Page 178 of Bona Fide

? Love Bites — Def Leppard ?

I thoughtI’ve been in awkward positions before, but sitting with Indie the next morning at breakfast takes the cake. I cheated on her when we weren’t even dating, but it still leaves a sour twinge in my gut when she came knocking on my door this morning to come down to the lobby to eat. As though I never called her the woman I was madly in love with and can never be with.

Her and I, we need to end.

And Reagan and I, we’re not so different after all. We’re both fucked up and in a situation that neither of us can cope with on our own. The idea of ignoring the wrong wouldn’t be something hard for me to bypass, but Demi isn’t something I’m willing to gamble on. I won’t leave bread crumbs this time for her to find.

“Something wrong with your breakfast?” Indie croons from across the table, looking absolutely stunning in a yellow sundress. Her dark hair falls from her shoulders as I glance up at her, forcing a grin from my lips as she blinks at me expectedly.

I’m so sorry I can’t be anything more to you.

“No, everything’s fine,” I quip, grabbing my small mug of coffee and taking a sip. “How’s yours?”

She rolls around a strawberry. “Good. Their fruit is really...fresh.”

Right.

We’ve never had a forced conversation like this. If anything, Indie and I clicked from the gate. She ignored my broody-ass ways, and I delve into how much...well, we already know all about that.

Add on that she wasn’t naggy, petty, materialistic, or a raving bitch, she had that going for her too.

“Indie, we need to talk about—” Her hand abruptly extends over her head as she waves at someone behind me. Peering over my shoulder, one of the waitresses extends a finger with a smile that she’ll be right over.

“I am so thirsty,” Indie professes, downing half of her water from her glass. She places it down with a satisfied thud. “Do you have a lot of meetings when you get back?”

I nod. “Yeah...I’m sure that I do. Em will brief me probably before I even get off the plane.”

She chuckles with a weak roll of her eyes. “She’s...amazing.”

“Yeah...she’s something alright. So, we—”

“What can I get for you?” the waitress asks, now standing next to our table.

“Some more water, please,” Indie replies then perks a brow at me. “Did you need something?” I shake my head, and the woman takes off to grab her beverage.

Indie is evading, and I’m not playing this shit anymore. The best thing to do for her is to be a complete dickhead and have her hate me.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I deadpan, hitting her with my stare.

“Do what?”

“Indie…”

She shrugs when I don’t continue with the obvious. “What?”

“You don’t deserve this. I’ve used you for way too long.” She picks up her fork and stabs a piece of pineapple.

“I’m fine, Wade. I knew what this was when I walked into—”

“It’s not right,” I stress, leaning over the table. “You don’t need me weighing you down. I’m no good for you. I’ll never be, alright?”

“I’m okay with that,” she replies through her chewing, keeping her eyes locked on her food.

She’s as okay with it as I’m good with knowing Reagan is out free in the world for any motherfucker to mend her heart and take her from me.

I lean back in my chair, suiting up for this to be either a sob fest or for her to shock me and lose her entire shit in the middle of this dining room. “I’m not.”

Indie’s grey eyes narrow in on me. “Since when?”

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