Page 64 of Gamble
“What does it say?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
She read silently for a moment, then looked up at him with something that might have been pity.
“Read it,” he said heavily.
Nalani’s voice was quiet as she read Reagan’s latest message:“I thought you were different, but boy was I wrong. Never in my life would I have said you would end up hurting me ten times more than Tristan did.”
The words hit Elijah like a physical blow, stealing what was left of his breath. He’d hurt her worse than the selfish asshole who’d abandoned her in Vegas. He’d become exactly the kind of man he’d wanted to protect her from.
“Elijah...” Nalani started, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“I need to be alone.”
For a moment, he thought she might argue. Then she sighed, setting his phone on the coffee table.
“The food’s in your refrigerator. There’s enough for several days.” She stood, gathering her purse. “I’ll be back on Sunday to check on you.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yes, I do. Despite your best efforts to push everyone away, you’re not going through this alone.” She paused at the edge of the living room, looking back at him. “And Elijah? When you’re ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself and start fighting for what you want, call me. I’ll help you figure out how to fix this.”
After she left, Elijah lay on the couch staring at his phone, Reagan’s devastating words echoing in his head. He thought he was protecting her, but he only ended up making her feel worthless, like other men had.
Maybe Nalani was right. Maybe he owed Reagan more than his cowardly silence.
But first, he had to find the courage to face the possibility that he’d already lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
REAGAN
Reagan had been sitting in her car watching dozens of partygoers climb the grand staircase to the entrance of Runway for over twenty minutes. Each time she felt brave enough to touch the handle to exit, she’d chickened out.
This was ridiculous. She either needed to get out and go inside already or to drive home. Sitting out here like a lost puppy was embarrassing.
Two weeks. That’s how long it had taken Reagan to move from crushing sadness to bitter anger at Elijah’s sudden rejection.
He’d blindsided her.
The irony wasn’t lost on her that she was a thousand times more upset about the demise of a relationship that had only lasted a few days than she had been over her breakup with Tristan… a man she’d moved hundreds of miles and upended her life to be with just a year before.
In her time wallowing the last few weeks, she realized that Tristan had been such a shitty boyfriend that the end had always seemed to be inevitable, but Elijah had fooled her. She’d fallen for him hard only to have the rug pulled out from under her.
Dammit, she wanted—no, needed—answers. Elijah didn’t get to just slink away without telling her to her face why he’d thrown their budding relationship away. Even if it hurt, she deserved the truth.
A wave of renewed anger finally got her car door open. Taking a deep breath, Reagan smoothed down her little black dress and started weaving her way through the parked cars toward the well-lit entrance of Elijah’s club. She was careful not to twist an ankle in the too-high heels she’d bought during one of her recent misguided online retail therapy sessions.
Her heart raced at the thought of confronting him here of all places, but he’d left her no choice. He wouldn’t take her calls or return her texts. Coming to his place of employment wasn’t ideal, but she wouldn’t be leaving without closure.
Reagan almost lost her nerve during the ten-minute delay in the Friday night line waiting to get into the popular club. Even from outside, the pounding beat of the dance music could be heard, but it only made her heart race faster, knowing she wasn’t coming to party with friends or dance. Although getting shitfaced on high-end cocktails didn’t sound half-bad, especially if Elijah shunned her to her face.
“ID?” the bouncer asked as she arrived at the front of the line.
This was it. The urge to turn and run back to her car was strong, but her anger at Elijah’s callous rebuff was stronger.
She thrust out her hand with her California driver’s license before she could chicken out.
“Welcome to Runway, Ms. Murphy. Have fun tonight,” the guard welcomed as he handed her ID back.
