My chuckles subsided and all that was left in their wake was searing pain and rage. This was worse than Dan cheating. Tanja’s actions were more of a betrayal than anything my fiancé could have done.
I didn’t want an excuse or a reason. I didn’t even want their fucking apologies. I wanted them both out of my life.
Forever.
I shook my head and raced for the door, pausing beside Tanja. “You and me? We’re done.”
39 Chloe
At 3:45 a.m., my alarm went off.
It’s time to make the donuts.
Literally.
Apprehension fizzed in the pit of my stomach, churning and spitting like a shaken soda. I had no idea what to expect for today. Was Liam going to be there to help me bake? Was he even talking to me anymore?
The rest of the night was a blur. I tried facetiming my sister twice, but she didn’t answer. After finding Tanja and Dan together, I desperately wanted to call Liam. I wanted someone to talk to. Someone who not only knew me but also Tanja and the whole Dan situation.
But I couldn’t. Not because he would have owed me a big, fat I told you so, but because Liam was right. I leaned on him way too much. I reached out to him so consistently and the lines had blurred, even in my own head. Was I reaching out and leaning on him because I wanted to? Yes. Was I also leaning on him because I was addicted to the support?
Also yes.
And that was a bitch to admit.
So many of the romance novels I read seemed to praise the drug-like qualities of attraction and relationships. When you were passionate about someone, you were addicted to them—constantly craving them, needing them. No one had ever stood up and told me that was messed up.
No one but Liam.
I quickly showered and dressed, throwing my hair in a wet bun and not bothering with a stitch of makeup.
Taking the steps two at a time, I rushed downstairs and froze. My rug at the front door was askew. Wrinkled and crooked, like someone had come into my house in the middle of the night.
And the deadbolt at my front door was unlocked.
I always locked my door. Always.
I’m also meticulous about the rugs in my house. I’d spent hours cleaning my house yesterday, scrubbing and straightening the various rooms. There was no way in hell I came home last night, even in my upset state, and messed up that rug without fixing it. Not after I’d spent hours making sure my house was spotless.
Which meant someone had broken in. But when? Sometime between now and when I crawled into bed after getting home from Tanja’s. And that was around nine forty-five last night.
How did they break in? Was I robbed? Did they sneak into my bedroom and see me sleeping? Or more terrifyingly, were they still here?
Panicking, I gripped my cell phone in one hand, my text messages open. What do I do? I didn’t want to call 9-1-1 because what if I was just being an idiot and no one was here? What if last night, I’d just happened to forget to lock the door and the rug had slid as I walked inside?
No. I knew that wasn’t the case.
There was no fucking way I was calling Tanja. Even on her best day, there was no way she’d answer and help me at four in the morning.
My sister couldn’t help me from across the ocean.
I dialed my Dad’s number. Still standing halfway down the stairs, I held the phone up to my ear. Straight to voicemail. Dammit. Both he and my mom turn their phones on Do Not Disturb at night.
You could text Liam. He’d be awake.
Shit. He truly was the only person who made sense, other than the police.
I typed, I’m so sorry to bother you… I think someone broke into my house last night.
My trembling thumb hovered over the send button.
What am I doing? This was exactly what he’d been talking about. I had to stop depending on him.
As I was about to delete the text, a cabinet door slammed shut in my kitchen. Loudly. And a muttered fuck echoed through my otherwise silent house, even though it was whispered.
Ice skittered down my spine and I flinched, jumping at the noise. My hand slid across the screen of my phone and it slipped out of my hand falling down the stairs with a deafening crash.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit!
Looking around me, I grabbed the nearest thing that could possibly be used as a weapon—a wooden sculpture Tanja had bought for me on some trip to Europe.
Yep, this was going in the garbage anyway after last night. Might was well use it to bludgeon an intruder first.
“Chloe?” A feminine voice called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
I exhaled a relieved breath and rushed down the rest of the stairs into the kitchen. “Elaina?”
There, standing over the coffee maker in my dark kitchen, was my big sister.
And I’d never been happier to see her in my life.
Her luggage was propped beside her and she held a bag of coffee in one hand and filters in the other.
Tears streamed down my face. I lost control of every emotion I’d been tamping down for two days and I fell into her arms.
“Oh, Chloe,” she whispered and held me as I cried. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
We fell to the floor together, sitting on my scrubbed hardwood planks and leaning against the cabinets while I sobbed. A mix of the faint lemon-scented cleaner and Elaina’s cucumber shampoo surrounded us.
After a few minutes of uncontrollable crying, I managed to get it together. Using a dish towel that I yanked from where it hung on my oven, I wiped at my raw eyes. “Wh-what are you doing here?” I managed to ask in between hiccupped breaths. “You’re not scheduled to come home until next week.”
Elaina sighed and held me closer to her in a hug. “I
