“Thanks, Ollie. I … It’s been a day.”
“And we can hash it out whenever you’re ready. Or not.”
I grin. “Thanks, brother.”
“Anytime.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and turn sharply into my driveway. As I fly toward the house, I scan the area for Blaire’s rental car.
It’s gone.
Shit.
My car barely comes to a stop before I jump out. I leave the door wide open as I jog up the stairs, punch the keycode in, and step inside the foyer.
I can still see Blaire standing on the stairs with those tragic black streaks running down her face.
My heart squeezes so tight that I brace my chest with my hand.
She’s gone.
I don’t have to go to the guest room to see if her suitcase is there to know it isn’t.
It’s as if the house itself knows she’s left and is mourning. The sun fails to stream in the windows and is instead disturbed by a host of clouds. The usual warmth of the space has faded into a tempered blur.
I walk the hallway to the kitchen. Her laughter fills my mind as I pass by Coy’s painting that hangs on the wall.
I pour myself a drink and sit at the kitchen island. The room feels bigger than I’ve ever noticed before. I wonder why I ever wanted a house this big just for me. There was a reason. I just can’t remember it.
There’s a hollowness in my chest that I can’t escape. No rationalization or excuses will make the void disappear.
I fucked her over, even if I didn’t mean to.
Just like I did Kendra.
And just like Jack did her.
The bourbon bites at my throat as I drink. I welcome the burn.
“If you didn’t want me to fall in love with you …”
Her words keep coming back to me. It hurts a little more each time.
Many women have told me they loved me over the course of my life, but I never felt like any of them actually did. They might have been infatuated with me or in lust with me, but none of them loved me. Not really.
But none of them said it like Blaire, either.
It wasn’t moaned in the heat of passion. It wasn’t armed as a weapon. It wasn’t used in an attempt to manipulate me into doing something.
She said it from a place deep inside her. It didn’t give her joy to say it. It caused her pain.
It caused her pain because I didn’t say it back.
I tip up my glass and take another long swallow.
My phone rings on the counter. I plan to let it go to voicemail, but my curiosity gets the best of me, and I glance at the screen.
