Page 83 of Heated
I stand up from the couch in my den, sighing, facing Jordan.
“Give me my key,” I grind out through gritted teeth, holding out my hand.
Jordan snorts. “It’s an emergency set, right? Well, bruh, when you see your boy fucking up, it’s a motherfucking emergency.”
I lower my arm to my side, curling my hand into a fist.
“Miriam.”
“Hell yeah, Miriam.” He nods, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze narrows on me. “But what I don’t get is it’s been a week. Why is the first time I’m hearing about all of this from Miriam instead of you?”
“Because there’s nothing to say.”
Yeah, the more I keep telling myself that, eventually it might become true. I stalk over to the bar and pull out a beer. I don’t bother offering one to him because he doesn’t drink during training or the season.
After twisting off the top, I ignore his frown and tip the bottle to my mouth, downing the cold brew. But like the last few days, all the alcohol does is serve as a distraction; it doesn’t make me forget her.
Doesn’t bring me oblivion. Doesn’t offer me a reprieve from the sight of the pain on her face as all of her deceptions were revealed. Doesn’t make her less of a liar and a betrayer. Doesn’t make me feel less used or like less of a fool.
Doesn’t evict her from my fucking head.
“Oh, this is productive,” Jordan says. Sarcasm duly noted. Heaving a sigh, Jordan leans back against the pillar. “Look, Cyrus, I know she—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk abouther,” I snap.
“Tough shit. You’re going to,” he snaps back. “Miriam said Zora sent you an email; have you read it?”
“No.”
I saw it come through. And God, the urge to read it had been so strong I’d had to physically throw my damn phone across the room. But what can she say to me? She made a fool of me. Val fucking paid her to break up with me. Instead of coming clean with me the first time we met afterward, she let me go on and on, making assumptions. And she’d never corrected me. Through all the time we’d spent together, she’d had plenty of time to tell me the truth, but she hadn’t.
Not true.
“You don’t need to tell me anything. And I don’t want to hear it or know it.”
The night we had sex the first time, she’d tried to tell me about her job, but I’d cut her off. I shake my head at that whispered admonishment. I’m still not buying it. Even afterward, Zora had opportunities to come clean, and she’d chosen to remain silent.
No matter what’s in that email, how could I ever trust her again? No matter how my whole goddamn body hurts like an open wound because all of me misses her?
I blame her for that too.
“You know, martyr isn’t your color.”
I jerk my head toward Jordan, and if glaring a hole through someone was possible, I would be staring at my gaming station through his chest.
“What?”
“When I say Miriam told me everything, I mean she told meeverything.” He arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’re the most injured party in this, but, bruh. You and your stupid-as-fuck fake-relationship arrangement along with the ‘Don’t ever lie to me’ stipulation. And you didn’t outright say you’d tell Val about Zora but didn’t deny you wouldn’t. You basically cultivated a ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ environment with Zora where she didn’t feel she could be honest with you. Her brother and sister own two-thirds of her business. She was protecting them with her silence. Which you would know if you read the damn email.”
Guilt slams into me.
After downing the rest of my beer, I throw the empty bottle in the trash. “Yeah, maybe that wasn’t my brightest idea. And yeah, I own some of this, but at some point, shouldn’t she have known I wouldn’t have hurt her? Shouldn’t she have trusted me?”
“I’ll give you that you trusted Zora more than you do most people you meet. But, Cyrus, don’t kid yourself. You were only willing to give her so much of yourself. As long as she remained in the box you carved out for her and didn’t interfere with that damn plan of yours, you were willing to give her that trust. As long as you could remain in control. But she threatened both, didn’t she? You were already discovering you couldn’t fit Zora in your five-year plan. That she was screwing with it. So whether Val showed up or not, whether you discovered Zora’s secret or not, you were going to do just what you did—find a reason to cut bait and run.”
I stare at Jordan, robbed of speech. My very body wants to reject his words. A dense silence falls between us, but inside my head? It’s a cacophonous circus of thoughts, objections, and screams. I can’t evenhear my heartbeat underneath the noise, although I’m sure it’s there. I’m still standing, still breathing, after all.
“Which one of you two is Cyrus Hart?”
