Game On (Game On 1)

“That's just it,” I said. “I don't. You're not telling me anything and I’m not in to guessing games, so can you please get on with it?”

“I'm trying to tell you that I'm sorry.”

“You could have said this any time over the last two months but you didn’t.”

“Right. Because this is really a conversation we could have had on the phone.”

“Why the hell not?” I demanded. “You had eight weeks to call and you didn't. If you weren't in the UK and I wasn't here you never would have, would you?”

“I would,” he said quietly. “Why are you making this so awkward?”

“How hard did Valdez elbow you in the head? Did you really expect me to just fall into your arms?”

His eyes swivelled towards me and a smile crossed his face, “You've been watching?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “Sometimes Jamie makes me. Last week Josh thought I might enjoy seeing you taking a bash to the skull.”

“And did you?”

“No. Whenever I see someone smacking you in the head, I just wish I was the one doing it.”

Instead of glaring at me, his smile widened. “You watch because you missed me.”

“Wrong,” I told him. “Watching is like slow torture. Seeing everyone on television and not being there is horrible and I don't make a habit of it.”

“But you missed me,” he persisted.

“Don't push me, McCoy.”

“Leah, come on,” he said, taking a step towards me. “What do I have to do?”

Much to my annoyance the single step he’d taken made me start to shake. It had been a long time since he’d been so close to me. I’d never forgotten how his nearness made me feel, but I was always surprised by the strength of it. Of having him right there, close enough to touch.

And what happened the last time you were alone together?

The second flashback to that night in the hotel forced me to move away from him.

“You can't make up for everything with one apology,” I told him. “And you can't expect me to accept it when all you've given me is a half-arsed attempt at an explanation. It's not enough, not by a long way.”

“What do you want? You want me to beg for forgiveness?”

“What I want is for you to experience even half of the pain I’ve been in since I left Los Angeles!”

Before he could respond, I stormed out of his dressing room, my chest aching with grief just as it had the last time I'd seen him.

I could have told him I'd missed him and accepted what he’d said to me. Perhaps then I wouldn't have felt so distraught. But he didn't deserve to be let off so easily. I meant what I'd said. Maybe it was cruel, but I wanted him to feel the agony I’d experienced. I didn't want to be the only one suffering.

Walking out on him, I knew, was the final nail in the coffin of our 'relationship'. He'd never come after me, he’d already proved that. But any man who was capable of inflicting so much pain on me didn't deserve anything more.

.

Chapter 23: British and Uncouth

As I frantically sifted through the shopping bags full of clothes I’d bought, Freya said, “It's not in there.”

“What isn't?”

“The perfect outfit. The one that will make you confident and take away the feeling of having your heart shredded by a man.”