What is your greatest fear?
And the answer swirls around in my gut, demanding I pay attention to it when all I want to do is get the fuck out of here and avoid facing this.
My voice is stuck in my throat and I can’t form a reply to what she’s just said. She’s staring at me, waiting, and nothing comes.
Shaking her head, she says, “I just told you I love you and you don’t even have anything to say back to that?”
Denial pulses through my body.
I can’t do this.
Without another word, I stalk out to the kitchen.
I need to get out of here.
“Where are you going?” she demands, following me. Suffocating me.
Grabbing my keys off the counter, I swing around to face her. “I can’t do this, Presley.”
Disbelief flashes in her eyes and her body sags a little. “Can’t do what?”
I madly point my finger between the two of us. “This.”
“You’re walking away from this? From us?” Her voice bounces off the walls and echoes through me. The ache of her hurt ricochets through my body, amplifying my own pain.
“Yes.” I still and watch her, wanting to move, yet frozen to the spot.
What the fuck have I just done?
Where the fuck did those words come from?
Watching her process that is like watching something in slow motion. The realisation of what I’ve said passes over her face and then through her body, and then it’s as if her brain kicks into gear. And there’s nothing like a woman burnt by love. “You’re going to regret this, Jett. You need me, but you know what? By the time you figure that out, I might be long gone.”
She turns on her heel and stalks into my bedroom. Less than five minutes later, she comes back out, fully dressed, grabs her bag and keys, and with one last glare at me, and muttering something about ‘bloody men who have their heads up their ass’, she walks out of my life.
38
Presley
“Have you heard from him?” Erin asks as she leans back in the massage chair and closes her eyes. Her shoulders begin to vibrate as the chair starts working through its massage. We’re having a girls’ day out and first order of business is a pedicure and manicure.
My heart hurts thinking about her question. “No.”
Her eyes blink open and she turns to look at me with disbelief. “It’s been two weeks. I can’t believe he still hasn’t called you. What was all that bullshit about you being the one and he’d do anything to make you give him a chance? That fucker, he gets you all into him and then just cuts and runs.”
Through my pain, I can still manage a smile for my friend. “I love how you’re always on my side, babe.”
Her indignation is burning bright. “Well, I’m pissed at him. Don’t get me wrong, I like him, but Jesus, he’s going to have some major sucking up to do when he gets his shit together and comes crawling back to you.”
“You’re assuming he will come back… I’m not so sure of it.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Really? That guy has it bad for you. This is just his grief talking, right?”
“I’ve rung him and sent him a few texts but he hasn’t replied to any of them. I think he’s done.” Saying the words out loud hurts even more than thinking them, and I begin to cry. Wiping the tears away, I mutter, “Fuck, I hate crying over a man.” But as mad as I might be with him for the way he’s handled this, I’m so worried about him and his grief. It hurts me more to think about him out there coping with his sister’s death without someone to help him through that.
“You know what I’ve been wondering?” she asks.
“What?”