Page 60 of Glass Jawed
He’s trembling now.
But I don’t feel pity.
I feel rage.
I shove him one last time, then step back, turning away to collect myself.
My hands are shaking. My vision tunnels. I’m reeling, barely keeping my fury from detonating again—until he says something that snaps the restraint clean in half.
“She’s a rebound, Lucian. She’s an illusion.”
My jaw clenches. “She’s not,” I mutter.
Even to my own ears, it doesn’t sound convincing.
“Lucian—”
“Get out.” I whirl back toward him, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the front door. I don’t care how pathetic or broken he looks. I want himgone.
“Wait—please. Just listen,” he stammers. “You’re making a mistake, baby.”
Suddenly, he shoves out of my grip, stumbling backward, and shouts. “I lied, okay?! I lied!”
I freeze.
“I didn’t want to bring it up. But... Iliedto you when I said she didn’t know I wasn’t single. Because I thought she won’t be in our lives anyway. I wanted to spare her the embarrassment. But now you’re with her and I...Ican’t. That night, she saw the photo in the entryway...”
My heart slows. My blood feels like it’s thickening in my veins.
“You remember that picture?” he asks softly, a dazed smile on his face. “The one we took in Chicago? With the Bean in the background?”
I swallow hard. I remember.
He’d bitched the whole ten kilometers we walked. Complained about the crowd. I snapped the selfie anyway. He’d smiled. Then frowned immediately when he saw how tiny the Bean looked in the background. I kissed his frown away then.
I look at him. Silently urging him to continue but internally begging that he doesn’t.
He nods. “She saw it. Asked about it. And I told her—you were my boyfriend. I told her I was seeing someone.”
The room spins. My stomach turns cold. No.
“And she said she was fine with it. As long as I was fine too.”
His voice is quiet. Too quiet.
“I just... wanted to see if I could do it. You know? I didn’t expect it to go that far. But she didn’t stop me, Lucian. I was wrong—Iknowthat. But you’re making a mistake with her.”
I don’t respond.
Because I’m not here anymore.
My mind is crashing in on itself. My memories of her—every one of them—warp. Her hesitance. Her guilt. Her quiet apologies. The trembling in her voice.
But all I hear is’she said she was fine with it’.
I lift my gaze to him. Study his face. I want to catch a flicker of deceit. A crack in the story. Something to grab onto. Something to blame.
But there’s nothing.
