“What?” The word falls out of my mouth as my body goes cold.
“It’s okay, Jordan. Just tell me.”
Just say yes, Jordan. Tell her you’re breaking up!
“Why would you say that?”
She shrugs, shaking her head. “Just a feeling. Things have been weird for a while, but lately…”
I nod carefully, then sit beside her on the bed.
“How are you feeling?” I ask again.
“Like I got hit by a truck, then someone poured acid down my throat.”
“Want some tea?”
“I don’t know if I can keep it down.”
I reach for the bottle of water on the nightstand. “Just a little water then.”
She takes a sip and I put the bottle back. Her gaze is on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at her.
“Jordan,” she says softly, taking my hand and linking our fingers. “It’s okay if this isn’t working for you.”
“Is it working for you?” I ask. “Honestly. Is this what you want from a partner, Maggie?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Because it’s not what you deserve,” I say. “Not even close.”
“But I—”
“You deserve so much better than what I have been giving you. Then what I can give you.”
Hell, no one deserves that. Alex doesn’t either, yet I know damn well I’m going to walk out of this house and chase him the way I should have last night.
She shrugs again, and her gaze goes to the floor.
“Can we stay friends?” she asks quietly.
“Always,” I say, putting my arm around her and pulling her close.
When I finally get home, it’s nearing dinner time. His car isn’t in the driveway, but he could be out getting stuff for the game like he usually does. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I make my way up the steps and into the house. It’s darker than usual. The couch is empty, the pillows all arranged as if they’ve never been touched. The blanket’s folded perfectly. I run a hand through my hair as I head for my bedroom, noting the bed is made. I check his side of the bed, where he’s kept his duffel bag, but it’s gone.
I pull out my phone and try his number again. It rings, but he doesn’t pick up.
I spend the rest of my day moping around, waiting for him to show up. I try my hardest to focus on sports highlights, but I don’t catch anything being said. I keep calling Alex, but he never answers.
When I open the fridge, I see it’s fully stocked. The leftover pasta is sitting front and center, but I have no appetite. I spend Sunday doing the same thing. Calling Alex, trying to concentrate on anything else. There’s nothing to do around here, except unpack old boxes in the guest rooms I never got to. I start, but stop as soon as I find an old blue velvet box stuffed in my old duffel. I don’t have to look to know what it is. And like a glutton for punishment, I open it.
The bright, diamond-studded cufflinks catch the setting sunlight, making prisms dance across the dark, somber room, but it’s the note that catches me.
The white cardstock with just three words.
When in Vegas.
I shut the box and shove it back into the bag and push them in the shadowed corner.
