Page 90 of Inflame

I feel my nose flaring. My pulse is racing. “You are something else…”

“Maybe they were right in denying you the funds. It’s not like you are even using your degrees right now. To them, it’s probably a waste of money. I mean, hindsight is 20-20 after all.”

“You’ve been trying to hurt me this entire trip, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

“Oh, quit being so flipping sensitive. The poor Claire story gets old after a while.”

His words cut into me. He is deliberately doing everything he can to get me to break. And for what purpose? Sure, he is concerned about the debt I bring into the relationship and has his son’s future to preserve. However, the way he is shitting all over the months we have been together—as if I am nothing to him—is the most devastating part for me. We have a past. I thought we were building a pathway to a future.

Only words of an apology will fix this mess and by the look on Ethan’s face, I’ll have to wait until his lips learn how to move again. I’m not even sure if he has the skill set to be able to say, “I’m sorry,” and actually mean it. It’s not like I have heard those words pop out of his mouth before.

“You aren’t the man I thought I knew.”

“And you aren’t the woman you portrayed yourself to be either.”

My eyes find his. “And how did I portray myself, Ethan?”

“As an easy lay. But there is nothing easy about fucking you. I have to work hard for it, and I am starting to see it isn’t even worth it.”

My bottom lip quivers, and I bite at it to keep it still. “I’m so done with this. I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, trying to avoid your temper. Abuse isneverokay. I am done accepting how you treat me. Done.”

I toss the keycard on the bed and wave at him without even looking to see if he is watching. I need out of here. Fast.

I grab my belongings and exit into the hallway as quickly as I can. I lean my back against the wall and look up at the ceiling, silently wishing for a clear path out of this mess. My hand grips my luggage handle so tightly that I feel my knuckles pop.

Breathe, Claire.Just breathe.

The sound of glass breaking shakes my core, as I envision Ethan tossing the lamp or shattering a mirror. I wipe at a solo tear escaping down my cheek. I’m so sick and tired of crying over this man.

I count to ten and start to make the path to the elevator, when a hand encompasses mine on my luggage handle, startling me.

“I got it,” Nic says.

“No, I got it,” I say, tugging my bag away from his hand. My fingers strangle the handle with the tension and anger bubbling through me.

“Please. Let me.” He gently releases my fingers one by one, until I am just standing helplessly beside him.

“Why are you here?” Even I can hear the tears trapped between each of my spoken words. My voice is breathy and shaky. Like if it breaks, so will I.

“Everyone has checked out already and is waiting in the limo for the tour. I thought you needed a hand.”

I sigh. “I just need some fresh air before I—”

Lose it?

Crumble?

Throw up?

Nic nods and escorts me to the elevators, but before we get there, his eyes settle on my arms. Dammit. What was I thinking not wearing a sweater? It’s not like that wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention either to my already shitty situation. No one wears sweaters in Vegas.

Pulling away, Nic stomps back toward the room.

“Nic, no! What are you doing?”

“What I should have done last night.”

Forgoing my luggage, I run to catch up with Nic—putting myself between the door and him. “Don’t do this,” I beg.

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