Page 175 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“Fucking moron,” I mutter to myself as I march back toward where we’d set up camp and collect everything.

Less than ten minutes later, we’re back on the road. But any happiness or excitement from the drive up here has vanished. All that’s left is pain and regret.

Sienna keeps herself slightly turned away from me with her head in her cell, ignoring my entire existence. She doesn’t so much as glance over even once.

By the time we get back into the city, my chest is so tight it’s hard to breathe. I just know that she’s going to get out of this car and disappear into her apartment without giving me even a second of her time. It’s fair, I get it. But it fucking hurts.

No sooner do I pull the car to a stop in my parking spot than she has the door open and she’s climbing out.

“Sienna, wait, please,” I beg.

She freezes, and it gives me a little rush of hope that she might be willing to hear me out.

But then she shatters that by hissing, “Good night, Vinny,” and marching away, leaving nothing but the echo of the door slamming behind her.

“Fuck.” I groan, resting my head back and closing my eyes.

I fucked that up.

I really fucked that up.

It takes me the longest time to find the energy to get out of my car and make my way up to my apartment.

I also spend way too long standing in the elevator, my eyes moving between her floor and mine.

It would be so easy to chase after her and demand she talk to me.

But eventually, I manage to convince myself that that won’t help.

She needs time to process everything, and I owe her the time and space to be able to do that.

I just have to hope that once she has, she’s willing to hear me out.

Everything feels wrong as I walk into my apartment. While I tried to stay realistic about how she’d react to finding out who I am, deep down, I truly believed that I’d be walking through my front door with her by my side tonight.

I scan my tidy kitchen, my eyes lingering on a cupboard I spent way too much time inside after my injury. Over the last few weeks, I haven’t opened it once. But tonight…tonight, everything has changed again, and I only have myself to blame for fucking up the one good thing in my life right now.

The bottle of whiskey feels like an old friend as I wrap my fingers around the neck and take it to my bedroom.

After stripping out of my clothes, I fall into bed wearing only my boxers with the bottle for company.

I twist the top, and when the lid falls from my fingers, I ignore it and let it bounce across the floor. Something tells me I won’t be needing it tonight.

The first mouthful burns all the way down, but I welcome the discomfort. It’s the least I deserve.

I think about what Sienna is doing downstairs.

Did she also get straight into bed? Is she still crying?

It broke my fucking heart, seeing those tears on her cheeks. And it shattered all over again every time she lifted her hand and wiped her eyes on the way home.

But as much as I might want to take her pain away, I’m the stupid motherfucker who put it there. And other than explaining my reasons, which I’m not entirely sure she’ll understand now anyway, there’s nothing I can fucking do.

The thought of her crying in her bed alone makes me drink faster, bringing the freedom that comes with it closer.

Tomorrow is a new day. Maybe everything will be different. Maybe Sienna will wake up and be willing to hear me out.

Maybe…