Page 76 of Worth Loving You

She was sobbing harder, pulling her knees to her chest to bury her face. “I’m so sorry.”

“I trusted you. I never trusted anyone like I trusted you. He wasn’t even going to let you live here, I had to convince him to let you come because I was loyal to you and couldn’t bring myself to cut you off without warning. And this?” I whispered, my sight blurring with tears. “Is how you repay me.”

“Chazzy,” she wailed, shaking violently.

Anguish obliterating my soul, my face scrunched with a gut-wrenching sob. Burying the heels of my palms into my eyes, I croaked, “I told you…I told you about the dreams. That day at the furniture store, I told you how…h-how…Oh, my god, this isn’t real, this isn’t happening.”

She grimaced and shrunk further, crying harder, as well.

“I told you, I trusted you. I waited my whole fucking life for the man of my dreams, and you had to take him. I hate you.”

“No!” she wept, her eyes pleading when she looked at me. “Don’t say that.”

Finally feeling strong enough to stand, I pulled myself to my feet with the help of the back of the sofa. Sneering at her, I fought the urge to throw up. “Get out of my apartment. You aren’t safe here anymore. I honestly don’t think I can be trusted to be around you. Pack your shit and get out.”

I glimpsed at the guys. Wyatt was shooting me fleeting glances while tending to the cut, and Milo was staring at me through the smoke of his cigarette with a sense of pride.

“All of you get out. I’m done with all three of you.”

My wet sneaker squeaked on the floor when I twirled too fast. Catching my balance, I ran to my bedroom and slammed the door. I gazed around the room, numbness setting in and dulling the pain, shock taking over.

I loved this room. My large, four poster bed with the thin, sheer white fabric draping across the top and down the columns, the layers upon layers of softness that felt like I was being embraced by clouds every time I laid down.

My feet feeling like lead, I kicked off my shoes, peeling off a piece of clothing at a time, the wet material hitting the floor with low splats. Pulling the sheets and comforter, I crawled onto the mattress, drawing them to my chin. I stared at the empty side of the bed, some of the heartache ebbing through the shock.

I loved Milo more than I loved all the materialistic bullshit. He was my dream come true, and the whole time, he was fucking my best friend right under my nose. How many times had I woken in the middle of the night and found my bed empty, assuming he was on a business call? How many times had I come home early to find him already here, chatting away with Jennifer? So relieved that the two of them got along so well, I had no idea it was because they were fucking one another.

Turning my face into the pillow, I poured my grief out and gave in to the hurt, sobbing uncontrollably. I was a fool and Wyatt had been right. Milo was never going to be committed to just me. He was never going to let go of his affairs. I would never be his only woman.

And that was unacceptable. It was time to wake up and let the dream go. I had to leave Milo.

Chapter 29

Milo Pampinella

“Do I want to know what happened?”

I chuckled and then winced while the doc sewed up my arm. Holding it stiff to the side, I was slouched in the same chair from earlier, only now my trousers were on. Sipping a glass of wine, I pictured Chastity’s rounded, freckled face enraged and twisted as she came at me and Jennifer.

My dick twitched, my heart swelling with pride.

“Just a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Wyatt snorted, pacing the area between the kitchen island and dining table. “Is that what it was?”

My brows furrowed, confused at his behavior. “Yeah. No big deal.”

“No big deal? Boss, the bitch tried to stab you.”

“I’m not hearing this,” Doc sang, never taking his eyes off what he was doing. “La, la, la, la, la.”

“You saw where she was aiming, she wouldn’t have done any harm.”

“This?” he shouted, stomping toward me to point at my arm. “Isn’t considered harm? How many stitches?”

His balding head tipped back, he was peering down his large, bulbous nose covered in broken veins, bifocals barely hanging on the tip. His thick, gray mustache twitched, his mouth slightly open with concentration. “Twelve,” he sang, adding, “Ah, ah, ah.”

I snorted and then rumbled with a chuckle, picking up his Muppets reference.