Page 64 of Coming In Hot
Great, just what I need. Another friend.
“By the way, Pharo is off limits, so don’t go snooping or plan on paying him a visit like this.”
Joey gives me a superior, all-knowing look as she brushes past me. “You mean he’s already taken? Message received, Jaxy.”
CHAPTER22
JAX
I stareat the empty couch where Pharo bent me over last night. Every line from that document tolls in my mind, loud as a bell.
We formally offer you the position of Head of Transportation and Flight Training.
His absence is louder than any argument we could’ve had face-to-face, and the silence in my apartment is deafening.
All this anger and hurt are swirling inside me, demanding to be released, but I don’t know where to start. I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I thought we were building something. I thought the last few weeks meant something. The moments we shared, the quiet ones where he let down his walls, when we went to dinner and talked about anything and everything, and the understanding we reached in Brewer’s office... I thought he meant it. But that was before I found out he’s taking a six-figure job halfway across the world, like he’s throwing away everything we had. Throwingmeaway like I’m nothing.
Again.
Did all of that mean nothing? Did last night mean nothing?
I press my fingers to my forehead, trying to fight off the headache building behind my eyes. This isn't just about him taking the job. It's about what that job means—about the fact that he never even gave me the courtesy of a heads up. That this thing we were doing was never more than an afterthought.
A quick fuck between deployments to take the edge off. Maybe his idea of a farewell party.
A farewell fuck.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I was fooling myself. But now I can’t help but wonder if it was all just a game to him. And if it was, then I guess the joke’s on me.
I don’t know what hurts more. The fact that I feel used and discarded? Or that I won’t be seeing him again anytime soon.
Fuck… These are the reasons I kept him at arm’s length in the first place. I knew this shit would happen, and I’ve obviously felt this way about him all along, masked by hurt, fear, insecurity, and guilt.
I didn’t even get a chance to say what I needed to say.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter under my breath, slamming my palm against the countertop. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to get tangled up in him, to let him get so close, to start seeing a future that now feels like a joke.
I could’ve been prepared for this. I could’ve braced myself if I knew it was coming. But instead, I’m standing here, picking up the pieces of something I thought was real.
And now... I’m just trying to make sense of it, of him, of what the hell I was supposed to do with all the feelings I let myself have.
I’m so fucking stupid.
I drag my hands down my face, letting out a long breath, trying to steady myself. I need to move. I need to get out of this apartment before I do something stupid like text him or—no, I can’t do that. That’s not going to change anything.
I grab my jacket and step out the door, feeling the humid air hit my face like a slap, but I’m still burning up inside. The heat is no match for the fire that’s raging in my chest.
The tavern smells like stale beer and fried food, but right now, it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want to go home, not yet. Not while the hurt is still choking me, tightening its grip with every thought of Pharo and his sudden, cold departure.
The place is busy serving the lunch crowd, but I’m not here to eat. I take a seat at the far end of the bar, ordering a whiskey straight. I don’t want to waste time on beer. I need something stronger to burn away this ache that’s settling deep in my gut.
The bartender slides the glass in front of me, his eyes lingering just a bit too long, but I don’t care. He knows me, and seeing me here in the middle of the day, without the Bitches, drinking hard liquor, worries him. I grab it without a word, the amber liquid swirling as I bring it to my lips. The burn in my throat is nothing compared to the fire inside me. I down the shot in one go, slamming the empty glass onto the counter with a dull thud.
“Another,” I grunt, not bothering to glance up.
