He's busy figuring out how to give Franco what he promised, so Anna will be free.
But he's told me that no matter what they do, he doesn't trust Franco and feels he'll double cross or renege on any deal they make. He's looking at this as a way to buy time. I only hope it works and no one gets hurt.
He's called a few times and tried to see me yesterday, but it didn't work out. Also, I'm still reeling from discovering that Greg used me. Putting aside how yucky and angry that makes me feel, I'm a hypocrite because on some level I used him, too. It just hurts to think all of it was a lie. It leaves me feeling dirty and incensed at how I'm partly to blame for how messed up everything turned out. If only I'd ended things months ago.
Greg's emphatic assertion - that he started out using me but his feelings grew and our relationship became more - doesn't help. He's supposed to have picked up his things from my place tonight while I was working. I hope all trace of him is gone. I don't want to speak to him ever again.
Stepping out of the elevator, I yawn, long and deep. Sleep is what I need. As I near my apartment door, a creepy chill skitters along my shoulders and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, akin to when you're being watched.
I examine the hallway ahead of me, then look back in the direction of the elevator, and I appear to be alone. The corridor is empty, silence my only companion.
Shaking off the eerie vibe, I unlock my door, and upon entering my place, I notice the air is stagnant and almost ominous. Without any tangible indication, my sixth sense tells me something's wrong.
///
Flicking on the light, I study my home. Nothing looks out of place-in fact, that's what's wrong. A stack of Greg's books remains on the coffee table and the garbage bag filled with his clothes is on the floor where I put it this morning before leaving for work.
He didn't come. I let out a frustrated puff of air as I stifle the urge to growl or scream. He was adamant about wanting to talk to me. Is this his way of making it happen? Of dragging things out?
If he thinks this will change my mind or he can orchestrate a run-in, it's not going to happen. We're over, and any explanation he has isn't going to change a thing. I don't care if he wants my forgiveness; there's nothing to forgive because he means nothing to me.
I toss my messenger bag and keys on the table, then my shoes come off and I head for the kitchen. Water, then bed. I can't wait. I quickly send Evan a one-word text to let him know I'm home.
Since the Franco incident, he has insisted on having someone follow me, but I flat out refused. Ry tried to reason with me too, and while I stood my ground, my brother has shown up at odd times the past few days. I know what he's doing, making sure I'm safe, but I just let it slide.