Page 61 of The Spare
I wanted to see every pent-up emotion finally make its way out so he could be a mere mortal like the rest of us. But I couldn’t continue at this clip and keep my emotions in check. I knew, in my anger, that my response wouldn’t be proportionate. There was no way to take back the awful things I knew I’d say.
“I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.” His eyes filled with pain. I disagreed with his reasoning, but I had to accept it. I could have used his sincerity as a place to call a truce and make the steps forward easier. It was the mature thing to do, no matter how much it hurt me.
I didn’t do that.
Instead, I let out a short, condescending laugh. “There’s a short list of people who could hurt me.” I looked straight ahead. “You’re not the Sutton that’s on it.”
We sat quietly for the rest of the awkward ride. I politely thanked him for making sure I got home safely. It was a sad attempt to maintain the little dignity I had left.
The second my front door closed behind me, I slid to the floor. My legs weren’t able to take me any further, and I exhaled in shock.
The Marcus who bought me Don Quixote was gone. The one who left for two years was back.
I wanted something to pacify the overwhelming humiliation. I needed it, so I sent a text I probably shouldn’t have.
Me
Sure, sounds good. Let’s get drinks.
Jay
I knew I’d wear you down
* * *
I decided to skip breakfast the next morning, claiming I drank too much and wasn’t feeling well. In reality, my eyes were puffy and I looked awful. I was not in the mood to be seen.
Xander refused to believe that and stopped by before he had to leave.
“You want to tell me what’s going on? Because you don’t look hungover.” He invited himself over, made himself a pot of coffee, and waited until I was finished filling the air with anything other than what happened last night. I just ran out of things to say.
“Nothing.” I sat on the couch with a coffee cup Xander forced into my hand. He could tell something was up. The extent of it, I couldn’t be sure.
He sat next to me and paused for a moment. He leaned forward and looked ahead. His elbows rested on his knees. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
His voice bubbled over with concern, unsteady like I hadn’t heard it in years, and I couldn’t get myself to speak. I would cry, and he would get upset. It would be bad. Few things could shake his gentle and even temper, but I was one of them. That was a power I had to wield very carefully.
“The guys can be here just as soon as Tristan’s jet can be ready. CeCe too.” He was only half joking. He leaned in and cupped my face in his hands, forcing my eyes to look into his. The seriousness of his voice dulled. “Who are we messing up?”
“I’m fine.” I hiccupped a laugh and pulled myself back. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t. This was the exact situation all this hurt was meant to avoid.
“You’re not.”
“Istanbul.”
I looked down at my cup, too scared to gauge his reaction. It was a card Xander joked I wouldn’t use until I needed help cleaning up a murder. He’d be surprised, and probably more concerned, now that I had used it. I stood and turned away from him. I walked to the kitchen, needing a second where he couldn’t see me, to gather myself.
You’re fine. It was nothing. Move on.
“Seriously, it's nothing,” I said, turning back to face him. His emerald eyes were a sea of worry and disappointment.
A long silence passed before he sighed. “Okay.”
He ran his hand through his hair, stood, and wrapped me in a hug. “We always end up telling each other why we used them. You’ll tell me eventually.”
I snorted a laugh in his chest. “I know.”
Xander dropped it, and we chatted about his next trip to London, the one I knew about and had been planning. He didn’t have much time before meeting Henry to fly back home, so our conversation was short.
