My chest heaves, breaths coming in jagged gasps as I curl forward, arms wrapped around myself like that might hold me together.
I’d been hopeful.
That’s the part that hurts the most.
I’d let myself believe, just a little, that we might fix this. That the awkward dinner, the stupid class, the flowers . . . that it meant something. Thathemeant something.
That he’d come back forme.
I squeeze my eyes shut as another sob tears free.
“I thought we might sort it,” I whisper into the empty car. “I really did.”
And now, he’s standing in a doorway with another woman at his side, while I sit here alone, shaking, pregnant, and stupidly heartbroken, mourning something I wasn’t meant to hope for in the first place.
I press my palm flat against my stomach, breathing through the ache.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to myself, to the baby, to the part of me that still loved him far too much.
I wipe my face, straighten in the seat, and tell myself the same lie I’ve been clinging to for months.
I don’t need him.
Even as my heart screams that it’s not true.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KADE
“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” I roar, dragging my hands through my hair and yanking hard at the roots like the pain might snap me out of this. “Why?” I shout up at the sky, chest heaving, like there’s suddenly a god up there with a sick sense of humour, watching me implode for sport.
“Ouch,” Anika says coolly behind me, the sharp crack of her heels slicing through the evening quiet. “She looked pretty upset.”
I spin on her so fast, it makes my head swim. “This is your fault,” I snarl, jabbing a finger at her chest. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
I stalk across the road towards the small shop opposite the B and B, boots hitting the pavement hard. Her heels click after me, and I groan, rage coiling tighter in my gut.
“I think you’ll find,” she says smoothly, “this was all your fault.”
“Fuck you,” I snap over my shoulder. “Stop following me.”
Inside the shop, the fluorescent lights feel too bright, too harsh. I wrench open a fridge and grab four cans of beer, not even checking the labels. Then I move to the shelf behind the counter and take a large bottle of whiskey, my hands shaking as I slam it all down.
“That won’t help,” Anika mutters.
“It’ll make me feelsomething,” I bite back, my voice as sharp as broken glass.
The kid behind the counter startles, his eyes wide as he starts scanning the items like he’s afraid I might explode. I throw cash down, and don’t wait for the change. I storm back out into the night.
My eyes burn. My throat feels thick.
I can still see Eden’s face—shock, hurt, betrayal—like it’s been carved into the inside of my skull.
I did this.
Every step back towards the B and B feels heavier than the last, the weight of it all pressing down until I’m not sure how the fuck I’m still standing.
In the room, I set the drinks down on the side and stare at them like they’re daring me. It’s been a long time since I touched a drop.
