Page 147 of Almost is Never Enough

Slap.

Anything to drown out the screaming in my head as I picture Dalton finding that woman in the crowd just three weeks ago and kissing her the same way he kissed me.

No.

I imagine her on the back of his bike, her arms wrapped around him.

I imagine the two of them in bed together, laughing and playing like we were this morning.

No.

A stuttered gasp is yanked from my body as the tears start to fall. I swipe at them but they just keep fucking coming as the ache in my chest intensifies and my stomach flips.

Memories of this morning fill my mind.

We were in bed, playing and laughing.

And Dalton, he was so damn carefree and happy.

The way he threw his head back and laughed at a joke I made and the warmth that spread through my whole body at the sound.

God, I love his laugh.

Did he laugh like that with her, too?

Did she get to see that side of him?

Did he pull her closer and kiss her forehead like she was everything?

Please, God.

No.

Am I just the biggest fucking idiot in the world for believing that I was special to him?

I stop in the living room, dragging both of my hands through my hair and giving it a tug as I close my eyes.

I can’t.

I can’t keep picturing him with that woman, doing all the same things he’s been doing with me.

My heart feels like it’s being ripped from me a little bit at a time, half hanging out of the gaping wound in my chest. I want desperately to block out the memories. I don’t want to dissect them anymore, looking for proof of her claims or evidence to support what I’ve felt over these past few weeks.

But I can’t seem to fucking stop.

That man knows how to make you feel like the only damn woman in the world.

A sob bubbles out of me.

Yeah, he sure fucking does.