She couldn’t take this torment another second. Yearned to cut herself free from the upsetting bonds of hurt, betrayal, distrust, and fear. Yet she found the act of turning away from him and forcing her feet to move excruciating. Found the door as heavy as cement as she pulled it open. Found the bitter, bitter taste of “Good-bye” lingering far longer than she’d imagined.
And found her drive to LAX as long as if she’d driven to Vegas itself.
Troy kept the side of his face pressed to the front window long after the taxi vanished from sight. Hoping against hope that she’d realize what she’d done and come back. That as soon as the anger cleared, understanding would set in and she’d come back. That as the hurt faded, their love would break through, and she’d come back.
Only…she never came back.
Not after he’d cried himself hollow. Not after he’d gutted himself with recrimination. Not after he’d smashed a dining room chair over the granite kitchen counter.
When he pried his wet face away from the glass, dusk was setting. He stumbled to the dining room and dropped into the lone mate of the broken chair and let his gaze blur over the hole he’d punched in the plaster wall—man, Rubi was gonna be pissed—thinking that he could draw a circle around the hole Giselle had left in his body, one encompassing his entire torso.
He’d promised her that if she’d given them a chance, he’d let her make her decision. That he would abide by that decision and let her move on. He’d done it because he’d believed that they belonged together. That their rough beginnings gave them a deeper understanding of each other. But it looked like he’d been wrong. Two fucked-up wrongs didn’t make a right.
She’d made her choice.
She was gone.
He had to let her go.
But just how the fuck was he going to live without her now?
He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at the hole in the wall. Only knew when the house’s darkness and silence overwhelmed him. Until he couldn’t stay in the house alone another minute.
He dragged himself into the bedroom, more zombie than human, dropped to a seat on the bed where he and Giselle had spent four beautiful nights together, and picked up the landline on the nightstand. He dialed, leaned on his knees, and rubbed his face as he listened to the phone ring at the other end of the line.
He felt gutted. Absolutely empty. Couldn’t envision how this feeling would ever ease. Couldn’t imagine going through every day feeling like this.
He pushed those dark thoughts aside as his boss answered. “Dude,” Jax said, “you are on Ryker’s shit list.”
“Nothing new.” Troy’s voice came out gravelly, and he cleared his throat. “For Rachel’s benefit, it would be good to warn him to stay away from me right now.”
“Oooookay. Will do. No guarantee he’ll listen.”
“Never does. Look, I really need a job. Like really bad. And I don’t want to be in Vegas. Know what I mean?”
A slight hesitation, then, “Ah, shit, man. I’m sorry.” True compassion drenched his friend’s voice and brought a fresh wave of tears to Troy’s eyes. “Fuck, that bites.” A heavy sigh filled the line, then a moment of silence as Troy imagined Jax thinking. “I just wrapped my work in San Diego. Other than Vegas, I’ve only got Wes breaking in the new guy on a skyscraper run downtown.”
“Fine, great.” He already planned on sinking into a bottle of Jamison to get through the night. “I’m pulling seniority. Stunt’s mine. Tell me where to be in the morning.”
“Actually, it’s a night shoot. Gets started in about an hour.”
“Even better.” Thank God. “I’m there.”
As Troy jotted down the address, he already knew this stunt would rock on screen, because right now he didn’t give a flying fuck if he lived or died.
He was all in.
“Two hours?” Giselle tried not to whine, she really did. But when she was on the verge of dropping to her butt in the middle of the concourse, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking herself like an asylum escapee, it was difficult. “Are you sure there’s not another flight I can…?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The airline ticket agent said. “There’s nothing sooner. We can only fix a broken plane so fast.”
Giselle massaged her throbbing temple and accepted her lousy luck as she turned away from the gate attendant doling out details on the flight delay due to the plane’s mechanical issues.
She’d managed to get through security and buy a ball cap without anyone recognizing her and even found a mostly empty seating area at another gate to sit down and listen to all the voice mails on her phone, holding herself together with slow, even breaths. But now, she needed a little liquid help.
She headed into the United member’s lounge and ordered a glass of wine from the bar, then sank into a corner seat at the windows, pulled the brim of her ball cap low, and stared out at the night on the tarmac. Her mind veered toward the messages on her voice mail and Chad’s attitude. She was so over it. Over him. His messages had transitioned from irate to apologetic to annoyed to irate again.
As soon as she got to Vegas, they’d be having a chat about that attitude. They’d also be having a very serious sit-down over the four other offers Giselle’s agent, Gloria, had left messages about on her voice mail. Deals Chad hadn’t passed on, including L’Oréal upping their already generous offer. If his attitude hadn’t improved by the time she reached Vegas, she was cutting him loose.