Page 99 of Serving the Maestro

“Stop,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know what the fuck I ever did to you that would make you think it’s okay to go and hurt the woman I love—to go and hurt me by causing trouble for us, but whatever the hell it was, I’m sorry. And whatever the hell is going on with you...I don’t want—I can’t deal with it. You’re out of my life, Avery. It’s over between us—completely. We’re not even friends anymore.”

“Trent, wait—”

Ignoring the panicked sounds of her voice, I ended the call, then deleted her contact information and blocked her number.

Rising, I started to go inside.

I had to talk to Jazz and fix this.

I ran out of nerve, though, when I found the guest door locked.

Gripping the knob in my hand and pressing my head to the smooth wood, I groaned. “Jazz...”

On the other side of the door, there was only silence.

Slowly, I let go of the knob and turned away.

“Alright,” I told myself.

I’d let her sleep.

She had every right to be angry. Hell, she’d had one thing after another thrown at her for weeks now. Was I surprised she’d shut down on me?

In the morning, we could talk.

After she had some rest and hopefully calmed down, it would be easier for her to see that Avery had just manipulated her.

I’d tell her how I felt. Tell her I loved her.

I’d fix this.

I just had to wait until morning, and then I’d fix it.

But for now? I was going to have another fucking drink.

THIRTY-SIX

JAZZ

My head was killing me.

The early Sunday morning crowd at LAX, the noise, the bright lights, and endless chatter, coupled with endless announcements on the overhead, definitely were not helping with the headache, either.

I hadn’t been lying the night before when I told Trent I had a headache—stress did that to me.

Listening to what Avery had to say about a threesome—and then the stuff about her and Trent that afternoon—had hit me like a sledgehammer to my skull.

It had taken far too long to fall asleep, and I’d woken after a few hours, then tiptoed around as I packed, scared I’d wake Trent and had to confront him.

None of that had helped my stress level, so now I was tired, and trying to tell myself my heart wasn’t broken as I sat at the airport, waiting for my flight back to New York City.

My mental pep talk was an all-around failure.

My heart was totally broken, and my head hurt almost as bad.

I told myself I’d get over it as I settled in a corner seat close to my gate and sipping coffee heavily laced with cream and sugar. Part of me felt a little guilty about the caffeine hit. I’d done an internet search on caffeine and pregnancy, and while some sites made me feel like the devil incarnate for having a cup, most indicated an occasional coffee or soft drink wouldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby.

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