There’s a transcript. The worst part of the fight. My begging. Her dismissal.
But that’s not what hits hardest.
It’s the photos.
One, grainy but clear, of us in the alley.
And another… a full shot of her. Amy’s face, lit up by the marquee lights. Beautiful. Furious. Heartbroken.
Exposed.
My chest constricts painfully. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into my world like this.
I look up at Will, and he just nods grimly. “It’s everywhere already.”
My throat works, but no sound comes out.
And then, finally, “Fuck.”
CHAPTER 14
AMY
I’m woken by the double assault of my phone vibrating and the doorbell shrieking at the same time.
Absolutely not.
I crack one eye open and glare at the clock: 7:48 a.m. Whoever thinks I’m answering anything right now can go directly to hell.
I spent most of the night crying until my throat was raw and my head throbbed, cursing Jake Hollander, his ancestors, and any future descendants unlucky enough toshare his DNA. I even dabbled in some half-drunk online voodoo, whispering hexes into the dark and praying his balls shriveled up and fell off.
But mostly? I grieved.
For Eli. For the man who didn’t exist. For the connection I thought was real.
I curl tighter beneath my blanket, but my brain is already spinning, replaying last night like a highlight reel from hell.
"Afraid?" I’d whispered, voice shaking. "Afraid of what?"
"Of losing you."
His voice cracked, and his eyes were wrecked. And then, “I love you,” he choked out, over and over, like he was falling apart with every word.
And I left anyway.
I press a fist to my mouth, trying to trap the sob clawing its way up my throat. God, why did it sound so real? Why does it still haunt me?
The phone vibrates again, skittering across the nightstand like it’s trying to escape.
I roll over and grab it, wincing. Every muscle screams in protest.
Not the normal ache. Not even the familiar post-flare hangover. This is something deeper, like grief took a sledgehammer to my insides.
I shouldn’t look. I blocked him everywhere, but some pathetic part of me hopes…
No! Stop!
I shove on my glasses and squint at the screen.
