Slowly, Kelsey shakes her head. “Yes, I see the problem. I wasn’t thinking about it that way.” She gets down on the floor and crawls toward me to scoop me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I can’t imagine how much you’re hurting right now.”
“Too much,” I say with a sniff. “Way too much.” I wipe at my tears. “I wish I’d never agreed to any of this. I wish I’d called his bluff. I wish I’d never gotten involved, because now I feel more broken than ever, rather than put together.”
Kelsey brushes her hand over my head, which brings back the tears. What I said to Huxley about Angela wasn’t wrong. Her betrayal cut me deeply, even though she was simply acting according to her character. She’s a spineless, manipulative liar. But I had trusted in Huxley’s character. His determined, intense nature. Unrelenting, yet decent. Now I should be wondering how I could fall in love with someone who paid people to lie for him. Who wrote contracts to cover up his barefaced fiction, because his business meant everything to him. There’s something very wrong with me that I could look past that. That was our foundation.
And yet, my heart and soul feel destroyed.
Sniffling against her shoulder, I ask, “Why did he have to break me, Kels?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But you need to remember just how resilient you are.”
“Not this time,” I say as I wipe at my cheek. “I don’t think bouncing back from this will be easy. Not in the slightest.”
The gurgling sound of Kelsey’s coffeemaker wakes me up from my spot on the ground. Just from an attempt at opening my eyes, I know they’re puffy from all the crying I did last night. And the ache in my back is from the lovely mattress of pillows I attempted to sleep on as well.
“Did my coffee wake you?” Kelsey asks from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice sounding as if I smoked an entire case of cigarettes last night. “But I should get up.”
Knock. Knock.
“Was that your door?” I ask her.
“I think so,” she replies before going to the door to answer it. When she props it open, I hear her ask, “Huxley, what are you doing here?”
Crap.
“I was hoping to talk to Lottie.” I glance behind me and make eye contact with him. When he takes in my appearance, concern quickly washes over his face. “Baby, please, can I talk to you?”
“Uh, you know, I really need to get in the shower,” Kelsey says. “And I don’t know how to handle awkward situations. I want to be a good sister, but I also can’t handle it when guys do that whole puppy-dog-eye thing, and he looks so pathetic, so basically, I’m just going to bolt.”
And she does just that.
She takes off running to the bathroom, shuts the door, and turns on the shower.
When I hear the door click shut, I know Huxley has stepped into the apartment, but I refuse to look up at him, not when my eyes are starting to water all over again.
I don’t want to see him, I still feel too raw, but he has other plans.
He kneels down next to me and places his hand on my cheek. When our eyes meet, his are not only bloodshot but also heavy with concern. But is he concerned about his career, his business, or is he concerned about me?
“You slept on the floor last night?”
“There are pillows underneath me.” Which happened to shift when I shifted, leaving me partially on the floor, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Lottie, I’m sorry.” His voice is tight. “I know what I did last night was inexcusable. I should never have treated you the way I did, and I’m ashamed.” He swallows hard. “I’m just really fucking scared I fucked over my brothers. I took my fears out on you rather than leaning on you.” His thumb brushes over my cheek. “And I’m sorry.” He picks up a bag from his side and sets it closer to me. “I wasn’t sure if you had any clothes or overnight things here, but I thought I’d bring you some of your things.” That’s annoyingly thoughtful. “I have to get to the office to do some damage control, but I wanted to see you first. Can we have dinner tonight?” When I don’t say anything, he says, “Please, Lottie.”
I slowly nod as a tear slips down my cheek.
He growls in frustration and wipes it away for me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He stands and makes his way to the door. “I’ll text you the details.”
All I do is nod.
Once he’s out of the apartment, I unzip the bag he packed for me, and right on top is a printed picture of me and him at the Fleetwood Mac concert. He has his arm around me possessively, his hand tucked into the front of my pocket, and I’m leaning against his broad chest, with one arm up, my hand gripping the back of his neck.