Page 97 of The Love Destroyers

That ball of emotion gets bigger, and my chest feels more and more like that pool of melted butter. Panic takes over.

I willnotfall for Seamus James or his sweet streak or his charming words, delivered through talented, nicely shaped lips.

I willnotfall for the man who keeps condoms in his sock drawer but a photo of his family on his dresser.

I willnotfall for the man who buys lunch for strangers because they’re having a bad day and takes care of other people’s pet rabbits.

I willnotfall for Anthony’s brother-in-law, who has a past in organized crime that goes who knows how deep.

Those are the thoughts running through my head as I get up as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb him. But he still stirs, his head moving restlessly against the pillow, and murmurs my name.

Those are the thoughts running through my head as I quickly clean the apartment, mentally taking note of the fact that Chuck does not appear to have come home yet. Hopefully, I won’t walk in on him and my mother enjoying the living room in Smith House, the way we “enjoyed” the living room of this apartment. There are some things a woman can’t get over.

Like Seamus, a voice in my head whispers.

Stupid voice.

I gulp some water and then find a pen and a cube of Post-Its. But I don’t know what to write.Thank you for the sex?I freaked out and stress-cleaned in the middle of the night, and now I’m leaving?

I settle for

Talk to you tomorrow, E.

Then linger over it, because it’s obviously awful. Cold and detached, businesslike. I add a heart next to the note, then crinkle the yellow paper in horror and pocket it before penning another.

I left to check on my mother. Or maybe it’s Chuck who needs the wellness check. We’ll talk tomorrow. It was one hell of a leap day, Seamus.

There, that’ll do.

I’ve let him know this was important to me.

Special.

I linger by the door, though, because it still feels wrong to creep out in the middle of the night like an asshole. No one’s ever pulled that trick on me since college—and I woke up before the guy could leave and threw a balled-up dollar bill at his back. It hit him, word spread—because I spread it—and he was known as Buck for the next two years.

I feel a longing to return to that warm bed and curl up beside Seamus, to make him some damn breakfast in a few hours. And it’s that final want that has me pulling my coat on and leaving, using the knob lock to secure the door behind me.

There’s something hot in my throat and behind my eyes as I drive home through the dark night. But I swallow it back and remind myself that I’m in this situation because I let myself fall for Jeffrey’s bullshit.

Seamus isn’t full of bullshit—at least not nearly as much as he’d like people to think—but he has plenty of secrets. Dark ones. He admitted as much to me last night.

We agreed to enjoy each other for one night, and that’s what we did. There’s no need to get emotional about it. I’ll still see him, obviously. It’s notgoodbye.

Steeling my spine, I turn the radio on loud and complete the drive home. There’s a very practical car parked outside the gate. Chuck’s. It has him written all over it, from the wooden siding to the airy caboose. I could see him going camping in that car—but he certainly wouldn’t be bringing my mother.

My brain tries to calculate percentages for them, the way I refused to do earlier, but I stop it in its tracks again.

If it’s not going to work out for them, I don’t want to know.

Same for Rosie and Anthony and even Declan and Claire.

I reach for my phone to text Seamus about the car before remembering…then reach for it anyway and text my brother.

I think our mother has taken a lover.

He doesn’t respond, but then again, it’s two in the morning.

I pocket the phone and head for the front door, but I’m stopped in my tracks by a rustling sound at the side of the building. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I slowly pull the pepper spray from my bag.

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