“This is everything,” she says to him, patting the foldable cart stacked high with her beauty supplies. Her eyes won’t meet mine, but I know she tracks my movements. Her jaw tightens with each of my steps closer.
“Rachel. Please. Don’t do this. We can talk it out.” My words pass though her, missing the mark.
She ignores me, picking up her duffle and resting the strap on her shoulder.
De’Shaun carts her supplies out the door.
She gives the room one last look and follows.
Fuck. No. No, no, no. She can’t go. Not like this. I stomp after them, making a sad little caboose to the Rachel-leaves-Jude-forever train. I’m seconds from begging, not that it’d do any good.
She steps ahead, holding the door for De’Shaun. A few more paces and they’ll be at the elevator.
Panic surges at the reality. “Rachel, I love you.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. She drops her duffle where she stands, eyes wide and wild. “No.” She backs up.
I follow her into the hall. Cracking what’s left of my heart, I splay it wide open. “It’s true. Please, Rachel.”
“Stop lying!” Her shout echoes off the walls.
“I’m not.”
A simmering wrath settles in her gaze. Her eyes betray her resentment. “Did you ask the shop to keep my car from me after it was repaired?” Her words beg me to argue. She wants the truth. That, I can give.
“Yes.”
“How much did it cost?”
“Five.”
De’Shaun doesn’t say a word, standing by the elevator so silently I almost forget we have an audience. Not that I care what he thinks.
“Thousand?” Her chin nods, as if she suspects I lied to her before. Which I did. Doesn’t matter that my intentions were good, the tightness in her posture suggests she doesn’t want reasons. Not right now. “And you bragged about how you were going to fuck me at the gala? I was pretty easy, huh?”
Her question knocks me off balance. Who—? Understanding dawns, as I remember her friend, the one we ran into the morning after. She was the woman who overheard my conversation with Pierce. Rather part of it. “It’s not what you think.”
“What was your plan? Huh? Pass me along for a finder’s fee when you were done?”
“Rachel, I would never.” God, it hurts that she believes this shit. I get that she’s angry. Does she really think I’d do such a thing?
My brows pull together and I shake off her allegations. The sting of her disbelief in our love hurts most of all.
“At least tell me you negotiated a good deal. That I’m worth a few grand to you.”
A few grand? My face heats; the anger inside simmers to a boil, begging to be let out. How do I argue with her? How do we have a discussion when she’s already made up her mind? I’m the villain. A sinner with no hope of salvation. The silence between us builds, thick with anger and ready to snap. A few fucking grand?
From inside my condo, my cell rings with an incoming call.
“Just answer it.” She flicks her gaze to the sound.
“No.” I don’t give a fuck who’s calling. Not when the most important person in my life is standing here. “We’re not done.”
Her chin quivers, and her spine straightens as she picks up the dropped bag. “I think we are.” She stifles a sob. My phone rings again. “Answer it.” Her words are a taunt. Baiting. “You know you want to.”
I swallow thickly around the realization that no matter how I play this, I lose. “Not as much as I want to understand what happened to change this.” I motion at the space between our bodies. “Us.”
“I wish I believed you.”
“Rachel.” Now I am begging. My eyes fill with tears. I’m losing her.
“Answer it.”
“No. Not if you’re leaving.” I shake my head. “I refuse for this to be it.” The end. I can barely think the words, let alone speak them.
“I’m leaving anyway.” She smiles, but it’s the kind that breaks my heart. Sad. Hurt. Disappointed. A mask for something deeper, because I’ve lost the privilege to her thoughts and feelings. As she turns and steps into the waiting elevator, fear grips my chest. This is it. She’s walking. Tears fall freely as I watch her leave. My love wasn’t enough to keep her, and I don’t know that I’ll ever recover. Not when she leaves with my heart.
48
Rachel
Three weeks later
“You’re making the face again.” De’Shaun rolls his eyes, stepping ahead of me to climb the steps to Cora Bentley’s trailer.
“What? No, I’m not,” I say defensively.
He rolls his eyes. “Channel your inner BJ.” BJ. Before Jude. It’s a term my brother coined, and De’Shaun uses it often. Mostly because he enjoys the strange looks we get. Anytime I space out or get sad, he reminds me to pretend like Jude never happened. Impossible.
“I can’t help it.” I’ve tried to forget Jude. I really have. But the reminders of him are everywhere. I get in my car. I think of him. Driving reminds me of all the conversations we shared. I go to work and it starts again. He pulled a few of his social connections to get me this job, but I can’t quit. First of all, I love it. It’s my dream gig and the pay is fantastic. Not only do I make a livable wage, but for the first time in a year, my savings account has the start of a nest egg. Besides, there’s no way I could leave De’Shaun. He’s basically the best co-worker ever.
Once I filled him in on my living situation, he pretty much insisted I stay with him. I didn’t want to impose, but after staying at the hotel my brother paid for, I agreed to give it a try. Turns out, De’Shaun comes from a wealthy family and part of his trust fund includes a two-bedroom bungalow. The spare room is comfortable, and off the clock we get along better than either
