33. Nell
“Where are you going?”
Cameron calls after me, like I’d tell him anything now.
He did the one thing I begged him not to. Took what he wanted and tossed me aside like it meant nothing.
And maybe it didn’t.
Maybe I was never going to be enough for him—not after her. Not after his wife.
Jesus… even after last night, I was ready to give up everything for this man.
What the hell is wrong with me?
When will I finally learn that life isn’t a fairytale? That men don’t save you—they just leave you needing to be saved from them.
“None of your business,”
I snap, yanking on my jacket, bracing for the cold bite of the outside world.
“You can’t go out there, Nell. It’s not safe.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
“Routine, remember? The one you set up. Or are you going to tell me that doesn’t matter anymore either?”
He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, jaw tight, biting back whatever excuse he thinks might fix this.
But there’s nothing left to say.
He has no right to stop me. And he certainly has no ground to stand on.
I just need to get out. It’s suffocating in here; I need space to breathe. To think. Because clearly, staying here isn’t an option anymore. He knows I’m right—routine is everything.
But what he doesn’t know is that I’m already planning to break it.
Just a small detour on the way home.
I need a drink—a real one. In a real bar. Surrounded by people who don’t know my name or my story.
And I know just the place.
The bar Darcy and I used to haunt, back when life felt a little less like a trap and a little more like something we could outrun.
Maybe I’ll find comfort at the bottom of a glass. Or maybe I’ll just find silence. Either way, I’ll take it.
He’s still standing there, looming with that ridiculously sculpted chest like he’s carved from stone. But I’m not letting him get to me today.
His charm won’t work. Not now. Not when I’ve shut everything down and buried myself so deep inside, I’m not sure I’ll ever claw my way back out.
Life sucks.
This whole twisted, broken situation sucks.
And right now, I just want to disappear into something that doesn’t ask anything of me.
The cold bites at my cheeks as I step outside, but I welcome it. It’s honest. Unlike everything else right now.
I make a brief stop at the gym—not to work out, not really. I don’t touch a single machine. Just swipe in, linger long enough to tick the box, and leave.
The shop’s the same. I wander the aisles like I’m searching for something specific, eyes scanning shelves I don’t really see. It’s all just noise—bright lights, pointless choices, the illusion of normalcy.
Then I slip out, unnoticed, and head toward the only place I’ve actually meant to go all along.
The bar.
By the time I reach the bar, the sky’s bruised with twilight and the neon sign above the door flickers like it’s trying to decide whether to give up. Fitting.
Inside, it’s dim and familiar. The low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the soft thud of boots on worn floorboards. It smells like spilled beer and old wood—nostalgia and regret in equal measure.
I slide onto a stool at the far end of the bar, the one Darcy always claimed because it had the best view of the door.
“So we can see trouble coming,”
she used to say with a wink.
I order something strong and uncomplicated. No frills, no garnish. Just burn.
The first sip hits hard. Good.
I let the noise wash over me, tuning out the world, letting the alcohol dull the frayed edges of everything Cameron said—and didn’t say.
But just as I start to settle into the numbness, I feel it. A shift. Someone’s watching me. Not in a threatening way, not yet anyway. But with the kind of attention that makes your skin prickle and your instincts sit up straight.
I glance sideways.
A man at the other end of the bar. Not familiar in the slightest, but not entirely a stranger either. There’s something in the way he looks at me—like he knows something I don’t.
Or maybe I’m just drunk enough to imagine ghosts in every face.
Either way, I don’t look away.
Not yet.
Thank God I have my rolling pin handy in my bag.
Not that he approaches like someone about to kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder. No, when he stands from his chair and leans casually against the bar beside me, he’s wearing a smile—charming, easy and practiced.
“Here on your own?”
He’s not Cameron.
No one will ever be Cameron.
But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s time I finally take Darcy’s advice. Maybe a rebound isn’t the worst idea in the world. I’ve already lost so much—what’s one more bad decision?
“Yep,”
I say, sipping my drink like it’s lemonade, even though it burns all the way down.
He nods, eyes flicking over me with interest.
“Can I buy you another? Feels like the least I can do. It’s practically a crime—someone like you, sitting here alone.”
Is he flirting? Probably. Or maybe he just pities me. Maybe this is what happens when Darcy’s not around to steal the spotlight.
But pity or not, flirtation or not—I’ve got one goal tonight.
Forget Cameron.
Even if it’s just for a few hours.
He actually makes me genuinely smile which is completely unexpected. He’s got a joke for everything, like he’s memorised a whole damn book of them just for nights like this. He’s not boyfriend material, not even close. But I’m not looking for that.
I’m looking for a quick win—a distraction—something to dull the ache in my chest.
“So, tell me, pretty girl,”
he says, flagging down the waiter for another round.
“How’d you end up in a place like this, all on your own?”
The bar’s packed now—shoulder to shoulder, music pulsing louder, laughter spilling over itself—but I’m content in my little corner. With this man whose name I still don’t know.
“Trust me,”
I say, swirling the last of my drink.
“you don’t want to know.”
I glance up at him.
“But I could ask you the same thing.”
He smirks, brushing a few stray hairs from his face, and for a second, it’s easy to pretend.
But then I blink, and all I see is Cameron.
Last night. The way he touched me like he knew every inch of my body before I did. The way he broke me open and made it feel like salvation. And I know, deep down, I’ll never feel that again. Not like that. Not with anyone else.
Damn him.
He gave me something he had no intention of offering twice. And now I’m left chasing shadows.
Selfish, beautiful bastard.
I don’t know how long we sit here, but I ignore the constant buzz of my phone. Cameron might not remember, but he’s the one who turned off my location services. Which means he has no way of finding me now.
Am I screwing up his plans?
Probably.
But the petty part of me doesn’t care.
“I’m just going to the toilet,”
I call over the music, already weaving through the crowd. But he doesn’t stay behind. He follows—close. Too close. His hand finds my hip like it belongs there, guiding me through the crush of bodies.
I guess he’s put in the effort and doesn’t want to lose his shot. Because that’s what I am to men, right? A warm body. A quick fix. Another hole to meet the goal?
Not someone you bring home to meet your mother. Just another distraction.
Before I can reach the bathroom door, he grabs me—spins me—and suddenly I’m pressed against the sticky wall, his mouth on mine, hands everywhere. Sucking. Licking. Groping.
It’s not like Cameron.
There’s no finesse, no care. Just hunger. Crude and clumsy.
He’s not here to make me feel good. He’s here to get off.
But maybe that’s fine.
Maybe I can use him too.
His hands drift to places that still echo with Cameron’s touch, and I hate that I notice. But if I keep measuring every man against him, I’m setting myself up for a lifetime of disappointment.
“Wanna get out of here?”
he murmurs against my ear, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my leggings like he’s earned the right.
I don’t stop him.
I came here for this—for the distraction, the numbness, the illusion of control. So, I return the favour, sliding my palm along the front of his jeans.
And my heart sinks.
Of course he’s tiny.
Just my fucking luck.
Maybe I’m not over Cameron’s size. Maybe I’m not over anything. But right now, I can’t imagine feeling a damn thing with this guy—physically or otherwise.
Damn stalker boy.
Damn his hands.
Damn the way Cameron still lives under my skin, even when he’s not here.