“Good luck,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the frog in my throat. I open the door and hurry out of the car. By the time the door shuts, I’m already on the steps.
I don’t look back. Whether it’s my subconscious telling me to keep going forward or simply because I don’t want to torture myself anymore—and that’s what I’d be doing if I look back—I’m not sure.But I press on and open the door using the code on the keypad and slip inside the house.
Cool air kisses my cheeks, making the drips of my tears cold.
I slide my back against the wall of the foyer—the same wall Holt held me against after the concert.
I was different then. Full of hope. Teased with the taste of having someone who thought I was worth their most valuable commodity: time.
I was fucking stupid.
Tears fall steadily down my face as I look around Holt’s home.
“I’ll be honest—I didn’t really think you being here all the way through before inviting you.”
My hands are smeared black from mascara as I wipe my face. It’s a physical show of what a mess I am. I turn to go up the stairs when the front door opens.
My head spins to the right, and my breath catches in my throat.
Holt stands in the doorway.
He slides his sunglasses off his face and takes in the sight before him.
Shit.
“Blaire …”
I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders. I give him my best unaffected smile.
Clearly, my cheeks are stained with mascara, and my lips are swollen like they always are when I’m upset. But I pretend none of that exists.
“What’s going on?” he asks carefully, silencing his phone as it rings in his hand.
“I’m just getting ready to take a bath.”
He furrows his brow. “That wasn’t what I was asking, and you know it.”
“Did you forget something?”
My heart pounds in my chest as I feel my way through this conversation. I thought I’d have a better handle on myself before I had to speak about this whole mess.
Who am I kidding? I’d hoped to be gone and never have to talk about it at all.
Concern sweeps across his features.
“Cut the crap, Blaire. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine. Things just got the best of me today.”
He steps farther inside the house and closes the door behind him. The latch is loud and crisp.
I start up the steps as though I didn’t just get caught on the cusp of breaking down.
“Blaire. Stop.”
His tone is rough; the edges of his words bristling with irritation. It’s not at all the tenderness I’d hoped to hear. But what it does do is confirm what I overheard at his parents’ house.
He has no intention of giving me any piece of his life.
