For obvious reasons.
“Why did my sister show up at my house this morning and threaten to disembowel me if I’m not nice to you?” he says.
Fucking Goldie.
Fucking Goldie.
Any other woman would’ve gone to her brother and told him to end me.
Goldie?
She goes to her brother andtells him to be nice.
“Why the fuck should I know?” I say as evenly as I can.
“You break up with her?”
We weren’t dating. I don’t do relationships.
Why?
Because they always end like this.
Because I’m shit at this. I get attached and they leave.
Every damn time.
She was already leaving, my bloody conscience interjects.It was never about you.
I still wasn’t enough for her to want to stay, I fire back.
My conscience rolls its eyes at me.
I jerk my chin at Silas in acknowledgement. “You’re fucking welcome.”
He doesn’t have the consideration to start a fistfight at my response. Instead, the wanker has the audacity to look me straight in the eye, shake his head, and say, “You’re an idiot.”
Silas Collins.
Callingmean idiot.
Worse?
He’s not bloody wrong.
Fuck.
Tires squeal on the parking garage pavement.
A Jeep.
Holt’s here.
Probably ready to hop out of his car and break us up.
But Silas isn’t throwing punches or even insults.
Instead, he’s turning his back on me, flinging his gear bag over his shoulder, and heading toward the stadium.
