Page 37 of Fated Shot

“Well, I wanted to tell you at the barbecue, but clearly, you were in the middle of a tantrum, which I forgive you for, by the way. I should have told you I was coming, but—”

“You shouldn’t have come at all,” I interrupt him. The words slip out before I can hold them back, and I feel the instant drop in my gut as I wait for him to snap. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at my pushback, it’s a warning look that initiates my fight or flight.

“I’m going to transfer to Toronto.” He’s talking down to me like he’s telling a toddler to share his toys at recess. “We can find a place together, and then we should get married.”

It takes everything in me not to spit out my watered-down excuse for a latte. I can’t even attempt to muster a response through my disbelief. What on God’s green earth would compel him to think any part of this would be a good idea?

“We can pick out the ring together when I’m back for the New York game,” he continues. Is this guy serious?

Finally, my brain starts to communicate with my body as my mouth gapes open, and I shake my head. “No.”

“I said I was sorry, baby, what more do you want me to do?” Not sleep with some girl in my bed, for starters, douche canoe.

“Stop calling me that.” My voice shakes through the rage bubbling in my system. The delusion of this man, it’s almost impossible for me to wrap my head around. We have barely talked in weeks, aside from a few desperate plea texts, which I mostly handled in a few word responses. Now, he shows up out of the blue, expecting me to come leaping back into his arms?

I stand up, grabbing my coffee.

“This was a mistake, I’m leaving.” I start marching toward the door.

“You’re just going to walk out?” He quips back angrily, voice booming before peering around the room again and continuing with a lower but poisonous warning tone. “We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

I feel the familiar sweat forming on my palms as I become hyper-aware of my surroundings. I’m starting to feel empty, becoming my hollow shell of self-preservation.No, Mia. I need to leave. I don’t have to stay. I can leave.

“I’m leaving,” I say again as I walk straight out the door. Something I never would have been able to do a few months ago. No more tip-toeing around his fragile ego.

He follows me out, though, hand grasping my arm much tighter than necessary. With a crazed look in his eye, he stares down at me. “Are you fucking someone?”

The words sting and a fire erupts throughout my body. I’m shaking at this point, and through fear and fury, I hiss, “Goodbye, Sebastian.”

Chapter 16

Jack

It’s around 8 am when I finally roll out of bed. I barely slept. Between my ribs aching and the gorgeous girl lying next to me, I was more than a little distracted.

My phone is still open to the messages that came in last night from Penn.

2:43 am Penn:im iN teh uber

3:02 am Penn:home safe. Goin 2 slee.p

3:03 am Penn:nO run tomrw

Despite also running on zero sleep, I’m surprisingly energized. The sun is fully gleaming in through the windows as I get dressed and the rays warm me as I wander out of Maplewood. Solo coffee runs are rare for me these days, but I always appreciate having the quiet time to myself.

Crossing the street, I catch sight of Java down the block and head over. As I approach the door, a commotion catches my attention—a lanky figure disappears around the corner, their voice echoing off the nearby buildings.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me. Our conversation wasn’t done,” comes back clear as day. My spine prickles at the sound of the voice.

“I’m leaving,” a second voice replies firmly from the other side of the building, it’s one that I recognize immediately. Everysingle muscle in my body responds in an instant as I bound ahead right past the entrance to Java.

“That’s funny. I don’t remember saying you can leave,” the male voice hisses back, cruelty in his tone.

“I’m done, Seb, this is over.” The distressing tone reaches me, making me move even faster.

“As if you can make that fucking decision. Oh, I know what this is about,” he mocks, degradingly, as I round the empty side street. He’s got one arm above her head, boxing her in between him and the wall as fury rips through my body.

“You have a crush.” It’s not a statement, it’s an accusation.

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