Page 25 of The Grumpy Roommate Gamble

This woman. Trying to take care of me, to show me kindness, even now.

“Thanks.” Turning back to the drywall, I began pounding in nails. Just one more step toward the goal.

When I’d finished, she said, “You’re nearly done.”

“Yeah.” And that was easier to say than that I’d been keeping my demons on a short leash with the work.

But she saw anyway. Because of course she did. “I’m worried about you, Gabriel.”

I closed my eyes as the syllables of my name rolled off her tongue. I didn’t deserve her care and worry. So I did what I could to harden my battered heart and shut down that line of conversation. “You should be able to move back in by tomorrow or the day after. I’ll pay for movers.”

When Felicity said nothing, I glanced toward her.

Her face was ashen, eyes wide, as if I’d just slapped her. That just made me feel even worse. I was terrified she’d try to fight me on this. I didn’t know if I had the strength to do that. To do what was best for her. Because this was killing me.

Her shoulders squared. “If that’s what you want.”

I made my voice hard as the stone I needed to be. “It’s what I need.” More to the point, it was what she needed.

Tears glimmered in her eyes, and her lip trembled. I knew I was being a dick of epic proportions here. But it was for her own good. She’d see that, eventually.

At last, she nodded. “I’ll start packing. Movers aren’t necessary. I don’t have that much stuff.”

She walked out the way she’d evidently come in, leaving the cooler of food she’d brought on the counter.

And as the door shut behind her, I finally, truly stopped for the first time in days. I was exhausted. Soul weary. Everything hurt. Physically. Emotionally.

I’d done it. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to accomplish here. I could get the taping and mudding of the walls done, and finish the trim. Paint wouldn’t technically be necessary for her to move back in.

This was what needed to happen. She’d get her safe space back, and we’d both move on with our lives the way we’d been before.

So why did I feel like such an inveterate asshole?

SIXTEEN

FELICITY

“Are you okay?” Austen asked softly.

“Not even a little bit. But that doesn’t really matter now.”

I’d packed everything I owned in a haze. As I’d said to Gabe, I didn’t actually have that much stuff. The bistro set and chandelier were still in his backyard, but I no longer wanted them, because they made me think of him. Of that first kiss, when it still felt as if we were on the cusp of possibility.

I hadn’t seen him again. He’d been sticking to his new routine of getting home so late, he assumed I was asleep and could avoid me. So many times I thought about going out and confronting him. Trying to force him to talk about what had happened. But what would that accomplish? He’d clearly made up his mind.

I couldn’t understand what had gone so horribly wrong. I mean, I knew the nightmare and what had happened after had scared him. It had scared me, too, a little. But I wasn’t afraid of him. I was completely and utterly heartbroken. Because I’d let myself dream. Let myself hope. I’d fallen in love with some specter of my own imagination. Some dream.

Well, we were both wide awake now.

It was back to the real world.

I settled the last bag of my clothes into Austen’s trunk and shut it. “I’ve just got to get the last of my plants. I’ll meet you over there in a little while, okay?”

“Don’t you want me to help you with the last of it?”

“No. I need to do this last part myself, okay?”

“Okay. Hey, why don’t I go ahead and call in a pizza? I can swing through town and pick it up on the way.”

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