Except this wasn’t a good mirage in a desert with lots of fake water when he was thirsty.
This was a bad mirage—a woman who had stolen the hope from his heart, screwed shit up on the regular, and showed up when he’d finally gotten it back.
“Em?” he asked, his throat suddenly parched, and the urge to run away intense. Find Courtney, hide, and raise Tiny Badass without the rest of the world knowing shit about anything. Those instincts fought against his urge to rant. Tell Em how badly she’d hurt his heart. How badly she’d fucked their lives.
But.
Had she?
She walked away.
He found Courtney.
He had Tiny Badass.
He reconnected with his band.
If by some chance he’d stayed with Em, he’d have had a woman who enjoyed spending her time with his Los Angeles neighbor as much as him, if not more. Probably more, given the sounds she’d made when he walked in on the two of them.
She’d either been faking it with him, or faking it withhim.
“Hi.” Em bounced on her toes like she did when she got nervous.
Why was she nervous? Fuck, why is she even here?
“Hi.” Yeah, that was his voice. But it sounded foreign coming from his lips.
The best part of Boise was that the band had checked out of the tour buses and into a five-star hotel, with cushy mattresses, lots of horizontal time with Courtney, and room service.
The worst part? He’d foregone room service to head out on a morning breakfast burrito run. Without meaning to, he’d meandered his way smack into his ex-fiancée.
“Hi.” He frowned, and gripped the brown sack in his hand a smidge harder than necessary.
She said nothing. Blinking at him. Waiting.
He said nothing. Blinking at her. Waiting.
This had been great, but he needed to get back to Courtney. “I’ve got a place to be—”
“Thank you,” she said, quick, to the point, and totally knocking him off-kilter.
His heart seemed to stop beating. “For what?”
Because the last time they’d talked, there’d been yelling, then the breakup, then Hans had tossed money at her to keep her quiet.
The last time he saw her, she was selling him out for cash.
“For letting me go.” She stepped forward, toward him.
He recoiled.
She had no business stepping into his space. Her presence acted like barbed wire poking his skin—not enough to cause injury, but enough to make him want to get away.
He moved back. Whether the move was intuitive for self-preservation or simply the precursor to escape, he wasn’t sure.
“Sorry.” She held up her hands.
The time apart had not been super kind to her. Her hair didn’t look as glossy or styled as when they’d been together. Her clothes seemed to hang looser. More than that, her eyes had a sheen of sad resignation.
