I suck my breath through my teeth, but that doesn't help.
When I blink, tears catch on my lashes. Then they're everywhere.
The room goes blurry.
"I'm sorry." I rest my forehead against his chest. Dig my fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt.
"Hey." He wraps his arms around me.
One presses into my lower back.
The other curls into my hair.
"You're gonna be okay, sunshine. I promise."
I shake my head.
"Yeah. Maybe not for as long as either one of us would like, but you will be okay."
Fuck. He knows.
Of course, he knows.
Why else would I be bawling in the middle of the shop?
I…
I can't let him follow me down this road.
If I only do one thing, it will be this.
"Come on. I'll drive you back to my place. You can take the rest of the week off. Get your head on straight."
"But—"
"You're right. I'll cancel the rest of today's appointments."
"No, Dean." I try to push myself away from him, but I can't. He feels too good. "Stop. Listen."
He runs his fingers through my hair.
I look up at him. Finally.
There's hurt in his expression but just barely. Mostly, he looks confident. Sure. Like he's ready to do anything to make this better for me.
Maybe he is.
God, I hope he is.
"It's not that. It's probably nothing," I say. "Probably a cyst."
"You don't have to convince me of shit."
That's where he's wrong. I do.
And I have to sell the hell out of it.
"I'm fine. The follow-up is just a precaution."
His eyes bore into mine. They pick me apart. Demand every thought in my head.
"That isn't what I want to talk about."
"You don't want to talk about how your can—"
"Don't say it here. Please." I wrap my fingers around his wrists. "The thing is…"
He stares back, patient and caring.
"I think… No, I know… No… Forget the qualifiers. I'm breaking up with you."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dean
I blink twice.
It does nothing to change the situation.
Chloe is still standing in front of me, tears streaking her dark eyes, lips curled into a frown.
She's still curling into herself.
She's still about to break.
"I should go." She takes a step backward. "I'll call later. We can work out what I'm doing with the apprenticeship. I should probably be somewhere else anyway."
"I want you here."
"No. I… I can't be here." Her gaze meets mine for a second. She stares into me, offering something, an apology or an explanation, I'm not sure.
Then she turns and her gaze settles on her combat boot.
Her left foot is still bare.
"Oh. I should… I should get that. Then go." She slides her hands into her front pockets. Slowly, she turns back to the office.
I stare into her eyes, but she refuses to meet my gaze.
To say anything.
To offer a fucking clue.
"Why are you running away from this?" It's far too insightful, but that's what she does to me. She wakes up this other part of me. Fuck, I love that part of me.
"It's doesn't matter. I'm breaking up with you."
I reach for a response, but nothing comes.
This doesn't make any sense.
It's fucking bizarre.
There's no way she's okay. Not with the way she was crying. But her voice is calm and even. Like she's talking about the weather or her schedule or her favorite tea.
Not like she's weighing life and death.
She moves around me on her way to the office. Her movements are soft. Quiet. Emma's emo album drowns it out. I'm not usually a fan of this whiny chordspam, but, fuck, right now, the angst feels just right.
Chloe steps out of the office with her backpack around her shoulders. "I'm sorry."
"Then stay."
She shakes her head like she wishes she could.
Then she walks out of the shop and out of my life.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chloe
It's a dozen blocks to Dean's place. And there's my old Japanese sedan. Black, of course. With black leather seats, of course. And a black steering wheel cover, of course.
I slide inside, put on my favorite grunge album, hold it together for long enough to drive to my place.
Every step feels like a million miles. Climbing up the stairs takes everything I have.
But it's worth it for the quiet solitude of my room.
The soft embrace of my grey sheets.
This is the bed where Dean and I…
He's all over this room. In the old movie posters—the ones we watched together. In the tattoo mock-ups hanging on the walls. In the framed art from high school.
The smell of the sheets.
The mirror.
And the girl staring back at me in the reflection, asking me why the fuck I'm running from the person I need more than anything.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dean
The afternoon is a blur of ink, skin, shitty music, quiet conversations. I fail to bring my usual banter. I distract my clients okay, but it's dull as doorknobs shit. Weather. Sports. Celebrity and shop gossip.
I cancel my gym session with Walker.
Jog around the beach instead.
Fail to find clarity.
It's not in my shower, on the couch where I fucked Chloe last night, on any cop show on TV, in a takeout Thai feast.
My bedroom is a mess of memories and feelings.
The feel of her fingertips against my skin.
That short black hair in my hands.
That strawberry shampoo.
She's the only thing in my head.
I find my cell. Shoot her a text.
Dean: You get home okay?
It takes an eternity for her to reply back. But she does.
Chloe: Yeah, thanks. I'll get in touch in a few days to talk about my apprenticeship. Until then, I want to be alone. I really appreciate the opportunity. You're a great teacher. I know you don't believe it, but you're a great guy. Good luck with everything.
It's as courteous as can be.
Like she's already over breaking my heart and walking away.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dean
"Where's your better half?" Emma takes a long sip of her coffee. Her dark eyes fix on mine.
It's weird. She's nothing like Brendon, but the two of them have the same stare. The I don't know what you're doing, but I know it's wrong. I wish I could fix it, but, honestly, you're hopeless.
"Taking a few days off." The words feel funny on my tongue. I'm no stranger to lying. But doing it with a straightforward response? It's weird.
It's been twenty-four hours since Chloe walked out that door and it still doesn't feel real.
This is a bad dream.
Or maybe our whole relationship was a dream.
I was some better version of myself. She was exactly what I needed.
That kind of thing doesn't happen in reality.
Badasses in combat boots don't fall for assholes who threw them away.
"Why?" Emma's red nails tap the counter. She leans back on her stool. Places one hand on her lap. The other flat against the plastic. "What did you do?"
"All right, all right. I confess. I got carried away last night. Baby I want to split you in half was supposed to be a figure of speech, but one thing led to another."
"Uh-huh. Right."
She's seeing through my bullshit.
Time to deflect. "What's the deal with you and Hunter?"
Her cheeks flush immediately. "Who?"
"The guy you were fawning over yesterday."
She plays dumb.
"Who’s been your brother’s friend most of your life?"
"What about him?"
"He was looking at you the way a dog looks at a bone."
“Can you blame him?” She motions to her tight tank top.
I chuckle. “It was more than that.”
“He’s a man. I have boobs. I understand how it works.”
Her tits are nice, but that isn’t why he was staring. “He was staring like he’s into you.”
“No. He’s just babysitting me while Brendon is away.”
“That your kink?”
“Haha.” She makes a show of rolling her eyes.
“Please. Your brother is dirty as fuck. You think I’ll buy you as vanilla?”
“What did you do to Chloe?”
“What did you do to Hunter?”
“I told him to drop the babysitter bullshit.”
“Even though you kinda like it?”
“I do not.”
I nod.
She shakes her head. But it’s there in her dark eyes. She’s into it. She’s into him.