Page 112 of The Love You Win

Surprise, surprise. Maddox Graves has been played again. At least with Candace, I hadn’t actually been in love with the woman. Thought I might have been for a while. But in the end, I realized I didn’t feel much of anything for her outside of obligation.

Isla?

My chest aches, and I rub absently at it.

I actually love her.

Loved her.

Can’t keep thinking stuff like that in the present tense. Because with every stumbling step I take toward our hotel, I’m more and more convinced of what I need to do.

I need to break up with Isla Harding, block her number, and pretend she never existed.

“You going to be all right if I leave you?” Bash asks as he deposits me on my bed. “Not gonna throw up and drown in your sleep, are you?”

I grunt. “No.”

He pauses by the door, frowning. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay, Graves. Text me if you need anything, all right?”

He’s a good friend. I tell him so, then demand he get the hell out. Once he’s gone, I strip out of my clothes and flop down on the king-sized bed. An unwelcome jolt of longing spears my chest when my mind wanders to Isla. To the fake, lying, manipulative woman I thought could be my forever.

I’m a joke. And I’m going to end up alone. It’s clear as day.

Might as well make it official.

Fumbling with my phone, I smash my fingers against the screen, pulling up my text thread with Isla. I stare at her last message.

Miss you.

Not yet, she doesn’t. But she will.

It’s probably littered with drunken typos, but I tap out a message with furious, shaking fingers.

Me

It’s over between us. You really had me fooled. But you’re not the woman I thought you were. I’m looking for more in a partner. More than you and what you can offer. I deserve fucking better. I deserve better than you.

There. I hit send and ignore the violent roiling in my gut. But I do deserve better. I deserve to be loved, dammit. Do I have a sign on my forehead that says Use Me or something? Why does this keep happening to me?

Maybe some people just aren’t built for love.

Maybe I’m one of them.

Not even thirty seconds later, my phone rings. Isla’s name flashes across the screen. I hit deny. It rings again.

The thing is? I don’t want to talk to her. Can’t talk to her. Because as much as I want my love for her to exist firmly in the past, it doesn’t. It’s still very much a living, breathing, yowling beast inside my chest. Who knows what I’d say if I spoke to her now?

She tries to call three more times, but I deny each attempt. Then the texts come.

Isla

What?

Maddox? Did something happen? Please answer the phone.

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