Page 117 of Too Far

It never has been. And clearly, it never will be.

“I loved you. Even after everything. Even now, I love you still.”

Silence ensues.

Just like it always fucking does when Decker digs his heels in.

“I loved you,” I whisper one last time, the words barely audible to my own ears above my ragged breaths and the erratic beating of my broken heart.

His continued silence is the only reply I receive, and it’s all the answer I need. I pull myself away and walk out of the bathroom without looking back.

Chapter 54

Josephine

NotevenKylian’sbreathingor Locke’s light snores are perceptible through the dark.

With a groan, I spread my arms out, reaching for the guys. All I find are cold bed sheets.

I’m alone.

The realization carves a groove into the pit in my stomach that still festers from my confrontation with Decker.

Seeing him, seeking him out, finding him and begging him to let me in and give us what we both crave.

It was infuriating, seeing the crack in his armor when I bumped into him in the living room. I saw the tears, and my stupid heart felt the pining and sensed his longing. That’s all it took for renewed hope to take root.

Hope for what, I don’t know.

I’m a fool to hold out hope that Decker will ever come around. That he’ll allow himself to be vulnerable enough to let me back in permanently.

I roll out of bed, wincing at the pain behind my temples.

I’m hungry, and I need coffee.

I feel hungover, despite not drinking a single drop of alcohol. Emotional hangovers can be just as horrid as the real thing, but without the fun.

Padding up the stairs, I clasp the edges of the blanket at my chest. The Den is absolutely frigid. Next time we come here—if there’s a next time, seeing as how this is Decker’s place—I’ll bring my warmest, fuzziest pajamas. Maybe even a robe.

As I ascend the staircase, the arguing becomes audible. Dread percolates in my belly.

Voices are raised.

Talking over one another.

Ignoring the pounding in my head, I take the stairs two at a time. As I turn the corner to the eat-in kitchen, Decker’s voice booms above the rest.

“I thought Ididhave a lawyer review the contracts.” He’s standing at one end of the table, gripping the back of a chair.

Kylian is facing off directly across from him, arms crossed and looking utterly annoyed.

Kendrick is seated between them, his forehead resting on his steepled fingers.

Locke is propped up against the island, cradling a coffee mug. “I’m lost. Why does it matter what he signed or what it says? Decker’s out. He’s made that clear.”

As if he can sense my presence, Decker looks up. He locks eyes with me, and I’m instantly transported back to last night. To the moment in the living room. The breakdown in the bathroom. The palpable desperation and yearning.

They’re just as pronounced this morning, churning just below the surface. I can feel it in the way he looks at me. I can feel it in my soul, despite his silence and hurtful actions.