Page 73 of Dear Roomie
He took the news worse than I anticipated. It’s not like I thought he was going to jump for joy, but I didn’t think he would leave me, either. Watching him walk out that door was a blow to my mangled heart, but that look on his face—the steely scorn honed by heartbreak—eviscerated it. I need him to come home so I can fix this—fix us. If he would just stop and listen to me, I could explain everything. I’ll just tell him…I’ll make him see that…
Fuck.
This is all so fucking fucked.
A loud banging against the front door causes me to jump.
Morgan?
I’m on my feet before my brain finishes processing the sound. Did he leave without his keys? Where did he stay last night? Is he going to forgive me? What do I even say?
As I open the door, any hopes that had started to grow are sucked back into the black hole swirling in my gut. Nathan looms on the threshold, his face set ina stony mask that I would sooner expect from Gage. Chelsea hovers a few steps behind him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.
“What ar—”
Nathan doesn’t let me finish or even look in my direction as he pushes his way into the apartment.
His arm slams into my shoulder as he passes, knocking me off balance. The move is so unlike him, I’m unable to do much more than step aside while my brain tries to reconcile Morgan’s friend with the man in front of me. Chelsea follows him inside, mumbling a soft apology before she drops her eyes to the floor. Grover growls at Nathan’s aggressive intrusion, and the sound snaps me out of my momentary stasis.
Rage rises within me, greeting me like an old friend as it wraps me in its protective embrace. I fall into the feeling, letting it envelop me in its molten ire, creating an all-too-familiar armor that burns away all other emotions.
“What the absolute fuck do you think you are doing barging into my apartment uninvited?” My words are dripping with venom as I hurl them at the intruder.
“I’m here to get Morgan’s things.” His tone is too controlled, too even, and an octave lower than normal. The curl of his lip, paired with the vein throbbing in his temple, gives away how close to the surface his own anger is residing. He turns toward me with a sneer, squaring his shoulders in a mirror of my aggressive posture. “Is that going to be a problem, James?”
He’s seen Morgan?
The first crack forms in my armor at the mere mention of his name.
A million questions spring to my head. Is he okay? Where is he? When is he coming home? Getting his things? Is he even coming home?
He has to come home.
Fuck him for thinking he can end things like this, and fuck him for thinking he can simply walk away and send his friend to come pick up his shit.
My anger grows hotter, and any fissures that might have existed are filled and welded shut.
“Yeah, that’s gonna be a fucking problem.” My hands find purchase on my hips, and I stand a bit taller.
“Jamie…” Chelsea says my name as if she’s already resigned herself to my inevitable blowup.
“No,” I snap, turning toward her. “If Morgan wants his things, he can come get them himself.”
“Jesus Christ, woman,” Nathan shouts. “I knew you were a piece of work, but I didn’t think you were this much of a cunt.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” she snaps at her boyfriend and glares daggers at him as she comes to stand at my side.
“Oh, here we go.” He throws his hands in the air with an exaggerated sigh. “Of course you’re going to take her side.” He directs his attention back toward me with hate-hardened eyes.
“Listen,” he growls through clenched teeth, “I got woken up in the middle of the night by a call from Gage asking me to come down to Cutter’s to help deal with the mess you created, and I haven’t had a chance to go back to sleep since. I’m fucking tired, James, and I don’t have any patience for your bullshit. So here is what’s going to happen: I’m going to go to Morgan’s room, pack him a bag, and then I’ll get out of your fucking hair. If there is any part of that black heart of yours that actually cares about him, you’ll let me do this. Don’t you think you’ve hurt him enough?”
He crosses his arms and waits. I open my mouth to respond, but the words die on my lips.
He’s right.
I’m the one who fucked everything up. Morgan doesn’t deserve any additional pain, especially by my hand. I’ve already done enough damage.
“That’s what I thought,” he says with a scoff.
