Scoring the Billionaire(41)

"Winnie."

"What this, Wes? What exactly can you not do?" I asked, the tether to my control fraying one tiny piece of rope at a time.

An unsinkable ship, they'd said about Titanic, and after the last couple  of months, I would have thought the same for Wes and me. But just like  on that cold night in April of 1912, the words stood out like stars in  an unobstructed sky. This ship will sink.

And in the context of Wes's deceivingly simple phrasing, I was now a  this. A sad, four-letter word backed by zero emotion or meaning.

Me and Lex were just a this. A small little blip in Wes's relationship  history, and now, he had decided he was done with us. We were  disposable. Sure, we'd lasted the longest of anyone he'd ever made a go  of it with, but what the fuck good did that do us?

We were more attached, more hopeful, and in the end, still all alone.

All alone.

I wasn't sure which was harder, letting those words sink all the way in, or forcing my lungs to breathe air in and out.

He only gave the slightest of nods. He could tell by the look on my  face, I already knew what this was about. "This. Me and you. I can't do  it."

All of this time, I had been feeling so much guilt and shame over the  little voice in my head warning me of Wes's past. I'd felt fucking  awful, actually nauseated I was so disgusted with myself, that I was  even contemplating thinking the worst of him, and now … he was proving all  that goddamn ugliness inside me right.

I was very likely going to be cynical and alone for the rest of my life.  Too jaded by the jilting of two goddamn men, and I fucking hated them  for it.

Wes, as he stood staring holes into my head, most of all, because he'd  shown me what it was like to have everything and had then taken it away.  At least Nick had never bothered.

I couldn't find the strength to search his eyes. Honestly, I didn't want  to see what was in them. I feared it would only cause me more pain, and  maybe even worse, more hope for him to crush. Because he'd looked like  he was hurting just as much as I was, not like a smug playboy who'd  gotten his fill, and as he'd already taught me, kindness before torture  was worse than torture all the way through.

I looked out toward the street and focused my gaze on the streetlight  illuminating half the block as my mind spun in erratic circles.

This man, with whom I knew I was without a doubt in love, was telling me  he couldn't do it. This man, whom I'd let fully into my life, into my  world, into my daughter's heart, was turning his back on not only me,  but her, too.

I clutched at my chest with both hands in a pathetic attempt to ease the  discomfort. Or maybe I was just trying to prevent myself from bleeding  out from the wounds his words had caused because any good doctor knew  they needed pressure to stanch the flow.

Eventually, the effort to look away seemed to be greater than looking at  him. I couldn't not look at him anymore. Because, as much as I  theorized in my head, I didn't have any real answers. And that left me  baffled and confused and so fucking hurt. God, I hurt.

I glanced down at my skin, my clothing, convinced the evidence of my  agony was splattered across my hands, my shirt, in bright, red, dripping  splotches.

But no, it would've been too easy to see exactly where Wes had cut me.  Because then, I could've fixed it. Sewn myself back together.

This was internal. My heart.

Thoughts spiraling, I fell into a nose dive again, picturing the certain death of any chance of a romantic future.

How in the hell could I let any man into my life after this?         

     



 

Not only was he hurting me, he was hurting that adorable little  six-year-old inside my house. And two cycles of paternal pain for her  made two times too many.



Love goes both ways, but in this moment, Love is a one-way street, headed in the opposite direction of me.



Now, I had to try to find a way to live with the consequences. I had to  try to find a way to pick up the pieces for both Lex and me and move the  fuck on.

God, the urge to break down in sobbing, uncontrollable tears was so  strong-I actually could feel the hiccupping breaths waiting to escape my  lungs. But I refused to let him see me lose control like that. It  wouldn't be easy to come by, but in the end, I'd still have a little  dignity left.

Fuck Wes Lancaster. Fuck him for treating me like a piece of trash. Fuck  him for worming his way into mine and my daughter's hearts and then  changing his goddamn mind.

