Page 131 of Save Your Breath

She played sold-out shows at the Garden. She released a brand-new surprise song that shot straight to number one. Reviews for the tour were sensational.Shewas fucking sensational.

Why the fuck would she press pause on the most exciting time in her career to pet my hair and tell me I was a good boy? Why would she feel the need to coddle a grown-ass man who should have been able to easily discern that one night of fucking didn’t need to be followed up by a full conversation of what it meant?

Still, it killed me to hold my tongue.

I didn’t want to push her. I didn’t want to distract her.

And when Isabella called that team meeting, I got my answer without having to ask.

We were done.

Never good enough.

Never good enough.

Now, we were back in my condo for the first time since the hurricane. Isabella and Giana were talking logistics in my kitchen, a bottle of wine between them. Mia was acting likenothing about this bothered her, fingers running idly over the keys of my piano as she hummed something to herself.

She was perfectly fine.

Writing a little song in her head.

Dreaming about getting back on tour.

And I was suffocating in the silence between us, drowning in everything I couldn’t say, dying a little more every time she smiled like none of it ever mattered.

“Okay, I think we have a solid plan,” Isabella said, picking up her wine glass and swirling the red liquid inside it.

Mia stopped playing, spinning where she sat on the piano bench to face the room. Our eyes caught for the briefest moment, her cheeks reddening.

Was she thinking about when I had her tied up on that bench, her arms bound, legs around my shoulders as I made her my meal?

Or was she embarrassed by what we’d done, hoping to never speak of it again — just the way she’d handled the night she’d asked me to kiss her years ago?

Her eyes snapped away too quickly for me to tell.

“We’ll tip off Stella that our lovebirds here are fighting later this evening, have ourinside sourcetell her where Aleks ran off to, and let the games begin. Our favorite paparazzi here in Tampa will be ready to catch pictures of Mia crying as she runs to the waiting car and heads for the airport while the Internet starts exploding with videos of Mr. Bad Boy returning to his old ways.”

Stella, I’d learned that day, was one of Mia’s super fans with a huge YouTube channel and general social media presence. She was known for having the inside scoop when it came to Mia’s personal life — a seed that Isabella had carefully planted and nurtured.

If I was capable, I would have laughed.

Some fucking influencer was going to be the death of what little hope I had left.

“I’ve wrapped up all our pending sponsorships, commercials, and upcoming events, making sure the contracts are iron tight. This won’t be enough for any of them to terminate, and honestly, given the audience most of these brands have, they will likely be thrilled,” Giana said, paging through what I imagined was a list of said brands on her phone. She adjusted her glasses up her nose. “You’re a much hotter commodity when you’re single and showing attention to everyday women as opposed to locked down by the perfect Mia Love.”

I swallowed, gaze flitting to Mia.

Hers was on Isabella, distant and empty.

Bored.

My chest stung, those emotions I’d been burying clawing their way out of the dirt.

How could she not so much as look at me? How could she be here, in this place, and not remember everything about that night? It had been torture for me to live here since the phone call Isabella had for the team. Every time I opened my front door, I felt another piece of me shatter.

Mia was everywhere for me now — in my living room, at the piano, in the kitchen, in my shower, in my bed.

In my mind, in my heart, in my fucking soul.