Totally, unmistakably empty.
Turning toward the ensuite, my chest tightens. The light’s off. My gaze falls to the spot where Mercs left his clothes last night.
His pants, shirt, shoes—gone!
A shiver slices through me as I sit up, the covers falling away to expose my bare chest, but it’s not the chill that makes me wrap my arms around myself… it’s dread.
No sign of him.
While chewing my bottom lip, I slide to the edge of the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet that offers zero comfort against the growing unease knotting in my gut. I head for the ensuite, each step heavier than the last, my heartbeat hammering.
Maybe he’s still here.
Maybe he’s grabbing coffee.
Maybe…
Please, Gaia, just let him be brushing his damn teeth.
I peek around the doorway.
Empty.
No, he’s gone.
My throat constricts, a sharp ache blooming behind my sternum. The worst part? He didn’t even have the guts to tell me to my face.
Did I spook him?
Did the weight of my past tip the scale?
Maybe it’s just all too much for him.
And maybe I’m an idiot for thinking I was worth more than a midnight vanishing act.
Anger flares in my chest, a wild, unfamiliar heat I’m not used to carrying. I don’t do rage, I’m the peace-and-love girl. The take-a-breath-and-release-the-negativity chick.
So why the hell do I want to scream?
BecauseI’m hurt.
Deep down, where I don’t let anyone reach.
We weren’t exclusive.
We weren’t anything, not really.
But dammit, I let him in. I trusted him. And now he’s just… gone?
I lift my chin.
No. Screw that.
“Fuck him,” I mutter, storming back into the suite, every step fueled with stubborn pride. I won’t let him derail me. I’ve got a show to prepare for, a tour to run. If he bailed, and Luke comes at me guns blazing, fine. I’ll cop it.
Maybe Luke was right.
Still, it hurts.
