Page 40 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

“ S hit ,” I say under my breath as I push open the theatre exit door and step outside. “ Fucking fuck ,” I mutter again.

Dragging a clammy palm down my face, I stuff my hands in my bomber jacket and start walking as far away from the Remington—and Connie—as possible.

I’m trying to suck in the cold air to calm myself down, but my heart is beating so fast that I wonder if I should head to the nearest hospital and loudly declare that I’m having a heart attack.

What the fuck was that?

God, she makes me so fucking crazy. And why can’t I use my words for once in my stupid fucking life?

Spotting a corner store, I dip inside to quickly buy a fresh pack of cigarettes. Before walking out, I unwrap the film from the new pack and throw it in the trash. I’m about to crumble my old pack and throw it out too, but stop myself at the very last second.

I look down.

Open the pack.

Pull out the one last cigarette in there.

It still has Connie Broadbent scrawled on it.

The cigarettes Connie wrote on didn’t last long. I finished the pack that same weekend, but I couldn’t bring myself to smoke the one with her name on it. Felt sacrilegious somehow. So I’ve transferred the offending cigarette into a new pack three times since last week.

I do it again now, popping one in between my lips, and replacing it with Connie’s. I slide it upside down for good luck. It’s a stupid thing we used to do as teenagers … but I need all the luck I can get.

God, I’m so fucked.

When I get home, Sophia is standing in front of the microwave, one foot on top of the other, watching her bag of popcorn pop.

The relief I feel when I see her standing there is comparable to the first time I walked out of prison a free man. I don’t bother saying hello. I just blurt out what’s been on my mind since I left the theatre.

“I think I fucked things up with Connie,” I say, toeing off my boots and flinging my coat on a hook.

“Oh, now you want to talk about it,” she comments from the kitchen.

“I don’t have time for your fucking shit right now, Soph,” I groan as I circle the dining room table like a vulture, unable to sit or calm down. “This is really fucking serious.”

“And it wasn’t serious last weekend when you acted like a total asshole?” she asks casually as she strolls into the living area, shoving a whole hand of popcorn into her mouth.

“We just fucked in her office.”

“Ew,” Sophia mumbles, her mouth still full of popcorn. “Spare me.”

She plops herself on the couch, settling the giant bowl beside her. I stalk up to her and she glances up without lifting her chin.

“It didn’t end … great.” I start walking in circles in front of her, mind racing. “We were fighting before it happened.”

Sophia rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “God, you two.”

I ignore her dig. “She’s still talking to her ex.” I look over to her. “Did you know that?”

She shoots me an irate look before bringing her finger up to her chin, tapping it while acting confused.

“Now, now. I wonder why she’d feel pushed to even entertain the thought of her cheating ex?

” She drops her hand and pins me with a deadpan stare.

“It must have nothing to do with the pictures you posted on Instagram.”

I stop pacing and fall silent, taking in the judgment on my sister’s face, guilt gnawing at my insides.

“You didn’t see them together, Soph. You would have walked out of there too, if you had been in my shoes.”

She tosses some popcorn in her mouth and chuckles as if what I just said was anywhere close to amusing.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

She furrows her brows, but as always, she’s unfazed by my hostile tone.

“Did you even talk to her? Like actually talk to her before jumping to conclusions?”

Christ, she can be fucking annoying—especially when she’s right. I reluctantly shake my head.

“You saw what you wanted to see, Hux. And you know?”—She brings a knee to her chest, circling her arms around it—“Your self-sabotaging tendencies are getting old.”

Falling silent, we stare at each other, Sophia’s eyes narrowing as if daring me to tell her she’s wrong. I sigh, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, dragging both hands over my head before looking back at her .

“So what you’re saying is this is all my fault,” I say with defeat.

She shrugs. “At least some. Connie isn’t all that innocent either.” She presses her lips together before adding, “It’s like you guys are allergic to talking.”

I prop my chin in my palm, elbow on my thigh.

“Do you think there’s still a chance?”

She studies me with those big, bright eyes of hers and then smiles warily. Leaning over, she pats me on the knee.

“Maybe stop being such an idiot, and things will work out for a change.”

I puff out a laugh and swat her away.

“Thanks a lot, Soph.”

She grins and opens her palm toward me.

“That will be a hundred bucks.”

I shove her shoulder and scoff.

“Your advice isn’t worth that much.”

She crosses her arms and winks.

“We’ll see.”

I can’t sleep.

I’m not even remotely trying to. I’ve just been lying in the dark for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering if a lobotomy would feel better than this.

My bed has never felt this empty. I yearn to feel Connie next to me. Asleep and pressed against me, her skin warm and silky smooth against mine.

The fantasy is just as potent as a real memory. I ache for it. Ache for something simple but real. Ache for a domestic kind of life that I’ve never experienced before, even in childhood.

But who am I to think I even deserve that kind of life? Who am I to think I’d even know what to do with it if I ever did get it ?

I sigh and turn to my side.

I unlock my phone and squint at the screen but don’t adjust the brightness. I want Connie’s face burned into my retinas. Burned so deep I see an imprint of her everywhere I look.

She posted pictures of the Hendrick’s party to her profile the other day. I wonder if she was contractually obligated or if she posted them out of spite. Because I’m deliberately missing from all of them. It looks like she never had a date for the event in the first place.

I stare at them nonetheless.

God, she’s so fucking beautiful.

Why did she even give me a chance?

Her earlier accusation comes back to haunt me.

“You never gave us a chance.”

The regret is heavy and painful.

I fucking blew it.

I let out another long sigh through my nose and turn off my phone.

Sleep doesn’t take pity on me.

I stare at the ceiling some more.