The tears come then, hot and fast. "So that's it? You're giving me an ultimatum?"
"I'm giving you a choice."
"And if I choose him?"
Her face hardens into something I've never seen before. Something cold and distant and utterly unforgiving.
"Then I guess I'll know where I stand."
She walks out of the room without another word.
I sit alone at the kitchen table, sobbing, feeling like I'm being torn in half.
CHAPTER 15- PHOENIX
The scotch burns going down, but not enough to drown out the silence.
I'm sitting on the balcony at three in the morning, staring at the ocean that used to bring me peace. The waves crash against the shore in their endless rhythm, indifferent to the fact that my world has stopped turning. A joint smolders between my fingers, the smoke curling up into the salt air, mixing with the fog that's rolling in from the water.
Five days. She's been gone for five days, and each one has felt like a year.
I take another drag and hold the smoke in my lungs until they burn, then release it slowly into the darkness. The high takes the edge off, softens the sharp corners of my thoughts, but it can't fill the hollow space that's opened up inside my chest. Nothing can fill that space except her.
My phone sits on the table beside me, screen dark. I've texted her twelve times today. Twelve times, and each response has been shorter than the last.
How are you?
Fine.
Did you sleep okay?
Yes.
I miss you.
I know.
I know. Not I miss you too. Not I'll be home soon. Just I know, like my feelings are an inconvenience she's acknowledging but not reciprocating.
The anger flares hot and sudden in my chest. I could fix this. I could be on a plane in two hours, at her mother's door by morning. I could drag her out of that house, throw her over my shoulder, bring her back where she belongs.
With me.
The thought shouldn't be as appealing as it is. But I've never been a patient man, and waiting while she decides whether I'm worth keeping is slowly driving me insane.
The bottle is half empty now. I pour another glass and watch the amber liquid catch the moonlight. I should stop. Should eat something. Should sleep. Should do any of the things that normal people do to function.
But I'm not normal. I never have been. And the darkness inside me, the part I've spent years learning to control, is clawing at the walls of its cage.
The days have blurred together into a haze of work and alcohol and obsessive checking of my phone. I go to the office because I don't trust myself to stay in this empty house. In meetings, I'm sharp, brutal even. I've made three junior executives cry this week. I don't care. The rage has to go somewhere, and it's either them or the walls.
My head of security, Torres, called this morning with an update. I didn't ask him to watch her. I told myself I wouldn't do that. But when he offered, I didn't say no.
She's staying at her mother's house. She went to a coffee shop yesterday, sat alone for two hours. She's been crying. Torres could tell from the way she looked when she left.
The thought of her crying makes me want to put my fist through the glass door. The thought that I'm the reason she's crying makes me want to do something far worse.
Everything in this house reminds me of Jade. The kitchen where she made coffee in the morning, hair still messy from sleep, wearing one of my t-shirts that hung to her thighs. The shower where I held her against the tiles and watched the water stream down her body. The bed where I learned every curve and hollow of her, where I whispered things I've never said to anyone, where I fell asleep with my face buried in her hair.
