Page 84 of The Love Losers

“Yes,” I say, more tears coming. I hate tears. I hate the weakness of it, of myself. Because for every time I look in the mirror and tell myself that I can kick life in the balls, I rememberall the times when I was small and weak and let other people have their say. “And…” And this is the part that will push him away from me, even if all the rest can’t, but I have to tell him. I’d promised to be honest, and sure, I may have delayed that honesty slightly, but I still owe it to him. “Nina just texted me.”

“Nina?” His surprise would have been incredibly amusing under different circumstances. Right now, it’s another handful of salt, thrown into my seeping wound. A bitter wind whips through the garden, nearly tearing one of the roses off its supports.

I run my fingers over the zipper of my coat, needing the feeling of something solid and grounding. “Wilson was at this party that Joy and I catered last weekend.”

Something passes through his eyes. “It was Joy’s special tea. Ninathreatenedyou.”

I nod, and the horror of the situation I’ve put us in lands on me like an elephant. If I’d been more cordial earlier, if I’d made less of an impression on Wilson, if I’d refused to spend more time with them…

If, if, if…

The end of it is that I’ve allowedNina, of all people, the power to destroy us. I’ve put myself in a position where she could probably get Joy and me arrested just out of spite. And even if Anthony listens to me and marries the accountant, both Nina and Wilson will know it’s a sham. They’ll probably make a laughingstock of him at his own wedding.

Anthony turns and punches the wall with his bloody fist, and horror loops through me. I’m not afraid of him—I’m horrified for him. I can tell he only did it to hurt himself. To expel whatever he feels inside at the thought of Nina threatening me. Nina, messing with his life again from the outside.

It must hurt like hell, but he barely flinches, and he doesn’t make a sound. He just grips the side of the wall with his otherhand, his head tilted down, the napkin on his hand covered in blood. He looks impossibly beautiful right now—rumpled and tortured—and impossibly far away from me, and it’s all my fault. Everything’s falling apart, and this time it’s becauseIruined everything…

Loser.

“Anthony?” I say, crying, touching his shoulder. I don’t know what I'm asking for. Maybe for him to fix this, even though I already know he can’t. He can’t make Wilson unsee me. He can’t rewind time and tell me not to be an idiot.

He looks at me, his eyes glassy. “What happens if your name gets out?”

“I don’t know,” I say, my voice small. “Maybe nothing. But maybe… There’s a chance someone might come for us. And your inheritance—”

His expression hardens. “Shouldn’t you have thought about all of this yesterday?” He shakes his head, his expression dark. “But you don’t think about things, do you, Rosie? You just do them and let other people clean up the mess.”

Pain lances through me as he lobs the worst thing about me—the thing Ihateabout myself—at me like it’s a paint grenade. I take a step back.

I need to leave.

I need to get away from here, from this place that suddenly feels like it’s full of loss instead of possibilities—the could-have-beens clinging to me like broken spider silk.

Numb, I stoop to grab my purse and take a step away from him. His eyes are wild as he watches me. “You’releaving?” It comes out like an accusation, like he’d hoped we could figure out how to rewind time after all if only we tried hard enough.

“I don’t see any point in staying,” I say, more tears coming. “You’re right. I’m a loser, a fuckup, and you would have been better off if I’d left you alone.”

He flinches. “That’s not what I meant, I…” Defeat slips over his face. “I don’t want you to be in any danger. You’re going to keep staying with your brother, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, numb.

“I’ll drive you.” He grips the soaked cloth around his hand.

“I have my car, and you need to get to a doctor,” I say, worried, because there’sa lotof blood. There are spots of it on his shirt now. “You might need stitches. You can’t…you shouldn’t drive like that.”

His gaze dips, and that’s when I realize I’m still wearing the gorgeous ring he gave me. Maybe it really is cursed, or maybeI’mthe curse. Regret pulsing through me, I lift my hand and take it off, the ring giving way easily, as if it wasn’t nearly as attached to our partnership as I was. It feels cold and hostile in my palm as I hold it out to him.

He pauses, conflict roaring in his eyes, and then takes it.

“I’m going to take the Jeep home,” I say.

His jaw works as if he wants to say something that will stop me or take all of this back. But I know what I’ve done, and I don’t give him the chance. I just take his good hand and lift it to my lips. I kiss the knuckles before I step back, tears still stinging my eyes, because, with aching clarity, I know that I could have loved him. Maybe I already do.

I turn my back on him, feeling him staring at me as I let the blankets fall behind me like a shed skin. Feeling him everywhere.

When I get to the front of the house, the guard eyes me and then gets up and approaches me. “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks gruffly.

“No, but no one hurt me,” I insist.

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