“You said you would give it three months.”
“I want to go home for a few weeks. It shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“No. You stay here, and we work through this together. I will not be held over a barrel every time you get homesick. You leave me, and that’s fucking it.”
What the hell?
I can’t believe this. He would really rather we break up than go without sex?
Oh . . .
His silhouette blurs . . .
“Who even are you?” I whisper through tears.
“I’m the man who loves you.”
“Are you sure about that?”
His chest rises and falls as he struggles for air.
“I’m going.”
“Then”—he shrugs—“this is goodbye.”
My eyes search his. “Just like that?”
“I can’t drag this out. If you’re leaving me without trying now, you will always leave me without trying. I can never move out of the city, Hayden. It’s not who I am.”
Oh no.
This really is it . . . my heart constricts in my chest.
We stare at each other, so close but a million miles apart.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Obviously not enough.” He walks off.
“Are you not coming home to see me off?” I call after him.
“No.” He turns back to face me, his cold eyes holding mine. “Goodbye, Hayden.” He disappears through the park, and I drop back to the seat, shocked to my core.
Checkmate.
I put the last of my things into my suitcase as it lies open on the bed, and I look around the bedroom.
Is this going to be the last time I see it?
Can’t be . . .
No. We’ll get through this. I know we will. We love each other too much not to be together. I glance at the time on my phone: 6:20 p.m.
Where is he?
I texted Christopher when I booked my flight and told him the time I’d be leaving. Don’t tell me he’s not coming home to see me off.
I know I could stay here for a while before I go, plan it better and leave next week or something, but with him working for the next three weeks straight, another day alone in that apartment is not something I can take. And besides, I’m angry at him for throwing the no-sex comment in my face. I know he just said it to try to shock me.
And it worked. He did . . . but not in a good way.
If anything, it’s made me more determined to look after my own happiness. I would never say something like that to him in a fight. It surprised me that he would stoop that low. Actually, if I’m honest, I’m not surprised. Christopher has a way of railroading me into doing what he wants me to do. This time he took the wrong route . . . I won’t be bullied with scare tactics. If he wants to sleep with someone else, he can go ahead.
I won’t be here to pick up the pieces.
“Grumps,” I hear him call from downstairs.
He’s home.
I nearly run downstairs to find him in the kitchen. He’s pouring two glasses of wine. My heart somersaults in my chest at the sight of him. In his perfectly fitted navy suit and crisp white shirt, he is the epitome of masculine perfection.
“Hi.” I smile hopefully.
“Hi.” He kisses my cheek and passes me a glass of wine. “We need to talk.”