He stiffened. “I’m not.”
“You are.” Farrah didn’t know who she was trying to convince more, him or herself. “You said you loved me.”
“I lied.”
Farrah inhaled sharply. True or not, those two words sliced through her like a knife.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Fucking. Cry.
“You’re full of shit.” Her voice trembled with uncertainty. “Look at you. You’re shaking.”
Blake clenched his hands into fists. His knuckles turned white. “Farrah.” His voice sounded like a bomb going off in the silence. “I got back with my ex-girlfriend over the holidays. I didn’t know how to tell you. I love her, and I made a mistake here. With us. But I’m trying to fix it.”
A sob escaped. The temperature dropped another twenty degrees, and a strange roaring filled her ears. The fist around her heart squeezed, and right as she was about to explode from the pain, it released its grip and shattered everything in its wake.
I need to get out of here.
Yet Farrah’s feet remained glued in place as she tried to comprehend what was happening. The Blake in front of her wasn’t the Blake she knew. He was so stoic, so unsympathetic, she wondered whether this was a nightmare or if the past seven months had been a dream.
“I’m sorry.”
That broke the spell.
“Stop saying that!” Blake’s eyes widened. Farrah gripped her necklace tight with one hand until the metal dug painful grooves into her palm. “It was all a lie then, this past year.”
Blake looked away.
“Why? Why did you pretend you cared? Was it some sick joke? You wanted to see whether I’d be gullible enough to fall for you? Well, congratu-fucking-lations.” Tears burned her eyes. “You won. Blake Ryan, the champion. Your father was right. You shouldn’t have quit. No one plays the game better than you.”
A tear slipped out and scalded her cheek. Farrah wiped it away angrily. She’d already given him too much. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry too.
Blake may as well be carved from marble for all the emotion he showed. “I’m sor—”
Her blood bubbled with rage. “If you say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time,” she hissed. “I’ll go to the kitchen, come back, and cut your balls off with a rusty knife. In fact, I may do that anyway. You’re a fucking asshole. I’m sorry I wasted all this time on you, and I’m sorrier for your girlfriend. She deserves better.”
Farrah summoned the strength to stand. She walked to the door, praying her legs wouldn’t give out before she reached the hallway. She gripped the doorknob and turned around for a last look at Blake.
Other than the slight tremble in his shoulders, he sat there unmoving, face blank.
Blake Ryan. Her first love. Her first lover. Her first heartbreak.
Farrah closed the door with a soft “click.” Her feet moved. One step, two steps, and so on until she reached her room. The ringing in her ears pounded in sync with her steps.
She prayed Janice wasn’t there. She was.
Lady Luck hated her today.
Janice glanced up when Farrah entered before she dove back into her book. A second later, her head popped up again. Her brow furrowed with worry. “Are you ok?”
“Yes.” Farrah smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. “I’m fine. I’m great. I’m—I’m—”
The alarm mounted on Janice’s face.
“I—” Farrah’s anger faded like a flame losing oxygen.
No. Don’t you dare fucking leave.
She grabbed at the remaining tendrils of fury with desperate hands. They were the only things left holding her together, but she may as well have tried to grab sand. They slipped through her fingers until there was nothing left.