Page 44 of Say You Won't Let Go
I hate me.
Me: Please don’t...
Grace: You fell in love with your bodyguard? Really? Cooper is a good guy, Em.
Like I don’t know that. He’s a good guy that doesn’t deserve to lose his herd. He’s a good guy who doesn’t need some crazy asshole trying to kill him just to prove his undying love to me. It isn’t what I want. None of this is.
I want Cooper.
I want our love, but sacrificing your own happiness is sometimes what love is.
I’m doing the unselfish thing by letting him go.
Me: Don’t forget that you’re married to Trent and not Cooper.
It’s a low blow, but she doesn’t have the right to judge me. I’m not actually dating Wade. Hell, I can barely stand his bossiness most days.
Grace: I know how my story played out, honey. It’s yours that I’m worried about.
Me: Tell me this gets easier. Tell me that I will stop feeling like I’m the worst person in the world.
Grace: Oh, Em. I wish it did.
I bite my thumbnail, debating whether I should ask her if she’s seen him. I’m assuming she heard about the breakup from Presley.
Me: Is he okay?
Grace: Not really. He lost you to another man that he hired to protect you. I’m not really sure what you’re thinking.
Neither am I.
“Fifty minutes,” Wade yells from the other side of the door.
Ugh. “I never said I was doing it,” I reply.
“You either get your ass in the shower on your own or I’ll strip you down and put you in there myself,” he warns.
He wouldn’t dare. Would he?
Not wanting to take any chances, I get up and lock the door, not that I think that’ll actually keep him out, but hopefully it’s a deterrent.
I shoot a text off to Grace before GI Joe decides it’s time for a shower.
Me: I have to get ready for my show. Can I call you later?
Grace: Of course. Just think about what you’re doing. I hate to see you give up something we both know you’ve wanted for a long time.
“Forty-five minutes,” the pain-in-the-ass-guard’s voice reminds me.
“Who needs alarm clocks when they have Wade Rycroft?”
I hear his chuckle as I turn the shower on.
My reflection actually makes me gasp. I look like shit. There’s no other way to describe it. My hair is knotted, my eyes are completely bloodshot, and I look like I went a few rounds in a boxing ring with Tyson, based on the swelling.
How the hell am I going to look human enough to perform?
As much as I want to enjoy the shower, I don’t have time. I quickly get myself scrubbed up, and thanks to the creep, I now get dressed in here.
