Pain flashed through Alex’s eyes and for a second, I saw the man I thought I loved.
He blinked and the moment was gone. “She’d say I was just like him. And she’d be right.” He ran his hands through his curls and his gaze hardened. “Look, I’ve wasted twenty minutes with you, and that’s seven hundred and fifty words I won’t get back. Are we done here? Or do you have more screeching to do?”
“Oh, we’re done. We’re so done you don’t even know. Say goodbye to my magic hooha. I hope you got everything you needed out of it because we won’t be seeing you again until you come to your senses.”
“I think I’m good. Thank you. You’ve been very useful indeed.”
The words echoed and distorted, ripping open an old wound that had only barely started to heal. I gasped and staggered and the tears I’d tried to valiantly to hold back spilled down my cheeks. With my blood pounding through my ears, I raced out of Alex’s house and slammed the door.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alex
“You’ve been very useful indeed.”
Evie recoiled like I’d punched her in the stomach and I hated myself for everything I’d done. If using her story in my book had been a low blow, hitting her with that line was an unscrupulous abuse of a weakness.
I wanted to run to her. To pull her into my arms. To plead with her to forgive my unforgivable sin. She deserved to know I didn’t mean a word I’d said. I’d kiss her and hug her and take it all back, smoothing away the pain so she’d smile at me again.
But soothing her would be selfish.
Evie was better off without me, the same way Mom would have been better off without my dad. I couldn’t take away Evie’s pain, because I’d only be setting her up to ride this merry go round over and over again. A woman like her deserved so much better than what I had to offer.
So I was cruel. Intentionally awful. While using Stephens in my draft was the killing blow, calling her useful cauterized the wound, making it perfectly clear she needed to leave and not look back. It was George Henderson’s punch to Harry’s face, and it was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
Drew’s dedication to Evie had given me the ammunition I needed. I was an asshole for using it, but I could see how much she wanted to stay with me even after she read scene forty-eight. How much she wanted to believe I was just in a bad mood, or caught up in the throes of writing. If I hadn’t hurled that final insult her way, she would have stuck around.
I had to drop that bomb.
For her.
“Fuck, I sound like such an asshole right now.”
Morgan peered up at me, panting his agreement.
“What’s done is done and can’t be undone. Evie can move on and I can…finish this manuscript, I guess.” I gathered the papers and flipped to scene forty-eight. A single dot of red ink marked where I’d landed the punch to her gut. Stephen Drews. It was so blatant. So visceral. Using that scene would mean betrayal for her.
What she didn’t know was that it would never make it into the final book. I would not humiliate her by publishing the worst thing that ever happened to her for millions of people to read. I only included it in the draft to make her leave me.
Right now, she’s probably calling you the worst thing that ever happened to her.
“I am such an asshole.”
With that, I gathered my papers and trudged back up to the office, where I’d finish my life, alone and unable to wreak havoc on the hearts and minds of others.
“It’s better this way,” I said to the ceiling. “For all of us.”
At least I’d earned the name Prescott.
It wasn’t better. Not at all. All the inspiration I found left with Evie. Getting the last few chapters finished in time was a monumental effort. I didn’t shower. Barely ate. Definitely skipped sleep.
But I finished.
The last chapters were a mess. My editors would reject them but that was fine. We’d piece it all back together. With their brains propping me up, we’d come to a story that made sense. I expected my mood to shift the moment I submitted the document. I ordered a giant pizza but couldn’t eat it. Skipped the shower I desperately needed in favor of staring at the walls. Laid down for sleep, but it wouldn’t come.
Evie’s curtains were tightly closed, but I could still see her silhouette when she came into her bedroom. I picked up my phone more times than I wanted to admit to tell her I’d finished the book.
That I was sorry.
That I missed her.
That I didn’t want to hurt her…
But I had hurt her. And apologizing now would only make me more like my father. I had to let her go. No matter how hard it got on me, I had to let her go.
It’d been a week since I aimed my parting blow at Evie. A week since I’d heard her voice. Since I’d seen her smile. A week since I’d willingly blown my life to pieces.
Snow fell to the ground in hard lines. No soft fluttering. No delicate glistening. Hard diagonal lines blasted my face as I struggled from my porch to hers. I needed to see her. To apologize. To say I didn’t mean any of it and that nothing had been right for me since I said what I did.
I was a weak man, taking what was best for me instead of giving her the freedom I knew she needed.
I stood on her front porch. Hand raised, ready to knock, as my mother’s words circled my head. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted Evie back, but I didn’t want to ruin her. I didn’t want to make
