Page 139 of Bitter Rival

I must be, because Finn is right.

Everyone leaves me.

Sobs wrack my body with the force of my tears as my heart shatters.

I chose me. But where did that get me? I’m alone again.

No mother. No Finn. No Beckett.

And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much that I can’t even breathe.

Curled up in the fetal position, the floor hard beneath my body, I cry an ocean.

I cry until there are no more tears left inside me, and when my tears finally subside, I don’t feel any better.

I just feel hollowed out and empty with an ache in my heart that won’t subside.

Beckett’s words echo in my head.

Why did you think you deserved so little?

Maybe it’s because all the most important people in my life have treated me like shit.

Why didn’t he give me more?

After I peel my body off the floor, I get to my feet on shaky legs and grab my camera from my bag.

Then I take a photo of the girl in the mirror. Of my tear-stained cheeks. My red, puffy eyes. The gaping Beckett-sized hole inside me.

The camera never lies. It’s the only witness to my misery and heartache.

And once again, I have no one to rely on but myself.

You’re on your own, kid.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Beckett

“This is fucking insane,” Caiden says, dropping into the lounger next to mine with a cocktail in his hand. “I could get used to this.”

It’s a typical Grayson Abbott birthday extravaganza and the party hasn’t even started yet.

This year he’s hosting his thirty-first birthday at a twelve-bedroom villa in Cabo with an infinity pool, ocean view, a butler and a personal chef.

He flew us all down on his family’s private jet and now I’m stuck here for four days of sun and mandatory fun.

I check my phone for the hundredth time from my poolside lounger but nothing has changed since I checked it two minutes ago. Just a few texts from Hunter who has been left in charge of the vineyard in my absence.

I returned to my regularly scheduled life in San Francisco but it just left me feeling hollow and empty like everything else in my life right now.

Not sure why I keep thinking Daisy will text or call when I haven’t heard from her in the two weeks since she took off.

That’s not entirely true. I got one email from her, and, like a sap, I open it again and reread it for the dozenth time, searching for clues. By now, I already know it by heart.

Dear Beckett,

Hope you are well. Your father was going to hire me to shoot a marketing campaign but never got around to it. So I took it upon myself to do it anyway. I tried to capture the entire process from vine to bottle, with a special emphasis on the people who make it possible. The photos are yours to do with as you wish.

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