Page 41 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

“What we wanted to say was, while you are welcome to stay with me for as long as you need, you have a home, and you shouldn’t let one woman drive you from it.

You don’t need to talk to her or be her friend, but go home and show her that she didn’t break you.

Don’t let her take anything else from you. ”

His words make sense, but they do nothing more than cause the knot in my gut to grow; the weight of it drags my whole body down as I sink into my shoulders.

Do I want closure? Sure, although I’m not entirely sure what type of closure she could realistically offer.

I would like to apologize for how I acted when she told me, though, but that all hinges on me going back.

He squeezes the back of his neck with a sigh.

“The longer you put this off, the more you are going to build her up in your head as some sort of unconquerable beast you’ll never be able to slay.

You don’t even have to spend any time at the apartment except to sleep.

Study with Nathan and Karis, come hang out with us at Cutter’s, and finally, stop dragging your feet and join us here at Double Teep.

Coach David has already agreed to waive your fees in exchange for working the front desk a few hours a week.

You have plenty to keep you busy, but you aren’t going to be able to move on until you stop being a coward and face her. ”

He’s right.

King Arthur and his knights wouldn’t hide away in the castle when the kingdom was under attack. No matter the enemy and no matter how stacked the odds were against them, they would face it head-on.

“Okay.” It’s time to face my demon.

** *

The apartment is a disaster.

Out of every scenario that played through my head on the way here, I can’t say that any of them included the apartment being anything less than immaculate, but it’s piles of dirty dishes, empty bottles of whiskey and wine, and the sour stench of trash left to ripen that greet me when I walk through the door.

The combination causes my stomach to churn—not only because of the pungent smell or molding plates but because of how out of character this is for James.

Alarm bells blare in my brain that something is very wrong here, with her, but I ignore the gnawing sense of dread by sheer force of will.

James isn’t mine to worry about. She never was.

With a sigh, I close the door behind me and set my duffel down on the floor next to it.

Someone has to clean up this mess, and from the looks of it, that person is going to be me.

I start to make my way toward the kitchen to grab a bag to start collecting her trash, but my journey is interrupted by my favorite hellhound skulking out of the darkened hallway that leads to our rooms. Grover freezes with his ears pinned back against his head and his tail low when he sees me in the kitchen, and he lets out a soft whine.

“Hey, boy. I missed you.” A lump forms in my throat, and the unexpected swell of emotion nearly chokes my words.

His ears perk up at the sound of my voice, and his tail beats against the wooden doorframe with vigor.

He rushes toward me, letting out a series of excited, high-pitched yelps, and I drop down to my knees and brace myself for the onslaught of relentless kisses.

Laughter bubbles up in my chest as his warm tongue laps at my face.

It feels foreign on my lips; it’s the first time I’ve laughed since I left.

I scratch behind his ears, and he sinks to the floor, rolling over to give me access to his belly.

My heart starts to grow in my chest, kicking to life for the first time since it was broken.

“Grover, what’s gotten—oh.” The sound of James’s voice washes over me like a wave of icy water, washing away the budding sense of euphoria and transforming my heart into a useless, frozen block .

In that short moment of joy, I had nearly forgotten about the monster that lurked in the shadows, the very reason I’d put off returning.

She stands in the mouth of the hallway. Dim light pours out from the now fully opened doorway to her room, surrounding her in a halo of golden light.

It looks like she’s handled the past three weeks about as well as I have.

Dark circles surround her dull, lifeless eyes, and her hair is piled into an unkempt nest on the top of her head.

Despite it all, she is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. My devil disguised as an angel .

Her face looks sunken in, her cheekbones more pronounced, and her clothes hang off her baggier than they should.

Has she been eating enough?

No. I shake my head to clear away the thought. That is something firmly in the “not my business” category. She has her fiancé to worry about things like that now.

That word forces bile to rise in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Seeing her like this, like a hollow shell of the woman I knew, destroys the monstrous image I built in my head.

