Connell (Carolina Reapers 3)

“I’m an idiot,” I whispered more to myself, my heart pounding as I looked at Lacy, then past her.

Every single person looked at me with pity in their eyes.

Sweat slicked my palms, heat rushing up my neck and to my cheeks.

My entire body shook from the mortification, from the judgment in their eyes.

It’s happening again.

Everyone saw it before you.

“Lacy,” I said, my voice cracking as I barely held back the tears. “I…I have to go.” I backed away from my cart, no longer caring about the contents inside.

“I know,” she said, nodding. “I’ll grab these.” She nodded to my cart. “I’ll bring them by in a few.”

I nodded my thanks and sprinted out the glass doors, tears already streaming from my eyes before I’d even gotten behind the wheel of my car.

By sheer will I made it home, and locked the door behind me, instantly slumping to the floor.

Connell had played me for a damned fool.

All the doubts I had, all the fears I’d expressed…he’d hushed them, shooed them away. Assured me with kisses and accent drenched words that they weren’t merited.

And I’d been dumb enough to believe him.

Anger flared hot in my chest, not at him but at me.

Because I was the one who fell.

I was the one who allowed myself to love a man who couldn’t possibly remain mine alone.

How could he? With the lifestyle he lived?

Like I’d said from the beginning.

Did he think I’d never find out? Did he care?

You know better.

Some deep, wounded voice in the back of my head argued for him, begged me to call him.

I clenched my cell in my hand, his number up and ready.

But I locked my screen, my heart aching at the photo there.

He should’ve been honest with me. I told him from the beginning we didn’t need to be serious. We didn’t need to push it that direction.

A summer convenience until the season started.

Well, it’d started now.

And he was gone, doing God knew what.

Disgust rolled through my body at the too-ready images that flashed in my mind—Connell and all those beautiful women. Did they laugh about me? Did they joke about the curvy woman who thought she held his love?

I raked my palms over my face, forcing the tears away.

Hours later, long after Lacy had kindly dropped off my groceries and hugged me, I walked into Scythe.

The place was crammed wall-to-wall in customers draped in their Reaper best, the game up on all the TV screens. I ignored those, heading straight to the bar. I needed my best friend. Needed Echo to help me figure out what to do about the situation, but she was swamped with customers on the other end of the bar, so I took my seat and waited.

The second she was free, she hurried over to me. “Okay, this can’t be true,” she said, foregoing a greeting.

I’d texted her the links to all the articles before I’d come over.

“Pretty hard to deny, Echo.” I sighed. “It sounds like him.”

She furrowed her brow.

“I mean not what he said,” I clarified. “That was an ugly shock.” I swallowed hard. “But his voice. It’s his.”

“You have to call him,” Echo said, and I gaped at her.

“I don’t want to speak to him.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need to confront him with this. Hear his side—”

“His side?” I cut her off. “You think I need to listen to him explain why he thinks cheating outside of zip codes isn’t considered cheating? That I want to hear him explain that he prefers his women on the road rail-thin and easily tossed around?” I choked on the last words, and Echo immediately poured me a vodka tonic, sliding the glass in front of me.

I gulped the contents down in three swallows, using the time to collect my breath. I would not cry in public.

“I know, babe,” Echo said, leaning close to me. “But it doesn’t add up.”

“Doesn’t it?” I shook my head. “I said it from the start.” I shrugged. “I’m more mad at myself for ever thinking differently. After Atlanta...I should’ve known better. Should have—”

“Hey!” A customer called from the end of the bar. “Can we get some drinks down here please!”

“Calm your tits, Stan!” Echo hollered back, and the old man pursed his lips at her. “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

I nodded, fiddling with my now empty glass.

“Omigod, Annabelle.” Blaire’s voice sounded just before she squeezed past another bar-goer and settled in the seat next to me. “I saw it all over my feed on the plane ride home from Atlanta,” she said, her hand on my back. “How are you handling this?”

I parted my lips, but no words escaped.

Obviously, I wasn’t handling it too fucking well.

“That’s okay,” she said when I didn’t answer. “This kind of thing happens a lot, and believe you and me, you are going to make him pay.” She raised her brows, her lips shaping like she’d sucked a lemon.