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She takes a long sip of her drink, eyes flashing. “Do you? Because it seemed like you were marking your territory. Which is rich, considering—”
“That’s not what I was doing,” I cut her off.
Violet shoots us a curious look. Whitley immediately brightens, seamlessly transitioning into a story about some fundraiser she’s planning. I sit there, jaw clenched, watching her perform like nothing’s wrong.
An hour passes. Whitley laughs and talks with everyone but me.
“You know what we should do?” Violet announces. “Shots!”
Whitley’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I should actually head out soon. Early meeting tomorrow.”
“One shot,” Violet pleads. “We’re celebrating! I got married, you got nominated for that amazing award.”
“What award?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Everyone turns to look at me, including Whitley, whose expression flickers with something unreadable.
“The Community Honor Award,” Violet says when Whitley doesn’t answer. “For her non-profit work. It’s a huge deal.”
I had no idea. Not that I would, considering I had no right to know. None. I pushed her away. Told her to get on that plane. Made it crystal clear I didn’t want more from her.
It cuts deeper than it should that I wasn’t someone she wanted to share this with. And beneath the hurt, something else rises up. Something that swells in my chest until I can barely breathe around it.
Pride.
She did this. Helped people, made a difference in ways I can only imagine. I know so many people who would have benefited from having an organization like hers in town a long time ago. And now she’s being recognized for it, honored for the work she’s poured herself into.
That’s who Whitley is. She gives and lights up every room she walks into.
And I let her go.
“That’s…” I clear my throat, try again. “Congratulations.”
Whitley glances at me. “Thanks.”
She turns back to the table, and just like that, I’m on the outside again. Right where I put myself.
The rest of the night goes like that—her orbiting the group with effortless charm, me stuck in the periphery, a spectator to my own shitty choices. After a while, I can’t take it anymore. I stand, drop a twenty on the table, and mumble something about an early morning at the shop.
Rowan’s the only one who looks up, brow creased as if he wants to say something, but he lets me go.
I catch one last glimpse of Whitley as I head for the door. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t break from the conversation or give any sign that she knows I’m leaving.
I drive home with the radio off, the silence thick enough to choke me. The streetlights flicker by in a blur, every single one bringing me closer to my empty house. Once I’m inside, I stand in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter while I stare at nothing. I try to picture my life the way it was before her. It’s just…dark. Quiet. Still.
I tell myself that’s how I like it, but that’s a lie.
I pace the whole place, restless in my own skin. I open the fridge, close it, open it again. I pull out leftovers, heat them, then throw them away after two bites. I don’t want food. I want—
Fuck.
I want her.
I need sleep. I need to just let it all go and let her keep her sunshine, her laughter, her bright bravado that never needed me to begin with.
twenty-one
. . .
