Page 11 of Endgame

“Not that it’s any of your business, but the way I look didn’t do it for him I guess.” I can’t look his way. It’s humiliating, and I’ve already spilled too much.

Back to the boxes. Where is that other one I was loo?—

“Is he fucking blind?” I feel him suddenly right next to me. I know if I look up, I’ll come face to face with his jeans. He’s too close, and he’s already seeing through me much more than I'm comfortable with.

But that’s the thing—he’s making me feel strangelytoocomfortable in his presence. What is going on with me today?

“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” I doubt that will happen, but I say it anyway.

I feel him slowly lower his large frame to the carpeted floor, meeting me face to face among the brown boxes scattered around us. Callaway ducks his head slightly to catch my eyes, causing me to move my stare from the task at hand and settle into his heavy blue stare.

“He’s a goddamn fool. Anyone with a working set of eyes could see that.”

He’s studying me so carefully, like he can't quite figure me out.

We don’t know each other unless you count the things we know from Navy alone, yet I’ve never felt more seen in my life. I didn’t have to clarify anything—he knew.

That’s refreshing for a change. A feeling I’m unfamiliar with.

I fight the small blush attempting to creep its way in. I don’t want his pity, but I appreciate the sentiment.

“Yeah well, his loss, right?”

I’m doing my best to laugh it off playfully.

He no doubt catches on to that because playful has not been my vibe today. Embarrassment is more my speed with how I’m currently feeling.

Nothing like wasting years of your life with someone who barely considers you average.

“A loss that will one day haunt him. I’m sure of it.”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.

After confirmingI have all the leftover boxes, Callawaytakes them one by one to the Jeep while I triple-check the house again with no plans to return.

This place is an absolute pigsty.

How can Trevor live in such chaos and filth? I spot a broom in the corner of the room and decide to clean up the mess around me.

Not for Trevor, but because I know he will find a way to blame the dirt covering the kitchen floor on me, knowing I’ve been here.

I’m not giving him the chance.

I grab the broom and start sweeping up all the disgusting pieces of old, dried-up food, dirt, hair, and whatever else made its way to this floor. I accumulate piles of filth scattered in what looks like random anthills throughout the kitchen.

Thankfully, this is not my problem anymore.

The domestic side of me, however, can’t help but be productive when seeing a mess right in front of me.

Reaching down with the dustpan to collect the dirt, a deep voice exasperated in disbelief echoes throughout the room.

“The fuck? Get off the floor, Dakota.”

Callaway, the newly named caveman, grabs my arm, and pulls me off the ground, throwing me off balance. I reach for the cabinet beside me to stabilize myself and send daggers his way.

“What does it look like I’m doing, you big Goliath?”

Whereas most men would probably laugh at my name-calling, Callaway ignores it completely, his teeth grinding and heavy breaths scissoring. “It looks to me like you’re cleaning up the mess that belongs to a fucking coward of a man. He doesn’t deserve your kindness.”

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