Page 269 of By His Rule

His eyes are kind yet curious.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Lorelei,” he breathes.

“I promise. It’s just been…it’s been a crazy couple of weeks.”

“Okay,” he agrees, albeit reluctantly. “If you need anything, just call me, yeah?”

I agree, although we both know that I won’t be calling him anytime soon.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. If it weren’t for him catching me, well…who knows what kind of mess I would be in right now.

“You’re welcome. Message me, yeah? Let me know you’re okay.”

I nod before climbing out of the taxi.

The second I’m inside my building, I pull my heels off and hit the stairs. I’m too fragile right now to deal with the elevator.

Every inch of my body hurts by the time I pull my keys from my purse and let myself into my apartment, but there isn’t a single part of me that hurts more than my heart.

“It’s real. It’s fucking real, and raw, and fucking painful. Tell me that you’re with me. Please, for the love of God, tell me that you feel it too.”

His words slam into me with the force of a freight train. All the air rushes from my lungs as I stumble into my apartment and slam the door behind me.

A loud, ugly sob erupts, and I crash into the wall before sliding down and landing hard on my ass.

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and lower my head to my knees.

Tears spill down my cheeks faster than I can control as the pain of walking away from him after everything he said drips through my veins.

Everything he said was so perfect. Everything I’d convinced myself I didn’t want to hear from him.Everything that would hurt like hell if I allowed myself to be swept away by it all, only to be forgotten about down the line.

I’ve no idea how long I sit there, purging everything through my tears, but when I eventually look up and catch sight of the large clock on the living room wall, I panic.

Wilder’s game has already started.

I scramble to my feet and race toward the TV, turning it on and finding the channel through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

Walking backward, I fall onto the couch the second my calves hit it and force myself to forget everything that happened tonight and focus on my brother.

They’re ten minutes into the game, and they’re down by three. Wilder is going to be pissed. They killed this team last year. When I spoke to him yesterday, he was confident that they had this one in the bag.

Looks like it’s going to be harder than he expected.

I sit on the edge of my seat, watching as his team tries to pull it back. But every time they get ahead, the other team comes out fighting.

It’s a good game. Or it would be if I weren’t nervous as hell for Wilder.

There are only fifteen minutes left on the clock, and they’re tied again as Wilder’s offensive line gets into position, ready to secure the win.

My nerves are shot, but I’m grateful for the distraction.

My cell has been ringing incessantly out in the hallway, but I’ve refused to answer it.

Tate knows that I’ll be watching the game. But I also suspect that she’s had a call or at least a message from Ryder asking her to check in with me.

I should appreciate the support. I mean, I do appreciate the support, but right now, I don’t want to talk. I just want to be left alone.

---