I feel the heat of Blake’s gaze burning into my back, but I still refuse to turn around. Instead, I focus my attention on the cold tile beneath my boots, on the way my heart hammers against my ribcage.
"But I’ve told you everything. There are no more secrets between us. I just want to be what we were. I’ll wait a lifetime if there’s a chance of there being a you and me again. I’ll grovel at your feet. Tell the world what a jerk I’ve been. Please just forgive me, Chase."
And that was it. That was all Blake had to say. As if laying it all out in the open somehow made it better. As if I was just supposed to hear it all andacceptit.
That thought snaps something inside me.
I spin around so fast my vision blurring for a moment, my fists clenching so tightly at my sides I can feel the blood rushing beneath my skin.
"And you expect me to, what? Just forgive you?"My voice comes out sharp, my words slicing through the air between us like a blade.
Blake flinches, barely, but I catch it. I see the guilt flash across his face, the way his lips part like he has something else to say—something that might fix this. But thereisn’ta way to fix this. Not now. Possibly not ever.
“I know it’ll be hard and it won’t happen immediately, but yes, I hope that one day you’ll understand that I acknowledge I made a mistake and let me back in. Not forgive, because I did something that I know may never be able to be forgiven.”
My chest rises and falls with each of my ragged breaths, my pulse a thunderous roar in my ears. My entire body feels like it’s vibrating with anger, hurt, betrayal—emotions so tangled together that I don’t know where one ends and the other begins.
I want to scream.
I want to hit something.
I want tonot feel this anymore.
“I need space. Can you give me that? Just leave me alone and let me process, and when I’m ready to talk, I’ll come to you. It’s not like either of us has anywhere to go.”
“I can do that.” He turns, his head hanging low as he steps out of the bathroom, leaving me once again to stew in my own thoughts. It’s not until he’s completely gone from my sight that I drop to the tile floor and let the tears fall that I’ve been fightingto hold back. Somehow, I muster the strength to crawl over to the wall and sit upright, leaning my head back against it.
I hate Blake. What he did. But most of all, I hate myself for still loving him.
Chapter 20
Ginny
The restaurant hums withwarmth and energy, a blend of clinking glasses, soft Italian ballads playing from hidden speakers, and the rich, mouthwatering scent of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh basil wafting through the air. Golden candlelight flickers across the white tablecloth, casting dancing shadows as I press my nails into the fabric, trying to keep my knee from bouncing under the table.
When I asked Dad to dinner, I never expected him to bring me to someplace as fancy as this. I was expecting something more like Louise’s, where I could get my fill of breadsticks and spaghetti, lasagna, and fettuccine. No, Dad went authentic tonight and brought me to La Tavola di Firenze. I had to use google translate to find out what the hell it meant. It roughly translated to English as The Table of Florence. That is, if I trust the reliability of it.
I turn my head to the side, glaring at Antony, who’s sitting way too comfortably between me and my dad, sipping at a glass of water like he hasn’t just completely derailed my night. This was supposed to be a simple, strategic dinner. Just me and Dad.A distraction, so Carter could pull off his plan and lock Chase and Blake in the rink’s locker room long enough for them to either murder each other or—hopefully—sort out their shit. But, of course, Antony has slithered his way into joining us, all smiles and smooth talk, like the snake that he is.
"Relax, GiGi," he leans over to me, murmuring for only me to hear, amusement lacing his voice. "The way you’re bouncing your knees under the table, you’d think you’re nervous about something."
I grit my teeth so hard I swear I feel my molars grind to dust. Before I can snap back, the waiter steps up, a polite smile on his face as he flips open a notepad and runs through the evening’s specials.
"Buona sera. Tonight, we have a beautiful osso buco, slow-braised with red wine and served over saffron risotto," he says, his thick Italian accent making the words roll off his tongue like poetry. "Or, if you prefer pasta, the chef has prepared a handmade pappardelle tossed in a creamy truffle sauce with wild mushrooms and pancetta."
Dad nods approvingly, setting his menu down. "Sounds good. I’ll have the osso buco."
"I'll take the pappardelle," Antony says smoothly, handing his menu back without so much as glancing up. Of course, he would order the most expensive thing on the menu. Fucking prick.
The waiter turns to me, and I clear my throat, keeping my voice steady. "I'll have the gnocchi al pesto and a glass of red wine." I hesitate, then add, "Actually, make it two glasses."
Dad’s head jerks up, eyes narrowing as he focuses on me. "Nice try, Geneva. You’re underage." He shifts his eyes to the waiter, giving him a firm shake, a clear no wine for me.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Technically, he’s right. But after the night I’m having, I really don’t care and it’s not like I haven’tdrank before. Hell, I’m a pro at it, and if I was asked for an ID, well, I have a fake one. Dad just doesn’t know about it.
"Fine," I sigh dramatically. "Just a Coke, then."
The waiter nods, jotting everything down before gathering mine and Dad’s menus. "I’ll be back shortly with your drinks. Would you like to add an appetizer?"
