She shook her head, wanting to protest that he had it all wrong, that she wasn’t crying because Matt had said something mean to her, but that she was heartbroken and nothing Daniel could do would make it better. That she’d finally realized that she’d given Matt her heart during that summer along with her virginity, and she could never recover it. Even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Not anymore.
And now Matt had turned away from her. He was quitting his job. Would he be moving away too? And she’d let him believe that things with Daniel were more serious than they were. He’d hoped for a second chance. Would he quit sooner now that he thought that wasn’t an option? Move away sooner? Oh, God. What had she done?
Daniel kept whispering reassurances to her, and she felt horrible, because here he was being a great guy, and all she could think about was Matt. She needed to talk to him more, to figure things out. She couldn’t let him leave like this. But first she needed to deal with Daniel. God, this was going to be awful.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Matt pushed his way back through the crowd, leaving Hannah in the hallway with her date. The thought made him want to simultaneously hurl and punch something. Or someone. Preferably Daniel Carter. But it wasn’t Carter’s fault. He wasn’t the one who’d fucked everything up. Carter was a good guy. At least she wasn’t with some douchebag.
Matt thought his heart had already shattered when Hannah broke up with him weeks ago, but the faint hope that she’d give him another chance had done some damage control. Now he had to fight the urge to rub at his chest to see if the hole he felt there was real. Not only was his heart broken, but seeing Hannah with someone else had ripped it out and stomped on the shards.
A hand grabbing his forearm stopped his blind progress toward the exit. His eyes followed the delicate fingers wrapped above his wrist to their owner. Megan’s concerned brown eyes met his. He looked over her head to see Chris standing there, looking just as worried as Megan. He saw Megan’s mouth moving, but couldn’t make out what she said over the buzz in his ears that made all the sounds around him fade away into an indistinguishable drone.
He shook his head, deciding not to worry about whatever Megan was saying. He freed his arm, leaned in, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Great show, Megan. You should be proud of all of this. It’s great. But I’ve got to go. I can’t stay anymore tonight. I’ll see you guys at home.” He gave Chris a nod and left before either of them could say anything else. Hell, maybe they did say something, but his hearing still wasn’t right.
Once outside, he stopped and gasped for air, one hand on the brick wall of the gallery while he bent over. His stomach still churned and acid burned the back of his throat. He swallowed it back, determined not to puke on the sidewalk like a drunk. He hadn’t even had any alcohol tonight. Just the punch the gallery had as an alternative to the beer and wine available.
After a few minutes the urge to vomit receded enough for him to walk to his car. The pain in his chest had faded from a sharp stab to a throbbing ache that he figured would stay with him forever. He’d been so sure that Hannah would give him another chance. She was it for him. He didn’t want anyone else. But apparently she didn’t feel the same.
The image of Carter wrapping her in his arms rose unbidden. He’d caught a glimpse of them like that when he glanced back over his shoulder, and the sight had seared itself into his brain. That would haunt him forever. He knew it.
Unlocking his truck with the remote, he climbed in and sat staring out the windshield, not registering anything, reliving the best times and the worst times with Hannah. He was going to allow himself this one night to wallow, and then he’d throw himself into putting together his fledgling business. Maybe it was better this way. No girlfriend to distract him, to miss when he was out of town, to worry about how to support someday. Just him, all alone.
Yeah, right. He couldn’t even convince himself of that load of bullshit.
He drove home on autopilot, climbing the three steps to the front door with leaden feet, kicking the door closed behind him, and starting to strip out of his clothes on his way to his room, not even bothering to turn on the lights. He got his button-down shirt and undershirt off, balling them up and tossing them at his hamper. They missed, but he couldn’t manage to give a shit. Tossing his keys on his dresser, he flopped onto his bed face down, still in his jeans and shoes. Fuck. He couldn’t even work up the energy to take his shoes off. Maybe he’d just lie here and sleep with his feet hanging off the bed.
He had the vague desire to get plastered, but he’d have to get back up and go to a liquor store. He’d polished off the vodka and tequila he’d bought on his bender over spring break, and he knew they only had one bottle of beer left in the fridge. Megan had refused to buy more than a six pack of beer at a time after they found him unshaven and reeking of alcohol when they got home that Thursday night. That’s probably why they were so worried when he left tonight. They had to have seen him go after Hannah. And they saw him leave abruptly without her. It didn’t take a genius to put together
