“Honey, what he’s doing to you is extreme. An eye for an eye.”
I laugh through my nose, covering the phone. She really needs to have this baby.
Taking a sip of tea, I mull it over. The numbness waned off late last evening, bringing on a rush of anger and sadness. I thought maybe everything would feel a little less intense when I woke up this morning, but nope. If anything, my anger has intensified, taking shape in the form of a pounding headache and a jaw that won’t unclench.
I still have yet to shed a tear over that bastard, so there’s that.
“It felt so real, Tierney.” I release a soft breath, glancing at the spot on the sofa where we first made love—or rather, when he first fucked me.
I’d burn the stupid thing now if I could.
It’s tainted, only serving as a reminder of what a moron I was.
“Of course it felt real,” she says. “That’s what he was hired to make you believe.”
“I wonder if he ever second-guessed what he was doing? Do you think he ever felt bad about it?”
“Doubtful. If he did, he would’ve stopped.”
“True.” I lift my mug to my lips. I can’t help but wonder if there’s the slightest chance he was catching feelings for me, but I don’t say anything to Tierney because I know what she’ll say. And in the end, it doesn’t matter.
I’ll never be able to believe a word he says ever again.
“I should go,” I say, sliding my legs off the arm of the chair and placing my mug on the coffee table.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“I’m going to text Jude and see if he’s home,” I say, “and then I’m going to beat him at his own game.”
Ending the call, I pull up my Messages app and fire off a text. It shows read instantly, like he’s been waiting for me to respond, and within seconds he replies, telling me to come over and that the door is unlocked.
The queasy fuss in my stomach that hasn’t subsided since Marissa gave me the news only intensifies, as if my body is firing off warning signs. But the more I think about this, the more my anger focuses on Hunter just as much.
Jude was a pawn.
A heartless pawn.
But Hunter is the real mastermind behind all of this.
I’d love nothing more than to let him think his clever little plan is working and then pull the rug out from under him. And if I really wanted to go all out, I could get my attorney involved. I’m sure hiring a guy to marry your ex so you can stop paying alimony isn’t one-hundred percent legal, and if there’s a loophole, my legal counsel will find it.
“Give me an hour. XOXO,” I text him before heading to the shower.
My entire life, I’ve always taken the high road.
But screw that.
I think it’s time Jude Warner discovers what it’s like to be a pawn in someone else’s game.
Thirty
Jude
* * *
Securing a towel around my waist and wiping the fog off my bathroom mirror, I think about Love for the millionth time since I woke up this morning. And truthfully, I haven’t stopped thinking about her once since we got back. I’m fixated. Obsessed. Torn and tortured. And I have no one to blame but myself.
My phone buzzes next to the sink and a little white notification pops up.
LOVE: Are you home?
My heart stammers, and my stomach is weighted with that sinking feeling I’ve had since I made my decision.
I want to see her … but seeing her means ending things … which means I’m never going to see her again the second she walks out my door.
I text her back, “Come on over. The door’s unlocked.”
LOVE: Give me an hour. XOXO
I sit the phone aside and stare at my reflection, brows furrowed, forehead lined. How she could go from ignoring me for twenty-four hours to texting me like nothing happened is beyond me, but I’m sure there’s an explanation somewhere. I’ve never wasted my time trying to figure out the intricacies of the finer sex, and I’m not about to start now.
My lungs tighten as I finish getting ready. Smooth shave. Crest. Antiperspirant. Cologne. Clean clothes. It’s any other morning … except it’s not.
The threat of a knot builds in my stomach, but I try and focus my attention elsewhere. Grabbing my phone, I play a little Bob Dylan.
Growing up, when Mom and Dad were having one of their knock down drag-out fights, I’d always take Lo and hide in my room, lock the door, and crank some Bob. His music was so otherworldly, so unlike anything else out there, that it always seemed to take us away, somewhere else where our dad didn’t beat our mom and our mom wasn’t drunk twenty-four-seven and our house didn’t have cockroaches and the electricity wasn’t getting shut off every other month.
Wagon Wheel comes on first, which historically has always managed to put some semblance of a smile on my face, only this time it never comes and I don’t find that temporary escape. I’m still here. Still staring at the reflection of a douchebag who sold his soul … for nothing.
The next hour passes in a hazy blur.
I’ve paced my apartment countless times, practicing what I’m going to say to Love and exactly how I’m going to say it. I’ve pictured tears in her honeyed eyes and trembles on those sugared lips, but imagining heartbreak playing out on her face will have nothing to seeing it in person.
The palpitations in my chest quicken when I hear the twist of the door knob and the soft pad of footsteps across my foyer.
“Jude?” she calls.
I make my way from down the hall, breath resting in my chest because it hurts too fucking much to breathe, and when I round the corner, I’m met with the widest smile and brightest hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.
Before I get a chance to say anything, she’s leaping into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and pressing her strawberry-flavored mouth against mine. When she pulls away, she’s still grinning.
“Where have you been?” I ask, focused on the killer smile I’m going to miss like hell when it’s gone.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, smile fading as she slides off me. Her hands wrap around the nape of my neck, her fingernails lightly dragging against my skin. “I woke up yesterday with a horrible migraine—I get those sometimes—and the only way I can deal with them is by taking one of my pills, turning off my phone, and shutting out the world until it goes away. I slept all day. I’m so sorry. I would’ve told you, but it hurt way too much to even look at my phone. Forgive me?”
Dragging in a deep breath, I press my lips flat and nod. “Of course. I was just worried, that’s all.”
“Let’s go do something. I want to get out for a bit.” She stretches her arms over her head before turning and walking back toward the door. Stopping, she glances back at me, waving her hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
Her shoulders lift and she smiles. “I don’t know? Anywhere. I just want to be with you. I don’t care what we’re doing.”
My feet are still planted, my mind fixated on how and when I’m going to end this with her. The thought of that beautiful smile vanishing sends a shock of literal pain across my chest. And I sure as hell can’t have this talk with her in public.