Page 75 of Darcy
It still takes hours. My eyes are dry and my back clicks as I finally step away from my laptop, but I’m still feeling pretty pleased with myself when the guys return. I stand up, ready to offer to reheat the pizza, but my words dry up as I take in Arlo’s black eye and their solemn expressions. Taking a step forward, I try to hug him, only to be brushed off. My arms, unsure what to do now that I’ve been rejected, wrap around my middle, defensively.
The four of them are standing in a line, forming a solid unit of impenetrable muscle and tattoos as they loom over me. For the first time, how small they make me feel becomes an intimidating thing, rather than something to be smiled about.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hating the way my voice shakes. “What happened? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Cariño—Darcy.” Slate has to physically force himself to say my actual name. “We’ve been talking, and we think we were wrong about this.” He gestures to the space between us. “It won’t work. You’re just… too much.”
I bite my lip, gut sinking with dread at those two little words.Too much. Why is it never the other way around? Why can’t the man ever just admit that he’s not enough?
Somehow, the words coming from him feel a hundred times harsher than they ever were before. Perhaps because Slateknowshow much that phrase irks me. How it’s been used to hurt me in the past.
“Let me guess, it was fun while it lasted?” I can’t help the bitterness coating the words as I take a step away.
“Exactly,” Dodger says, cutting in. “We’re not compatible, and today proved that.”
Don’t do this. “Let me get my stuff.”
I know what they’re doing, but it feels far too real. Because this time it isn’t Tommy, or Dustin, or Eric saying those words, it’smy guys. The ones I trust above all others. Thank God I’ve had practice keeping my head held high in the aftermath of a dozen other break ups. Otherwise, I might’ve caved to the desire to beg them to reconsider.
I’m all too familiar with the feeling of having my heart stomped on until all I have left is my dignity—and even that is hanging by a fragile thread right now. I have to fight hard to draw air into my frozen lungs, making my body move when all I really want to do is curl up into a ball around the bruised organ.
God, it’s been a while since it hurt this much.
“You’re not even going to fight us?” Arlo asks, astonished.
Grovelling never helped before, I think viciously, even as my shoulder raises in a nonchalant half-shrug.
“I figured it wouldn’t work out. You guys are rock stars, after all. Why bother settling for commitment when you don’t have to? It’s fine.” I pause. “I’m sure I’ll have other options.”
It’s somehow uniquely satisfying to watch all four of them react to my words. I would say I feel sorry for being so callous, but then, I’m not the idiots who decided to dump me out of some stupid, misguided sense of nobility.
Now that I’ve had a second to think past the immediate pain, I have no doubt that’s what this is. I should’ve expected it from the second Miguel threatened blood, but I let my emotions cloud my judgement. It’s only natural that they’re getting me out of the danger zone. I’d do the same in their place. It doesn’t make it any less shitty, or fix the four-way rip in my heart, but I understand.
“I’m sure I’ll find somebody,” I continue, heading for Slate’s room and shoving my laptop into my bag. “There are several billion other candidates, after all. If not, there’s always plan B.”
“Plan B?” Slate echoes, eyes narrowing.
I turn and roll my eyes at him, pretending like it isn’t taking my all to keep a straight face, as I say. “Women don’t need men to give them babies anymore, Slate. We have IVF and adoption for that. I think I’d do okay as a single mom.”
That’s a total lie. Being a single parent is tough as shit. It might have been one of the options on the table before I met these idiots, but it was never one I felt comfortable with. Given the demands of my job and the travel, it would’ve been unfair to my child.
I shove my chargers and dirty clothes into my case with trembling hands, zipping it up jerkily before heading for the door.
“For the record,” I add, turning to face them one last time before I leave. Prophet is the only one with the guts to meet my gaze, and I memorise his mismatched eyes. “I’m glad we finally met in real life, even if it didn’t work out. I’ll keep out of your way from now on.”
I shut the door behind me, ignoring the security guard posted outside as I start down the corridor.
A heavy thump, followed by the crash of broken glass, follows me down to reception, but I don’t look back. I don’t even book a new room in the hotel. Instead, I walk the two blocks to a different one down the street in the dark, silently daring anyone to notice the burning tear tracks down my face.
Out of all the messy break ups in my life, this ranks amongst the worst. I think I always knew it would. That’s why I resisted so much and insisted on my stupid “trial period.”
In the end, it doesn’t even matter. This would never have lasted beyond the end of the tour. Those four aren’t ready for a long-term relationship, let alone children. There’s too much unresolved shit between them for it to ever work out.
As soon as my stuff is unpacked, I pick up the phone and order a pizza. If I happen to sob on the phone… well, the dude on the other end of the line isn’t getting paid enough to pretend to care.
Twenty-Six
Slate
