Page 20 of Love Me

It’s just me and Bailey and I say, “Promise me that Celine will never find out.” It doesn’t matter anymore. I lost her. I don’t want to poke that pulsating and festering wound when she clearly moved past us.

“Why?” she asks in a soft voice.

“She doesn’t need to know that I’m playing house with Abigail.”

“Yes, for the Family.”

“And for her as well. It has to be like this.” I have no idea how I will get her out unscathed a second time, but I will.

Through the window, I watch a black car pull in front of our house, and Bailey and I move to the hallway.

The entry door opens. Light seeps through, flooding my insides.

Celine wears jeans and a fitted long-sleeved top, her hair in a high ponytail. She emanates a strength, a confidence that is more than sexy. She turned into a breathtaking woman, but again, she always had that effect on me.

“Honey,” Abigail says from the top of the stairs. Celine looks from her to me, her eyes two narrow slits. It has to be this way.

“Make yourself at home,” I say to Celine. “Abi is waiting for me.”

I would have told her who Abigail is to me, but not after her confession. She fucking annihilated me.

I hope it hurts her like it does me waking up every day without having her.

Abigail and Kaden… are together?

My first instinct is to reach for my heart to keep it there in the place it should so I can remain alive. I am afraid if I even breathe, my ribcage will crack open, and my insides will spill out on the floor. I gulp, my throat going dry.

His eyes seek mine. The traitor.

I quickly mask the pain obliterating me. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

Did he go right into Abigail’s arms after he got rid of me? Was that his plan all along? Did he tire of me and not know how to deal with his mess?

“Hi, it’s so nice you’re here.” Bailey reminds me of who I was before: sweet, innocent, and vulnerable. I have become an asshole. What is wrong with being like her, being a genuinely good person? Nothing.

“Let me show you to your room,” she offers, and I walk behind her, looking around. On the left, I see the kitchen with a marble island in the middle. On my right, it’s a spacious, modern, decorated living room in tones of pale gray and white furniture with a big velvet couch where at least ten people can fit and still be comfortable, and a hand-crafted wool rug. Hardwood floors and crystal lights offer a sophisticated touch.

We take the curved stairs, and she points to a door on the right side.

“Mine is right there, and Abigail is next to me. The guys are on the left side of the staircase.”

“Don’t they share a room?” The question unbalances me. The answer will kick me in my already bruised chest.

“No, it’s not like that.” She averts her gaze. I can’t pinpoint my feelings. It’s a mix of simmering anger and bone-deep hurt. Jealousy claws at my chest, ripping through my heart.

Turning the handle, the door opens. My room is spacious and airy, painted in all white, with an en suite bathroom and adjoined dressing room. The blue curtains and duvet breathe some color in.

“Why did you come back?” she whispers, and I turn my head to her, unsure if I imagined that. “Why would you come back? You had the chance that none of us had.”

Tears glisten in her eyes, and even my incapacitated heart reacts.

I wrap my arms around her, taken aback by her emotional outburst. It’s almost like a compulsion to protect the baby of the family, even though we’re just half a year apart.

“They don’t trust me, right?”

“Grandmother brought you back for a reason. We’re all jittery…”

I nod. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, though?”

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