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“I’m going to see if he’s okay,” Kearstin says carefully, holding my gaze.

“Good idea.”

Maggie sighs against me, nuzzling her face deeper against my neck.

I’m wondering if her drink got all the tequila since I don’t feel a damn thing.

“Come on,” I say, getting to my feet and helping her to hers. “Let’s get you home and to bed.”

“Are you going to stay with me? So we can fuck?”

“Christ, Maggie,” I say with a shake of my head.

I lead her to the parking lot and help her into my truck. She’s asleep by the time I get in the other side, so I call Alex because I should not have let him leave like that and I need to know he’s okay. Even if he is pissed at me.

He doesn’t answer. So I call again. And again and again.

I call him at least thirty times and he doesn’t answer any of them.

It rings, so he didn’t block me or shut off his phone.

Maybe he lost his cell. Or just misplaced it.

I swear he’s always looking for it half the time and nine times out ten, he leaves it in the bathroom.

Though, he is good at ignoring phone calls because he does that a lot too.

There’s that one ringtone I hear all the time.

The one he has never answered. At least, not in front of me .

I glance at Maggie in the passenger seat. I can’t leave her home alone like this. What if someone put something in her drink and that’s why she’s acting so out of sorts? I can’t take her to my house because if Alex is there, all hell will break loose. So what the fuck do I do?

I send Alex a text, letting him know that I’m taking Maggie to her house and I’ll talk to him when I get home.

The drive to her house takes twenty minutes, and I get in by using her keys and lie her down on her bed.

The moment I do, she groans, rolls over, and throws up all over the floor.

Vomit splatters my shoes, her night stand, and her bedsheets.

“Oh God,” she mutters, coughing.

“It’s okay,” I say, stepping around the mess and picking her up. I bring her to the bathroom and help her get to her knees on the floor. “Are you okay?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“I know you’re nauseous, but other than that, do you feel okay? Dizzy or anything?”

“Just from the alcohol,” she says.

I leave her there to get her a bottle of water and a cold towel.

Then I clean up the mess in her room and go sit with her in the bathroom.

She throws up on and off for the next hour.

I check her pulse, make sure she’s breathing, and get her to drink water when she can.

I have no idea what the hell happened. Bad food, too much alcohol, or someone did put something in her drink. Either way, I can’t leave her.

I try Alex again, and get no answer. So I get Maggie into bed, in the unmatching sheets because I couldn’t find a set. Then I grab a chair from the kitchen, set it up by the bed, and watch her to make sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit.

At some point I doze off, and only wake when the sun is shining across my face.

I stretch, my back fucking killing me, then go use the bathroom.

I wash my face, and splash cold water on my neck because I feel like shit, too.

When I get back to the bedroom, Maggie is sitting up on the side of her bed, hands clasped together, staring at the floor.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

She looks up at me slowly, a frown on her face. “We’re breaking up, aren’t we?”

Everything around me goes silent, my vision blurring slightly.

“What?” The word falls out of my mouth as my body goes cold.

“It’s okay, Jordan. Just tell me.”

Just say yes, Jordan. Tell her you’re breaking up!

“Why would you say that?”

She shrugs, shaking her head. “Just a feeling. Things have been weird for a while, but lately…”

I nod carefully, then sit beside her on the bed .

“How are you feeling?” I ask again.

“Like I got hit by a truck, then someone poured acid down my throat.”

“Want some tea?”

“I don’t know if I can keep it down.”

I reach for the bottle of water on the nightstand. “Just a little water then.”

She takes a sip and I put the bottle back. Her gaze is on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at her.

“Jordan,” she says softly, taking my hand and linking our fingers. “It’s okay if this isn’t working for you.”

“Is it working for you?” I ask. “Honestly. Is this what you want from a partner, Maggie?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Because it’s not what you deserve,” I say. “Not even close.”

“But I—”

“You deserve so much better than what I have been giving you. Then what I can give you.”

Hell, no one deserves that. Alex doesn’t either, yet I know damn well I’m going to walk out of this house and chase him the way I should have last night.

She shrugs again, and her gaze goes to the floor.

“Can we stay friends?” she asks quietly.

“Always,” I say, putting my arm around her and pulling her close .

When I finally get home, it’s nearing dinner time.

His car isn’t in the driveway, but he could be out getting stuff for the game like he usually does.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I make my way up the steps and into the house.

It’s darker than usual. The couch is empty, the pillows all arranged as if they’ve never been touched.

The blanket’s folded perfectly. I run a hand through my hair as I head for my bedroom, noting the bed is made.

I check his side of the bed, where he’s kept his duffel bag, but it’s gone.

I pull out my phone and try his number again. It rings, but he doesn’t pick up.

I spend the rest of my day moping around, waiting for him to show up. I try my hardest to focus on sports highlights, but I don’t catch anything being said. I keep calling Alex, but he never answers.

When I open the fridge, I see it’s fully stocked.

The leftover pasta is sitting front and center, but I have no appetite.

I spend Sunday doing the same thing. Calling Alex, trying to concentrate on anything else.

There’s nothing to do around here, except unpack old boxes in the guest rooms I never got to.

I start, but stop as soon as I find an old blue velvet box stuffed in my old duffel.

I don’t have to look to know what it is.

And like a glutton for punishment, I open it .

The bright, diamond-studded cufflinks catch the setting sunlight, making prisms dance across the dark, somber room, but it’s the note that catches me.

The white cardstock with just three words.

When in Vegas.

I shut the box and shove it back into the bag and push them in the shadowed corner.

It’s the longest weekend of my life, and the most miserable one, too. Maggie and I talk a little bit more, clear the air, and decide things are better this way. I’m not sure she truly believes that, but she will one day. When she meets someone who treats her right.

When Monday morning comes, I can’t get to work fast enough, and my day drags until it’s time for Alex to come in.

Only, he never does. He doesn’t show.

People don’t no call, no show at Sharks. But Alex Brewer did.

I’m so furious over it that I have to go home “sick.”

I walk into my empty house, and as I look around the kitchen, and at all the things he’s updated, it hits me all at once.

The giant vine-like chandelier casts its bright light on everything he’s touched.

The shimmering black countertop. The red cabinets.

I look at the floor and the stain is still there, a big blob of red paint dried on the wooden floorboards from where the brush fell when I kissed him .

The curtains are all open, and the hazy afternoon light pours in and everything is so bright and so fucking beautiful.

Just like him.

I fall against the wall, slide down it until I hit the floor, and sob because my life is a fucking mess, I’m alone, and I’m the only one to blame for it.