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He could ease my physical pains, but also that sick lonely feeling I have after going through three years of finances.
Three years of hard evidence of Jace cheating. Three long years compiled in black ink on white pages.
I glance at the email still open on my laptop. Mr. Walker will have more for me tomorrow. It makes my stomach lurch because I know I’ll see more credit card statements for hotel charges during the day when he was supposed to be working, along with charges for jewelry and everything else he bought the women he kept on the side. I don’t need to see it. That’s the messed-up part of it all.
Selling the apartment and being done with it is the last of all the problems and loose ends Jace left.
I’ll be fine financially; everything is going to be okay on that front. But I want to know how long it went on. I want to know at what point in my life I wasn’t good enough for him anymore.
The wine in the glass is almost gone and it’s late, but I pour myself another. We all have our vices and it turns out mine are cabernet and Mason Thatcher. My lips curl into a pathetic weak smile and then I take a sip of the sweet wine.
I stare at the open newspaper on the table. The one with a photograph of Mason and someone else. Someonenew. It’s not hard to admit that it hurts to see it, to think that he’s moved on already. It hasn’t even been two weeks since I saw him last. It has their picture but the accompanying article is about me being used by the playboy bachelor and left brokenhearted. They know nothing and I couldn’t care less about what they think happened. What matters is that I am heartbroken.
Mason.I’ve stared at that photo for far too long praying it isn’t true. Mostly because I’m selfish. I’m not ready to commit to him, or to anyone, but I want him all the same.
Sue has assured me it’s all made up and the woman in the photo is someone he dated long ago.
I take another gulp of wine and only look up from the same paragraph I’ve read five times when I hear my phone go off.
It’s a text from Kat wanting my manuscript. Oh God.
It’s a good thing I have an apartment up for sale, I suppose. Maybe I should thank my cheating deceased husband for that.
It takes a small sip before I have the courage to text her back, asking for an extension and then open my laptop to write. To let the words flow. If anything, I expect it to be about anger, grief, betrayal. But all that comes are thoughts of Mason’s touch. How powerful his physical presence can be. How he can soothe my every pain. How he wants to do just that, and about how much I want it even more.
I let my head fall to the side when I remember him kissing me as he played my body right at this very spot that I’m sitting. My fingers never stop tapping on the keys as I relive the moment. I open my eyes and stare at the grain woven into the wooden table where I bent over for him. I confessed something so real, so painful and he made me feel alive and as though nothing else mattered.
I suck in a deep breath, hating that I left him the way that I did. I’m so damn broken. I don’t understand why he wants me when it’s obvious that I’m a wreck.
Biting down on my lip, I stare at the phone and think of texting him.
I miss you.I type in the words and then delete them.
I’m sorry.I stare at the two words that are so simple, yet mean so much.
I think I love you.That’s what I should send him. Scare him away for good.
I delete the text as Kat messages me back. She’s usually hard on me. Guilting me if I’m miss a deadline and reminding me about everyone else’s schedules involved. It lights a fire under my bottom.
But all she’s written this time is that it’s okay and to take care of myself.
“Take care of myself,” I whisper beneath my breath and let my fingers trail down the stem of the wineglass.
I wish Mason were here, but that’s just an easy out.
This is supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be hard.
I want to crawl back to him and beg for forgiveness. Beg him to take away the pain again. It’s selfish and I won’t do that to him, but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to.
MASON
“Ijust got an email.” I hear Liam’s irritation as the door opens. His light gray suit is sharp and crisp, but he looks like shit himself. His dirty blond hair is a mess on top of his head and the dark circles under his eyes prove he hasn’t gotten much sleep.
“About what?” I ask. I don’t let on that I already know what the email was about as I rest my elbows on the desk. Waiting for him to speak, I make a steeple with my pointer fingers. I know what this is about. My father’s pulled the funds.
We’re fucked. And I don’t have a way out of this.
“What happened, Mason?” His question is drenched with desperation.