The second she opens it, I start to cry.
“Honey,” she says, pulling me in. “Honey.”
Everything that happened comes out of me like word vomit. And she holds me, letting it all flow.
“He did what?” she shrieks when I tell her about Gabriel ordering Jules to fire me.
“He told her to remind me of the fucking NDA I signed,” I say bitterly.
“No.” Brenna shakes her head. “No way. That is not the man I’ve seen with you. He’s crazy about you, Sophie.”
I wouldn’t have thought so either. A sigh shakes me. “I heard him.” I walked in just in time to hear those orders loud and clear.
“You have to talk to him. Because I cannot believe it.”
She guides me to a chair as I shake my head. “I just talked to him. I said I was leaving the tour, and he let me go.”
Why didn’t he come after me? Tell me that he loves me? Is that what I want? I’m so battered and tired of the whole thing, I can’t think straight. I only know that I hurt, and I miss him. Even when I want to hit his stubborn, thick head, I miss him. Life is an empty road if he isn’t on it beside me.
I hate this weakness. Being in love is akin to losing my mind and having my heart flayed open all at once. It sucks.
“Look,” Brenna says gently, “you two have had a bad night. Let it settle and discuss it in the morning.” She grows quiet and then bends her head to peer at me. “You really want to leave the tour?”
It occurs to me then that she’s not just a friend. She’s my boss.
“I’m sorry,” I say, twisting my fingers. “It isn’t just Gabriel. Killian wouldn’t look at me tonight. Logically, I don’t blame them. But it was as if all that we’ve been through means nothing.” I shake my head. “And call me a wuss, but I just want to go away and lick my wounds in privacy for a while.”
Brenna appears to think that is a terrible idea, but she’s kind enough to let it go. “Let’s get you to bed. It will be better in the morning.”
I’m fairly certain that means Brenna is going to try to talk me out of things, or into things. Either way, I can’t face being asked to review the stinking NDA I signed. The humiliation would level me.
Maybe Gabriel has it right; maybe it’s better to take a step back and protect yourself. I’ve always been a walking ball of emotion. Maybe if I take some time for myself, get away from the heady experience of being wrapped up in Gabriel, I’ll see things clearly.
Brenna stands, cutting into my thoughts. “I’ll leave you to get ready.” She takes a few steps, then turns back. “If things turn out for the worst, Harley Andrews is very interested in working with you.”
“That’s flattering.” I feel absolutely nothing. I don’t care anymore if I’d be working with a huge movie star. And yet Australia sounds like an adventure right about now. I could go there, take in the country, get some perspective.
A little voice whispers that I’m running away like a chicken. I ignore it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gabriel
* * *
The guys find me the next morning in a pathetic heap on the couch, a pillow over my face. I would say it is my lowest point, but that’s already happened. The second Sophie walked out the door and out of my life will always be my lowest point. No, the second I doubted her and tore apart her trust in me was my lowest point.
“Jesus,” Jax says, somewhere above my head. “He’s wearing sweats. Dirty ones.”
And rather foul-smelling ones at that. I don’t bloody care.
“Is he drunk?” Whip asks with some concern.
“Naw,” Killian drawls. “All I see are empty water bottles.”
“Drowning his sorrows in bottled water. At least he’s not cliché,” Rye murmurs before sitting next to me. His hand comes down on my shoulder and he gives me a shake. “Scottie, man, what’s up?”
It takes true effort to make my mouth move. But I know if I don’t answer, they’ll never leave.
“I’m fairly certain Sophie wants to leave me.”
They’re all silent, which grates even more.
Then Jax sighs. “Fuck, man. That sucks.”
The pillow lifts from my face, sending blinding light into my eyes. I squint as Killian frowns down at me.
“What did you do?” he asks.
I don’t answer. My body is so leaden, I can’t find the energy to talk. I just want them to go away.
“Was it the sex?” Whip asks tentatively.
I give him a glare that, in a perfect world, would cause instant annihilation.
Unfortunately it does little more than make Whip wince. “Sorry, sorry. Just thought I’d ask.”
I stare up at the ceiling. Behind me, Jax rummages through the suite’s kitchenette and finds some beers.