I can’t do that again. I won’t.
“It must be lonely,” I say quietly, grabbing my purse from the side table. “Carrying all that weight by yourself.”
His breath leaves him in a rush, but I don’t wait to hear what he has to say.
I grab my purse, and I’m out the door before I can do something humiliating like beg him to let me in. The night air is cool against my hot face, and I keep walking, one foot in front of the other,muscle memory carrying me to my car because my brain is too busy screaming to be useful.
I make it inside. Close the door. Get my hands on the steering wheel.
They’re shaking.
God, I’m so stupid. I’m so incredibly stupid. I saw what I wanted to see because I wanted so badly to believe I could trust someone again. I wanted to believe that the way he touched me, the way he looked at me, the way he held me after he told me about his past, all meant something.
Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I’m just the bait in his trap for Viktor and nothing more.
My chest hurts so much I have to press my hand against it, like I can hold myself together from the outside if I just push hard enough.
I start the car because I don’t know what else to do. The engine rumbles to life, and I pull out of the driveway, blinking hard against the wetness blurring my vision.
I’m not crying over him. I’m not.
But the thought keeps circling, keeps pecking at me like something hungry and mean.
What if I’m the only one who fell?
34
MATTEO
I’m an asshole.
Already knew that. But tonight I had to go and prove it. Just to make sure there was no doubt left in anyone’s mind, least of all Sierra’s.
I clench my fist at my side, knuckles aching with the urge to put them through the drywall. I don’t. Barely.
Why did I say that shit to her?
She was trying to help me. She stood there with those wide brown eyes and asked me to let her in, and I treated her like she was the enemy. Like she was the problem instead of the only good thing I’ve had in years.
I’m not used to this. Having someone show up the way she did. Offering support like it’s something I deserve.
My mother tried, after Scott. But she was too broken herself. Too raw from everything that bastard did to us. So I learned to bury the ugly stuff. Grief. Anger. Fear. I shoved it all down where it couldn’t touch her.
And tonight, when Sierra asked me to stop hiding, I felt cornered. Trapped. So I did what I always do.
I bit.
The look on her face when I snapped at her. Christ. Like I’d reached across the space between us and slapped her.
This is what I do. I destroy things. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.
But I can’t accept that. Not anymore. Not when Sierra’s the one I’d be ruining.
I grab my keys and head for the door.
I throw a leg over my bike and fire up the engine, twisting the throttle harder than I need to. Gravel spits behind me as I tear out of the driveway. The speedometer climbs as I weave through traffic. Not fast enough.
I can’t let her work an entire shift thinking I meant what I said.
