“You’re the one who…” My voice trails off as I realize it’s useless. He’s not going to understand where I’m coming from, especially not inthisstate.
I step away from him then, and I don’t know if I want to scream or cry, but my body makes the choice for me. I lean against a nearby car, chest heaving with these loud body-wracking hiccups that I can’t stop.
He softens immediately. “Hey. Just breathe, okay?” he asks, stepping close again.
I let him, which is its own kind of hell. The part of me that remembers how sweet he can be sometimes is still hoping there’s a good version of this story.
But, deep down, I know there isn’t.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, smearing the makeup as I stand up straight to face him again. “I think I’d rather sleep in a dumpster tonight than talk to you another second.”
He scowls. “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Throw away two years because of one stupid mistake?”
I look him dead in the eye. “I think you threw it away for both of us.”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
And the worst part is that I desperately want him to say something to fix it. To make it hurt less, to offer an explanation or a joke or a memory that makes the last two years meansomething. But nope, he just stands there, looking a little bit annoyed, a little bit drunk, and a lot like the stranger I didn’t want to admit he’d become.
“We’re done.” I push off the car and start walking. He follows, but only as far as the edge of the drive.
“Mads!” His voice cracks, then slides back into that same old whine. “You’re overreacting! You always do this! Come on, can’t we just?—”
I walk fast, my calves aching from heels that are way too high. But I keep going anyway, because if I stop, I might just stand there forever, staring at his stupid face, waiting for a better ending.
I’m too angry to slow down to call an Uber. I keep walking until I make it to some fancy hotel ten blocks away. It’s not the best choice, given that most people here make more in a month than I do in a year.
“Good riddance,” I mumble under my breath, sliding onto one of the stools at the bar. I’m pretty sure I look like a clown who lost a fight. My hair is a mess from the windy walk over, my makeup is smeared, and this coral dress has to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever worn.
“Rough night?” the bartender stops in front of me, tilting her head.
“You could say that.” I try to smile. “I just caught my boyfriend screwing another woman at a wedding. So, yeah. Probably not my best night.”
She makes a disgusted face, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. “Fuck him,” she says. “Let me pour you something strong on the house.”
I laugh, but it sounds pitiful. “Thanks.” I watch as she makes something withwaytoo much liquor, and then sloshes the blue mixture toward me. “What is it?”
She grins. “The cure for a shitty night.”
“Good enough for me.” I pick it up and take a long draw, the sour-burn warming my stomach.
Before I know it, I’m staring into the bottom of my glass and trying to count the number of times I’ve let myself be convinced that things would work out if I just tried harder.
Fuck me. Actually, no, fuck Wes.
“Can I have another? Happy to pay for this one,” I say, catching the bartender’s eye. She gives me a thumbs up, and then goes back to focusing on another customer.
“You look sad,” a deep voice drawls, and I whip my head around, not having noticed the guy sitting on the barstool beside me.
“I am sad.” I openly gawk at the could-be Calvin Klein model, because at this point, I have nothing left to lose.
He shrugs. “Isn’t everyone?”
I cock a brow at him, just as a new drink is slid my way. “That’s depressing.” I take a sip through the straw, my nose crinkling at the taste.
He laughs at my reaction to the drink. “Sadie pours a mean drink, huh?”
I nod while I check him out more thoroughly. Chestnut hair, parted on the side and perfect. Large but very straight masculine nose. And the most gorgeous green eyes that seem to look right through me.
