Page 22 of Broken Clocks
Donte looked good. Like money. He was wearing a high-end Armani suit, his beard was thick, lined perfectly.
But his eyes... they were dull. I saw the guilt in them. The sadness.
Sinica looked guilty too—but she also looked happy.
She was glowing.
“We have something to talk to you about,” she said.
“We?” I echoed, eyes darting between them.
She looked up at him, her eyes full of something intimate.
Love.
I knew that look.
I used to look at him like that.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice ragged.
I believed him.
But it didn’t matter.
I slammed the door in both their faces.
If I let them explain, I’d kill them. And I wasn't trying to go to prison over the two of them.
He came back three months later, talking like I owed him something.
Said they’d run into each other at a conference. That he got drunk because she reminded him of me.
I laughed in his face.
“I woke up, she was riding my dick,” he admitted, eyes low. “A month later, she showed up in Florida. Said she was pregnant. My mom was there. She talked me into taking responsibility.”
I stared at him like he was rotting in front of me.
“Why didn’t you tell her to get an abortion like you told me?” I asked, venom thick on my tongue.
Then I spit in his face. It ran down his cheek.
He clenched his jaw, wiped it clean with a handkerchief from his pocket, and kept talking like nothing happened.
“I wouldn’t do that again,” he said. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. If I could take it back, I would.”
Tears streamed down his face.
I smiled inside.
Right then, I decided I hated both of them.
Her more than him.
She knew he was mine.
He was just a selfish coward.
