Dash sent him a puzzled look. “Hurt as in how?”
Jensen shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you not let her do this. Tell her I’m cleared out. Do whatever you have to. I’ll clean out my desk today. She can have my office or remain in hers.”
“Jesus Christ, am I even going to have a business after all this?” Dash demanded.
“I don’t give a fuck about the goddamn business,” Jensen growled. “All I care about is Kylie.”
Dash shook his head. “For someone who says he hurt her, I’d say you still care an awful lot about what she does.”
“Of course I care,” Jensen raged. “I love her. I’ll never goddamn love anyone else.”
“Then why the fuck are you here and not over there at her feet begging for forgiveness?” Dash roared back.
Jensen surged to his feet, planting his palms down on the desk. He leaned forward so he was eye to eye with Dash.
“Because some things are unforgivable,” Jensen choked out. “Some things can’t be taken back, can’t be redone. No matter if she forgives me—she likely would. I can’t forgive myself. Do you understand that?”
Dash sighed. “Yeah, man. I get that. But Jensen? Here’s a clue for you. You said you hurt her. What the hell do you think you’re doing now?”
Jensen sank back into his chair and ran a hand through his hair. God, he was so tired. He wanted one night where he wasn’t swallowed by the demons of his past. When he wasn’t seeing his hands around Kylie’s throat or hearing her calling his name.
He just wanted . . . peace. Was it too much to ask for?
But then how could he ever truly be at peace when the woman he loved was gone from his arms?
“Don’t let her quit, Dash,” Jensen said, his weariness evident in his every word. “Whatever you have to do in order to convince her. Do it. I’ll be out by the end of the day.”
TWENTY-NINE
KYLIE patiently sat and listened to the dozen voice mail messages from Chessy, Joss and Dash. She sipped the strong coffee as she sat in the small café in the neighborhood she was house hunting in.
Amazing how much more productive she was when she wasn’t shitfaced drunk from all the wine she’d consumed this week.
The lightbulb had gone on when she discovered she was completely out of wine. Then she’d surveyed the bottles littering her kitchen in disgust. Enough of that already. A week was long enough to wallow in her misery. It was time to get on with the rest of her life.
She cringed when she listened to Dash’s message. Jensen had cleared out his office and would be working out of another. Dash wanted Kylie to get her ass back to work and to call Joss before she lost her mind.
Guilt crept over her. She’d avoided her friends—everyone—for the entire week. She’d listened to the incessant ringing of the doorbell and the pounding. She bet the pounding came from Chessy. She was rather persistent when she put her mind to something. But the alcohol haze had made it impossible for her to do anything more than lie sprawled on her bed staring up at the ceiling, praying Joss and Chessy would give up and go away.
Though her house had gone on the market Monday, it wouldn’t start showing until the following Monday. That—and the realization of how much wine she’d consumed—had given her sufficient motivation to sober up and get her ass out of the house.
She listened to the rest of the messages but winced when she heard Joss begging her to call. There were tears in Joss’s voice. Dash would kill Kylie for upsetting Joss this way. And she couldn’t blame him.
She had to face them at some point. She couldn’t hide forever. Jensen wasn’t an integral component of her circle of friends. He’d mainly become a part through Kylie. So it wasn’t as if she had to worry about running across Jensen when she visited with her friends. She may have lost him, but she’d be damned if she lost her friends too.
Her head ached vilely, the result of all the wine she’d drunk. She could barely even remember the last five days.
What she wanted to do was run by the store, stock up on more wine and then retreat to her house and drink. A lot.
But what she needed to do was text Joss and Chessy and get it over with.
Sighing, she typed in a quick message to both.
I’m ready to come over and spill. Any chance wine could be involved?
She hit Send and set her phone back on the small table. She knew she looked like hell. She’d received more than one cursory stare by the other customers in the café. How was she supposed to look when she’d been dumped by the man she loved and then spent the rest of the week in an alcoholic stupor?