Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
marlowe
D uring the first week of november , I go for a run after class. It’s been an appallingly long time. Between work, school and nursing a broken heart, I haven’t had the motivation or energy to exercise.
I push myself to run three miles, puffing and panting my way down every path. By the time I drag my winded ass back home, my tank top and yoga pants are soaked through with sweat.
When I see the black luxury sedan parked in front of my building, my heart kicks into another full sprint. Then I get pissed. Of course he’d show up today, of all days, when I look a hot sweaty mess. Bastard.
Flicking my damp ponytail over my shoulder, I march toward the front entrance as Gunner steps out of the car. He’s dressed in a black sweater and black jeans with black boots, and I hate him for looking like a total badass.
“Hey.” He stares at me uncertainly. “Can we talk?”
“Go fuck yourself,” I say without breaking stride.
He steps forward, blocking my path.
“Get out of my way,” I snarl.
He doesn’t budge, his blue eyes looking straight into mine. “I miss you,” he says softly. “I’m losing my mind without you.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He slowly looks me over, frowning. “You’ve lost weight. Have you been starving yourself?”
“Fuck. You.”
The look he gives me is so miserable it stalls my breath. But I grit my teeth and stand my ground.
He moves closer, invading my personal space. “I just want to talk?—”
“Oh, now you want to talk? It’s been five weeks, Gunner. Five fucking weeks without a single call or text?—”
“You think I haven’t wanted to talk to you? To hear your voice? I’ve thought about calling you every fucking day, but I didn’t know what to say or where to even begin. And I assumed you’d probably blocked my number.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find his name under his picture. After a few angry taps, I hold up the phone to his face. “There. Now you’re blocked and deleted.”
He curses and rakes a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture pricking my heart.
“I’m sorry,” he says roughly, and I can hear his pain. “I shouldn’t have said all those things to you. I shouldn’t have lied about Brynn?—”
“Save your breath. I don’t care anymore.” When I try to sidestep him, his big body gets in my way again.
“Can we go inside and talk? Please?”
I glare up at him. “Let me go, Gunner. I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He looms over me, asserting his dominance like the alphahole he is. “Just let me take you to dinner?—”
“Not interested.” I plant my hands on his chest and shove hard.
He steps back, just barely, a muscle popping on the side of his jaw. “Mar?—”
“Stay the fuck out of my life.” I push past him and run into the building, tears burning my eyes every step of the way.
i should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily.
Two days later, I’m working through my lunch break when my phone buzzes on my desk. I don’t recognize the number, but the text message grabs me by the throat: I can’t stop thinking about you.
I toss the phone down as if I’ve been burned. Five seconds later, I snatch it up again and fire off a reply: I told you to leave me alone.
His response is immediate: Look outside .
I swivel my chair around to look out my office window. My eyes widen when I see a plane flying a banner that reads: I’m truly sorry, Marlowe. Please forgive me.
My foolish heart twists in my chest.
Through the glass wall, I can see my coworkers crowded around the window, pointing and whispering excitedly. Lilith stands in her office doorway, watching me with knowing sympathy.
I turn away from the window and take a deep breath, marshaling my defenses before typing into my phone: I spent my whole life being mistreated by my mother, for reasons I never knew. I won’t accept the same cruelty from the man I love—a man who can’t even bring himself to say those three magic words. No matter how many gimmicks you try, or how many different phone numbers you use, I’m not talking to you. So save yourself the trouble and stop contacting me.
I hit send and block his new number, my jaw set with resolve.
Ignoring the prying stares of my coworkers, I calmly make my way to the restroom, lock myself in a stall and spend the next twenty minutes silently bawling my eyes out.