Page 67 of Show Me How to Heal
“Yeah… I’ve… uhm, I turned it off.” I rubbed my neck; well, I tried to, but there were a beanie and a scarf in the way.
I’d instantly turned it off after texting Zayne, begging him to come to his shop and let me explain. I hadn’t been able to deal with it. The messages, the calls, the notifications. My mind screaming at me to look at it because I needed to know what was being said while my anxiety was already imagining headlines from hell. Nasty comments about that kiss. About Zayne — and that was the worst part. Knowing others would go off on him just because he was my boyfriend. Because he was the one I’d been kissing.
“Probably a good idea. You running around town today? Not that good of an idea.”
“I need to work.”
“Yeah…” Corbyn snorted. “Probably not happening. Have you seen the crowd outside of Z’s?
“That’s why I parked my car here,” I explained. “I’ll try to get in through the back door.
“There are people, too.”
Scheiße!
I needed to get in there to restock the shelves and prepare everything for the grand opening, which meant working right behind the big display windows with all the paparazzi on the other side.
My stomach dropped. Zayne was counting on me, but… I couldn’t do that.
Hell, maybe Zayne wouldn’t even want my help any longer.
“Hey… I’ve got my truck over there… I can give you a lift. Me driving in the back alley will force people to get out so you can head inside if you’re quick.”
I nodded. “That might work.”
It had to. I really had no other choice. There was so much work left to do, and I couldn’t let Zayne down. Well, I couldn’t let him down any more than I’d already had.
By the time Sammy and I practically fell through the backdoor, me slamming it behind us and turning the lock for good measure, I realized Zayne had beat me there.
I cringed upon seeing him, sitting at the table in the break area, stony faced, hands folded on the table in front of him.
Words escaped me as I kept staring at him. His fine features, his plush lips that were pressed into a thin, white line. Sammy didn’t have the same problem as I had. No, he happily bounced over to Zayne, begging for a good cuddle — and, of course, he got it. Zayne’s face softened as he looked at my puppy, shifting so he was facing Sammy and could properly pet and cuddle him, ignoring me completely.
That was a clear hint. I was the one to start this conversation.
But how?
Over the last few weeks, I’d played out countless scenarios in my mind, thinking about all my options of the right situation, how to start, but in those scenarios, Zayne hadn’t actually known anything yet. I’d had the luxury to tell him on my own terms.
Exactly like I should have done.
“I wanted to tell you,” I finally said.
Zayne’s head shot in my direction, a scowl prominent on his face. If looks could kill… I wouldn’t have the problem of explaining things to him any longer.
“I really did,” I said quietly, heaving a sigh. I ripped the beanie from my head, throwing it and the scarf on the break area table before carefully taking a couple of steps in Zayne’s direction.
The tension was killing me. The silence was the worst kind of treatment.
Him screaming at me? Ranting? I could live with that, at least it was a reaction, but this… Looking at Zayne, his face turned into a scowl, forehead knitted, and his hands shaking while he petted Sammy.
Suddenly, the prospect of having to tell him about my past, about the career, about the media attention, about all the drama, didn’t seem so bad anymore. I trusted him. Hell, I loved him.
So having to do this, telling him about all the things I’d kept from him, was way worse than telling him in the first place could have ever been.
I only wished I’d realized this earlier.
“But you didn’t,” Zayne said. “I was the naïve, stupid one not knowing my fucking boyfriend was some kind of A-list celebrity over in Germany. I was the one whose friends had to tell him, whose friendsdidknow.” His defeated tone crushed me. There was no heat in his words. No anger. Just complete and utter devastation.