My pain mutated to anger as I stood there and watched Wes stare back at me, his eyes locked with mine and bloodshot.

I hope a goddamn vessel bursts and ruins all that interesting fucking color. I mentally spat on him. Asshole.

I felt like such a fucking fool.

"Well, I can't say that I'm all that surprised," I retorted. "I mean,  this is what you're known for, right? Fucking and forgetting?" I fought  the urge to cringe at my words.

They were awful, awful words, and I wasn't even sure why I'd said them,  but they were out there, hovering between us, and I saw the exact moment  those words, my horrible words, slipped into his ears. His eyes creased  down at the corners, and the air pushed out of his lungs in a quick,  shocked breath.

My heart interrupted my brain and forced it to order me to raise my arms  and put them around him, but still in charge, my anger refused. This  was not my fault.

He had chosen to call it quits. He'd been the one to back out of this relationship like a fucking coward.

Despite the pain pinching his eyes nearly closed, I shrugged, refusing  to show any more weakness in front of him. When he was gone, I'd drown  the fire of my pride in a sloppy, tear-filled mess. But not now.

"It's not a big deal, Wes. I mean, I should've expected it, you know? What real relationship starts with an angry fuck?"

"Win-"

I held my hand up and stopped him before he could continue. If he wanted  to play games with my heart, then I sure as shit wasn't going to sit  around and take it without putting up a fight.

"It doesn't. We were doomed from the start."

Sure, I would most likely regret these vile words later, but in that  moment, all I saw was bright, flaming, motherfucking red. I felt the  urge to scream at him, shove him off the porch, pound my fists into his  chest. Anything to let this pulsating rage out of my body.

All the while, he just stood there. Not saying anything. Not defending  himself or making his own accusations at me. Where passion should have  lived, instead sat nothing.

Fuck this. I don't have to stand out here and look at him. I don't have to do anything, besides walk the fuck away.

"Well, have a good night, Wes. I'll see you at work Monday morning."

This fucking prick. He had the audacity to appear speechless.

"I'm going to go back inside now," I said, and I couldn't stop the  resentment from leaking into my voice. I had the door halfway closed  when he stuck his hand in the jamb to stop it. Two point five seconds of  visualizing the carnage I could create by crushing them later, I opened  the door wide again.

"What?"

"I just … I'm sorry-"

Never mind. "You know what? I don't want to hear it."

"Winnie, please."

I ignored the pleading, desperate timbre of his voice and took a stab at  inflicting some wounds of my own. "They won, by the way."

His swallow was rough as he tilted his head to the side in confusion.

"Lexi's team," I explained. "They won. She even got to kick a field goal. She was really excited to tell you about it."

At the mention of Lexi, affection, love, pain, and regret warred for  supremacy on his face more than even before, and the dam on his words  finally broke. "Is she still awake?"         

     



 

My jaw dropped to the cement. Is she still awake? What in the hell was  he trying to do here? He just said he can't do this. Now, he wanted to  see Lexi? Seriously, was I in the Twilight Zone?

"No," I lied. "She's already in bed."

He looked away for a brief moment and stared out toward the street. A  shaking hand ran through his hair until his eyes eventually met mine  again. "Will you tell her I stopped by and that I'm really proud of  her?" he asked, voice quiet. He didn't need a decoder to crack the  mystery of my face. Anything he wanted to say to my daughter could die a  painful death in hell. "Please, Winnie."

Before I could muster the strength to form a response-even "fuck you"  took energy-he turned on his heel, jogged down the stairs, and away from  my life. He didn't go to the car and driver that he always kept on  staff to get him around the city, and he didn't look back. I was  powerless, standing there in the bitter wind and watching until he  reached the end of the block and turned the corner-for good.

I had no idea how long I stood out there on my porch, staring in the  direction that Wes had gone. I knew his driver had long since vanished,  and I knew the cold burned all the way into my bones. But I honestly  couldn't find the brainpower to get myself to move.

As the icy air numbed my anger, inquisitiveness tingled along my skin.