Page 172 of What's Left of Us

Matt rubs his eyes. “Georgia…”

“We both know it’s not good for him.”

It.

Me.

When he opens his eyes, there’s reluctance in them. “You know he’s going to do whatever he thinks is right, regardless of what I tell him.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod and look down to the floor.

Matt’s voice lowers. “I didn’t expect this from you. Who would try destroying a man who would do anything for someone? That shit ain’t love, Georgia. This whole thing is fucked up.”

Fighting the tears prickling the back of my eyes, I stand taller. “Just try. Not for me. For him.” There’s no point trying to justify my choices. He wouldn’t understand them anyway. So I swallow the pain and meet his eyes. “It’s all I’ll ask of you.”

Rubbing his lips together, he nods once. “I hope you know what you’re giving up. But I don’t think you do.”

My bottom lip starts trembling, so I force them into a tight smile. “Trust me. I know.”

He looks at me one last time before shaking his head. “Damn shame,” he murmurs, turning away from me and accepting the bag of food that the cashier gives him.

When he walks out, I stiffly head over to where I’d left my coat and purse in the booth. I don’t meet Luca’s eyes when I say, “I’m going to wait five minutes before I leave. You should too.”

“Georgia—”

“No.” I glare at him. “I appreciate your help, but I don’t want anything from you outside of this.Nothing. I’m doing my part, and all you need to do is yours.”

He reaches out, but I dodge his touch.

“Don’t,” I seethe, putting my jacket on. “Don’t touch me.”

Luca has the audacity to roll his eyes. “You do realize if we’re going to be convincing, you need to let me touch you once in a while, right?”

I gesture around us. “We already performed. There’s no audience left. I think we’re good for right now. Wait a few minutes before leaving.”

Sidestepping him, I leave out the back entrance and take a deep breath as soon as the air caresses my face.

Get rid of him.

It isn’t until I’m in my car that I let the tears I held back fall.

*

When I openthe door to my childhood bedroom, my heart startles when I see my father standing at the window, looking over the driveway.

I keep a grip on the door handle and watch as he slowly turns to me. “Care to explain why you met with Evan Maloney alone, daughter?”

Did Maloney tell him?

Wetting my lips, I watch as he studies me. His eyes are bloodshot, with bags underneath them, as he approaches where I stand by the open door.

“Are you okay?” I ask, feigning innocence. When was the last time he slept? “You look a little tired.”

“I’d be better if I knew what my daughter was up to behind my back.”

I don’t ask him how he knows I met with his lawyer because then he’ll suspect more than he already does. “He was the only lawyer I knew. I figured if he worked with you and the company, he could help me.”

It’s not completely untrue. I don’t know many lawyers. I’ve heard of some through Lincoln, but none I would reach out to if I needed something.

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