60. Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty
Jordan
The way the color drains from Mac’s face has that festering wound inside my chest breaking wide open.
Fucking fuck, this is all messed the hell up.
Why didn’t I talk to him first?
“Mac,” I croak out and stand, pulling the sheet with me as he jabs his feet into his pants and zips. “Just listen to me.”
“No,” he says with enough vehemence to have me pausing. “I have listened to you for too long.”
Everything in me freezes. “What?”
“And every fucking time, I end up breaking my own heart.”
Stalking to the door, he whips it open so hard that it bounces off the backstop and into the smack of his palm.
“Now get the fuck out of my life,” he all but growls and my head spins.
The tick in his jaw, the intensity staring back at me, all settles in my gut like a punch.
I knew better.
It was too good, Mac and me. We had it right when we were friends. I guess they were right when they say that sex ruins things.
Shit, I … I have nothing to give him. No way to convince him.
How can I when—
When I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing here.
I intended to let him go. To release him to whatever the hell else will make him happy.
I thought he’d be okay with that. I was sure he would.
Seeing him … made it impossible to not feel like I’ve failed him completely.
Scooping up my clothes and boots, I pause beside him at the door.
He won’t look at me.
“I didn’t mean for it to go like this, Vida.”
“Yeah?” His nostrils flare. “ Me, either .”
I swallow down the hurt at the venom in his voice and lift my chin. “I may not be able to explain shit, but I hope one day you’ll let me try.”
Still as stone, Mac says nothing.
I don’t blame him.
Shit, I came here with the sole purpose of quitting, to put a stop to this shit, and hoping for things to make more sense after.
Now … nothing does.
Nodding, resigned to the stance we’ve fallen into, I leave his bedroom.
My eyes slide closed when the slam of his door echoes around in the crater of my chest and I force a breath. I can still smell him on my skin. Feel the ghost of lips against mine. The stickiness of my groin wrapping me up like a vice.
Forcing a swallow, I clear my throat and bend to shove my legs into my pants only to freeze at the sight of argyle socks.
Heart rate shooting to the sky, I tuck my dick away and meet the bodyguard’s hard gaze.
Except Peach won’t look at me either. Instead, he’s trained in on the white square tucked between his offered fingers hanging in the air between us.
My stomach twists at the familiar sight, the knowledge of the typed words inside that little note like a brand to my organs.
“You have to,” he mutters almost soundlessly.
I know this.
There’s no denying what went on in that room with a rock star that I no longer work for. No contesting the walk of shame he caught me in the middle of.
Yet it doesn’t stop the lump from forming when I snatch the paper and unfold it. The edges crinkle and show enough wear to tell me it’s been in his pocket long enough.
I know because I have the same thing burning inside my own pocket.
Mac was right. This makes me no different.
Heart in my throat, I take Peach’s offered pen with a wince when my tacky fingers touch the plastic, and I sign the nondisclosure agreement just like every other one-night stand.
I don’t bother looking when I shove the page back in Peach’s direction and stab my feet in my boots.
This is it. It’s over.
Pen in my pocket, I jab my shirt over my head before reaching the exit with the heaviest of weights settling down on me.
I’m at the elevators when my vision clouds.
In the lobby when my throat closes up, hurt coiling its way around the broken organ in my chest.
Closing the car door when a sob works its way out of my gut.
Slam the heel of my palm against the steering wheel.
And for the first time in two decades, tears cascade down my cheeks.