There is no dragon to slay or demon to banish, just her and me—two broken people trying their best given the circumstances.

Just like that, all the anger and resentment I’ve been harboring melt away.

That doesn’t mean things can go back to being how they were.

I don’t blame her for the decisions she’s made, but I can’t be her friend.

That would only be setting myself up for more heartbreak.

I understand what Gage meant by closure, though; the weight of the past three weeks finally lifts from my shoulders, and I feel like I can finally breathe.

“Morgan…” She whispers my name with an almost reverent edge. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” I stand up from the floor and brush away the layer of dust that clings to my pants. “I’m back.”

She stumbles forward into the room, reaching out for me, and her eyes shine with renewed life.

I’m not sure if she’s trying to hug me or just make sure I’m really here, but I don’t stick around to find out.

I maneuver back out of her grasp and run a hand through my hair, ignoring the stab of guilt that shoots through my heart at the crestfallen look that passes over her face.

The look is fleeting as James steps back, straightens her shoulders, and schools her features into a mask of indifference.

It’s a mask I know well.

I’ve seen her don that protective armor time and time again, and I know it means she’s preparing for a fight.

Like a wounded animal, she lashes out when she’s in pain, but I won’t give her that satisfaction.

Not this time. I can’t promise that my words won’t hurt her, but I won’t fall into the trap of feeding her reactions.

“For good?” she asks with a detached tone, and I can’t get a read on what answer she’s hoping for.

“Yeah, for good,” I tell her, my voice steady with conviction.

There’s more I want to say. I practiced the script the whole way here. My plan was to say my piece and give her space to digest it, but the words die on my lips when I realize what she’s wearing.

That’s my shirt .

She’s wearing an old Arizona State T-shirt my mom got me before I left to start my undergrad program.

I had forgotten about that shirt. It’s been abandoned in the bottom of a box since I graduated, but somehow, she not only found it but decided it would be the perfect thing to wear today.

It does look perfect on her, even though it’s riddled with holes and has a large stain across the front.

A wave of possessiveness surges through me, but it’s caught in the riptide of my self-loathing as rapidly as it arrives.

This is why we can’t be friends. There’s no version of this where I can have a platonic relationship with her, not anymore.

She’s a drug, and I’m an addict. No matter how many times I’ve tried to quit her, I fall off the wagon at the slightest temptation.

All it took was one hit and she rewired my brain—and heart—making it believe she’s something vital to my very existence.

The only way to get clean is a complete detox and separation from any source of temptation.

“Good.” A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She lets out a breath, and the tension falls away from her shoulders. “I missed you. We should talk. I don’t like how we left things before.”

“No, James.” The knowledge that I’m about to kill the hope shining in her eyes causes my heart to ache. My eyes fall away from hers, focusing on the wall behind her head instead to make this easier. “There is nothing for us to talk about.”

“Wh-what do you mean? Of course there is. We need to—”

“No.” My voice is stern, but there is no malice in it. “I’m here because this is the apartment I pay to live in, but whatever it was we had before—call it friendship or something more, it doesn’t matter—that’s over. We will go back to just being roommates, and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“Morgan, no.” Her voice cracks, and my heart breaks with it. “Don’t say that. I-I need you. There’s no reason we can’t still be friends. Nothing’s changed.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” I scoff. “Everything has changed. I’m not doing this to hurt you, but this isn’t something I’m willing to negotiate on.”

“Morgan…” My name falls from her lips in a desperate plea.

“Please.” I interrupt her attempt to dissuade me with a whispered plea of my own. “If you ever cared about me, even just a little, you’ll respect this boundary. Please, James, don’t make this hurt more than it already does.”

Silence hangs between us for several seconds while she contemplates, and my breath stalls in my lungs.

“Okay,” she says, the softly spoken word resonating with harsh finality, and this time, she’s the one to walk away.