Page 122 of If You Need Me

“Fuck. It’s not a game.”

“You wanted her attention. And then when it got real, and hard, instead of saying, ‘Hey, I messed this up. I want to be engaged to you, but now that we’re in a real relationship, I realize maybe you would prefer that I propose when you’re actually ready, whenever that is. So how do you want to move forward?’, you just gave up on the love of your life. Like a saggy scrotum. You made the decision without consulting her, a-fucking-gain.”

“Why are you being so mean?”

“I’m not being mean; I’m being real. Don’t be a baby. Hemi would have this exact conversation with you if she were in my position and not on the receiving end of this breakup. Your biggest flaw is that you don’t think you’re good enough, which is mind-blowing, considering how you don’t have to be anyone other than yourself for people to want to be in your orbit. What if you are exactly the right person for Hemi? What if you’re everything she actually she needed?”

“This pain is astounding.”

“Welcome to falling in love and then fucking it up. It hurts. Love is the most powerful emotion. It makes us incredibly vulnerable, but when it works, when it’s right and real, it’s the most beautiful, wonderful thing.” She sighs, and her expression turns sad. She’s only twenty-three, and it makes me wonder what’s happened to her heart while I’ve been off living my life. “You have the potential to be the best boyfriend, husband, dad, and friend Hemi could ever hope to have. But you didn’t give her a chance. So this is where you are.” She motions to the setting sun. “Now you have to decide if it’s where you’re going to stay.”

I drive home the next morning after breakfast with the family. My place smells like lemon and cleaning supplies when I arrive, which is to be expected. I drop my bag in the laundry room and stop in my bedroom, frowning at the lack of nightshirt on Wills’s side of the bed. I folded it and left it there out of habit.

My heart aches when I open the top drawer of my dresser, where Wills leaves her sleepwear, and find it empty. I move to the closet, already knowing what waits for me. But I’m unable to believe it unless I see it with my own eyes. Empty hangers greet me on the right side, where Wills’s clothes used to be. The outfits I bought for her are all still there, though. Did she think I’d want her to give them back?

My bedroom is too depressing, so I move to the living room. The blanket she brought over for cuddle-on-the-couch nights is gone. She took everything that was hers.

The awful ache in my chest expands when I reach the kitchen. On the counter is an envelope, my apartment key, and her engagement ring. I pick it up by the band and curl my fist around it, the diamonds biting into my palm. I slide it onto my pinkie and pick up the envelope. My hands are unsteady as I break the seal. I don’t know what I expect to find. A scathing letter? An admission that I was right all along, she would never love me the way I loved—love—her?

Instead, I find two tickets to a special event featuring my favorite comic book artist. They’re VIP meet-and-greet tickets that sold out months ago. Wills went out of her way to get these for me, and still gave them to me, even though I broke up with her. She’s such a rare, special person, and I don’t know if she sees that the way the rest of us do. She always puts others ahead of herself. She did it with every single promo op she had to help me through, and again when I proposed, and even now, maybewithout even realizing it. It’s who she is at her core. She’s the most loyal person I know. The glue. My heart and soul.

I didn’t think it was possible to regret my choices more, but here I am.

CHAPTER 41

HEMI

Breakups suck. Work sucks. The little things I can usually ignore or let roll off my back now prick like needles. Topher Guy has become the bane of my existence. All I want to do is hibernate until the ache in my chest goes away. But it’s the busiest time of year in the Terror office, so that’s not possible.

On the upside, I set up a huge promotional opportunity for the women’s team that will give them incredible visibility. I want to tell Dallas, but since we’re not together anymore, I can’t. I rub my bare ring finger and feel another debilitating wave of sadness. I breathe through it, trying to center myself so I don’t get emotional at work. It was a knee-jerk reaction to leave the ring at his place when I went over to clear out my things. But it belonged to his grandmother, so I couldn’t keep it. And looking at it every day was too heartbreaking.

Being honest with myself about how I feel about Dallas Bright has been devastating. I love him in a way I never thought I’d love someone. Every time I reflect on the past couple of months, I see more of the truth of who he is and who we were together. But now we’re nothing.

I refuse to cry in front of work people. My friends are one thing, but I can’t let the colleagues who love to gossip see mebreak down. So I hole myself up in my office as much as possible to avoid running into the people most likely to shit-talk me.

An hour later, I’m fading. Sleep has been horrible—I’ve spent the past few days tossing and turning and waking in the middle of the night, unable to settle again. I head to the staff room, too tired to even make the trek across the street for a latte.

I regret the decision as soon as I enter the room. Two people from Topher’s department are sitting at the conference table, sipping coffees—Chad and Janessa. The room goes silent as I enter. I’m used to it, but it still stings every time. When I stopped wearing the ring, chatter followed. I could handle it when it was about me being too direct and blunt. This is so much worse. Being the center of office gossip because I was dating, then engaged to, and subsequently broken up with by a player is my worst nightmare.

I set the coffee to brew and busy myself with adding cream and sugar to my mug.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

I stiffen but don’t turn around.

“I wouldn’t be able to show my face in the office after being dumped by one of the players,” Chad continues.

Janessa coughs to hide a chuckle.

High school feels like a skip in the park compared to this. When I don’t fight back, they take it as an invitation to keep slinging shit.

“The whole thing is just so embarrassing.” His chair creaks as he slurps his coffee. “There’s a reason for the no-fraternization policy, and now you’re basically the poster child for why it’s there.”

“Oh my God, Chad.” Janessa snickers.

I drop my head, grateful that my hair provides a protective curtain, and struggle to stay in control. It doesn’t matter what I do or say; they’re just going to keep coming for me. Evidently, it’s open season. I’m tired of having to fight for my position. It makes me feel so small—like that unlikable girl all over again,the one Dallas’s friends would tease in the halls between classes. I don’t feel like a badass anymore—not even here, where I always have. I feel broken and insignificant.

But I roll my shoulders back anyway. I can’t just let them do this. It’s not right, and that matters. So I turn to face them. Chad is leaning back in his chair, smirk firmly in place. Janessa is focused on her coffee cup. So predictable.

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