Her face is pale. I flinch inwardly.
‘I want you to be happy, Cora. You’re an incredible woman, and you deserve to find someone who makes you smile, all the time. But I’m not a part of that—I’m not a part of your life, and you’re not a part of mine.’
‘You’re—’
I lift a hand to silence her. ‘I don’t want this. We had sex. It was fun. But that’s all.’
I didn’t want to hurt her but I have. I can see it in the way her face shifts and contorts, even in the way she draws her features back into a mask of cool, but her eyes are vibrant, awash with feeling.
I have to cut the cord. For both of our sakes, I need to end this. I should never have let it get this far.
‘You should go.’ I move away from her, towards the bedroom door. ‘I’ll have my driver take you home when you’re ready.’
I feel her eyes on me but I don’t look at her. I stand just outside the door, waiting. I hear her moving around the bedroom, the rustle of fabric as she dresses, a small sniff that almost slices through me, but I harden my heart to it because ultimately this is the best course of action.
No, scratch that, the best course of action would be going back in time and not letting this get off the plane. We screwed once; I should have left it at that. Why did I go to her place? Why did I let us get involved in this?
She walks across the room and I catch her fragrance. It assaults me, so sweet and familiar, that my gut pulls and every instinct I possess screams at me not to let her go. To tell her I’ve changed my mind. Instead, I walk to the front door and pull it open quietly.
One look at her face shows me that even if I were to get down on my knees and apologise it would be too late. She’s determined. She’s furious. She’s hurting like hell, because of me.
‘In the morning you might regret this.’ Her words are gentle. ‘You’ve been drinking all day. You’re emotional.’ I fight an urge to tell her I don’t get emotional. ‘You might think about calling me, or texting me, maybe even about apologising. You might wake up and want to fuck me, so let me save you the trouble now. Don’t.’ Her eyes flash with warning. ‘Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t think about me. Don’t even remember me. You want to push away the people who love you? Well, congratulations, Holden, you’ve succeeded. I hope you’re happy.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AS SOON AS I left I regretted my tirade. It felt amazing to shove those words at him, to see a look of surprise on his face as he computed my threat, but before the elevator had even reached ground level I was fighting back angry, hopeless tears. I ignored his car, the driver he’d arranged and instead I walked. It was the early hours of the morning but I didn’t care. I needed to do something mechanical, like putting one foot in front of the other, until I’d got far away from the casino.
Only then did I pull my phone out and call a rideshare. It arrived almost instantly and fortunately my driver wasn’t chatty, leaving me free to sit back in the seat and stare out of the window. And replay every damned thing he’d said, everything I’d said, everything I’d felt.
And now I’m sitting here, watching the sky change colour, morning overtaking night, and I feel like I want to curl up in a ball and cry. I feel like I want to go for a run or a swim or lash out. I feel—too many things.
I feel love.
Yes, I fell in love with Holden Hart, even though I’ve been telling myself since I met him that this isn’t the time to get involved with anyone. I’ve been saying one thing and doing completely another. I fell in love with him and it’s a disaster because he isn’t capable of making me happy, and I can’t—I refuse—to watch someone else I love destroy himself.
Does that make my love less valid? Shouldn’t I want to stay and fight for him? To help him?
Fresh tears fill my eyes and I shake my head in a silent refutation of that. No one person can save another. I would fight his battles at his side, I would stand shoulder to shoulder if he wanted that of me, but I won’t—can’t—stand by and watch him keep going the way he is.
I should be glad that we’ve only known each other a short time, but the truth is, that makes no difference. I loved him, even a little bit, the first moment I met him. It’s not about minutes shared but the connection built and we connected in the most real sense I’ve ever known. For the first time in my life, for a brief moment, I didn’t feel alone.
But I am alone, completely.
It’s a sobering thought but at the same time it galvanises me into action. There are things to do—that new life I wanted is still out there, waiting for me to grab hold of it. I just have to firmly dismantle my old life first. Running away again? my inner voice jibes. I ignore it. I’m running towards my future; that’s not the same thing.
I pack my things quickly, throwing enough clothes to get me through a week or so into a rucksack, make a coffee and then tidy the apartment, watering the houseplants and vacuuming the dust.
I’m almost ready to leave when there’s a knock on the door and my heart leaps into my throat. Despite what I said to him when I left, I am filled with hope. Is it Holden?
I knew it would be, even before I opened the door. Holden bloody Hart, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, his expression guarded, his eyes watchful.
And I’m angry again—angry at him and how much I love him, angry at the impossibility of this. I’m hurting again too, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. ‘What are you doing here?’
He looks past me, to the bag at my side.
‘Are you going somewhere?’
I throw a glance towards it, then back to him. ‘Does it matter?’