Page 103 of Flare

In the end, it didn’t take much figuring out. His parting question said it all.

How wouldIfeel?

Fucking kicked in the balls. That’s how I’d feel. And the last thing I’d want was someone telling me everything was going to be okay and that it didn’t fucking matter. I’d been a jerk. Even if itdidn’tmatter tome, it mattered to Rhys, and all I’d done was dismiss him. Textbook red fucking flag.

Nice one, arsehole. Why not slap him in the face as well?

I groaned and rolled to my side, grabbing my phone to fire off an apology.I fucked up. I’m sorry. Can we please talk?

I watched the screen until I knew he’d seen the text, but when fifteen minutes passed without any reply, I figured he wasn’t going to.

Served me right.

I threw my phone on the bedside table and headed for the shower, letting the burning needle-sharp spray rain down hell on my body as my heart fought with my head about what to do.

Did I get in my car and just head over to his place, caution be damned?

Would he even let me in?

What if he hadn’t gone home?

He’d read my text, and his silence was a clear fucking answer that he didn’t want to talk, and until he was ready, I couldn’t force him.

What if he wasn’t ever ready?

I slid down the tiles until I sat hunched on the floor with my arms around my knees. What the fuck was wrong with me? I knew better than to say what I had. Jesus, I’d had enough platitudes directed at me as a kid to know how bad it hurt when people tried to brush things off like they didn’t matter. That’s not what I’d meant, but it was exactly what Rhys had heard.

I loved him.Fuck.Why didn’t I just say that? The back of my head hit the tiles and a spray of steaming water flushed the tears from my cheeks, salt washing over my lips where his had been just an hour before, the crashing memory of his hands on me, the morning blown to ruins, the rightness of him in my bed, the fucking promises we’d made in the night. This couldn’t be it. He’d get back to me. He’d just asked for time, hadn’t he?

I scrubbed my body dry, wrapped the towel around my waist, and reached for my phone... again.I’m sorry. Please can we talk? I’m here when you’re ready.

Delivered and read and... nothing.

I threw my pillow at the wall and my gaze landed on the red tie lying on the floor. I picked it up and sank onto the mattress, wrapping it round and around my hand.How was that only twelve hours ago?We’d been so good. Better than good. Great. Hadn’t we? I was going to see his fucking therapist, for fuck’s sake.

Anger licked at my belly. What happened to agreeing that we’d screw up sometimes but keep talking? What happened to being in this together? It might not have happened to me, but I was committed to doing what I needed for us, for what Rhys wanted for himself.

Us.Yeah, right. I fell back on the bed with my arm across my face, the red tie hanging over my eyes. So much for theusandwepart. I’d obviously read that completely fucking wrong.

Fuck.

Was Rhys right? Was this inevitable at some point?

For a second, I almost believed it. Until a wave of sadness collided with the stupid thought and a deep ache replaced it.

He’d call. He’d come back. I rolled to my side and pulled his pillow to my chest, the scent of him and our sex still strong on the cotton. He’d come back. Because I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he didn’t.

* * *

When the front door slammed four hours later, I was sprawled on the couch in front of the television watching whatever the fuck movie was playing on Netflix, grimacing my way through my fourth cup of acrid over-brewed coffee, and wallowing in self-pity having sent a stream of unanswered texts to Rhys after promising myself I wouldn’t.

“Whatever you’re doing, break it up. I’m home.”

“Hark, I hear the dulcet tones of my nephew.” I cupped an ear, and Jack rounded the corner with his middle finger in the air.

“I was just giving you guys fair warning to get your hands off each other.” His gaze swept the room with a puzzled frown. “Where’s Rhys?”

“He left a while ago. How did the dance go?”

---