Page 99 of The Potter

“You’re right, I did,” she agrees, wiping angrily at the tears.

That’s it, Peach, fight for the future you deserve. One without a man who will drag you down with him.

“I thought…” She sniffles, and it sends an ache through my chest.

“You thought what? That a few great days and a fabulous blow job would suddenly make me a better man?”

Please, baby, just go. Don’t make me keep breaking your heart.

“No, people don’t change overnight. I, for one, know that. I was just hoping you were changing.” She scoffs. “Clearly, I was fucking wrong.”

I let her have the F-word this time. After all, she could have said much worse, and I would have deserved it.

“So, we’re done here?”

My heart can’t take any more, not while she’s crying, looking like I betrayed her in the worst way.

And I have.

Halle Belle deserves so much better. Now, she can lump me in with that dickbag who ran her over in the first place. It’s safer for her to get away from me—from any man who can’t give her the fucking world.

“Okay, Dr. Potter.” She nods, forcing a smile like the brave woman she is. “I understand.”

What’s left of my soul crumbles.

Goodbye, Vance. You’re dead to her now. Great fucking job.

“Good,” I clip. “I’m glad you understand.”

She backs away. “I do. I understand you’re a coward.”

She’s not wrong.

“You’re a coward that I hope wakes up tomorrow, alone and empty like you deserve.”

One can only hope that’s the case.

“Goodbye, Ms. Belle.”

And then I close the door on the best thing that’s ever came into my life.

Halle

Three months later…

“My producer, Maddox, is a small dick-gina.”

Remington arches a brow, taking a long pull from a beer he isn’t supposed to have. “I’m almost afraid to ask what a dick-gina is. I’m assuming it’s something similar to a man-gina?”

I nod, swinging my legs back and forth against the washing machine, where I’m sitting with Remington while we wait on our laundry.

In California.

Where. We. Freaking. Live.

Granted, it’s not as upscale as Clyde’s, and the rat that comes out at night is a little scary, but it’s a step in the right direction. At least for me. For Remington, I’m not so sure.

I was distraught when I called him from Vance’s three months ago, snotting and crying into the phone while I tried giving him directions. I don’t even know where he got the car, though it didn’t matter. I would have hitched a ride in a manure truck if it meant getting away from Vance faster.

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