The Lineup(98)

This wasn’t an overnight thing. This has been brewing inside me for a long time.

I’m so fucking stupid. It was an overnight thing.

My mom once said that when I give my heart away to someone, it will be theirs for life. That they’ll take care of it because they’ll know how lucky they are. “Well, Mom, apparently that’s utter bullshit. I gave my heart to Dottie Domico, and she trampled on it. Destroyed it. Broke it.

Broke me.





Chapter Twenty-Eight





DOTTIE





The minute the door clicks shut, I fall to the ground in a heap of tears.

My hands cover my eyes as regret assails me, stabbing me in the chest with every image of Jason’s heartbroken face that crosses my mind.

Like a steel weight resting heavily on my lungs, my actions, my dishonesty, it’s impossible to breathe.

We’re done.

Those two words dig deep into my soul as realization smacks me in the face. He didn’t just leave, he didn’t just storm off . . . he broke up with me.

He actually broke up with me.

He’s gone, and from the finality in his voice, he’s never coming back.

“I’m so stupid,” I mutter, shaking my head. “So fucking stupid.”

How did I not tell him? How did I drag this out for so long and not say anything?

Because I was terrified I’d lose him . . . but I lost him anyway.

From my seated position, I glance toward the kitchen and dining room. The table is elegantly set using my finest dishes and silverware that I know he spent time polishing. Cream cloth napkins are folded into a swan shape, and the wine we picked out specifically to pair well with the ham is on the table, ready to be opened.

He did this for me, and I didn’t even have the decency to tell him the truth about the Carltons.

What did that email say? What words caused such agony for the man I love?

Standing on shaky legs, I walk to my computer and there it is, clear as day, an email from my dad. Subject line: Jason. Probably the reason Jason opened it.

I can’t be mad at him for invading my privacy, because if I was in his shoes, I’d probably have done the same thing.

On a deep breath, I read through it quickly, my eyes swimming with regret as they wash over the words ‘fake relationship . . . using him.’

Shit . . . I bury my head in my hands again, more sobs wracking my body. What he must be feeling right now. It was never fake, not for me. My first attempt at trying to win him over might have been forced, but the rest of it wasn’t. Nothing about my pursuit for him was fake. Nothing about our relationship was unreal. I can still taste him in my mouth, feel him between my legs, smell his scent all over my body, hear the deep baritone of his voice over my skin as he demands more from me.

I shake my head in disgust. This is such a mess. I am such a mess.

I glance at the stove, the charred ham, a symbol of my dead relationship. The time he spent on it, the time he spent on us, up in flames in the matter of seconds.

And I only have myself to blame.

I need to talk to him. I need to make this right. He needs to know it was him and only thoughts of him that made our relationship real.

Picking up my phone from the counter, I type out a quick text to Jason, knowing fully well he’ll ignore it.

Dottie: I’m so sorry, Jason. Please hear me when I say you deserve so much better than how I treated you. If I were a better person, I’d leave you alone, but I’m not, and I’m selfish, because I want you in my life. What we had was real. It was so real. I’m sorry I made you doubt that.

Tears cascading down my cheeks, I scroll through my contacts and press call while bringing the phone to my ear. I don’t want to make this phone call, but at this point, there’s no other option.

I wipe the tears off my face and brace myself as the phone is picked up.

“Miss Domico, how can I help you?”

I suck in a sharp breath. There is no way they can help me. In fact, I wouldn’t deserve it if they tried. I know I’ve ruined any chance of Domico Industries securing the contract, but at this point, why give a shit? He’s gone. “Hi, Mr. Carlton I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel . . .”





Emory: Dottie . . .

Lindsay: Oh girl, Emory just told me everything.

Emory: Knox spoke with Jason last night. Why didn’t you tell him?

Dottie: Because I’m an idiot. I really don’t want to talk about this.

Emory: I don’t think that’s how this friend thing goes. We’re here for you, even when you’re a complete dumbass.

Lindsay: I thought you told him. Why did I think you told him? Ugh, Dottie, Knox said Jason looked terrible.

Emory: You weren’t supposed to tell her that.

Lindsay: She needs to know. Jason is a good guy and she really hurt him.

Dottie: I know I hurt him. He made that quite clear when he was leaving my apartment. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sick, this awful, this unbelievably sorry in my entire life.

Emory: He cried with Knox . . .

I suck in a breath reading Emory’s text as I rest my head against my tear-soaked pillow. It’s been two days since he left, and I’ve yet to get out of bed after cancelling the dinner. I’ve sent Jason countless texts and I even tried calling him a few times but as expected, he’s been radio silent. I’ve considered going to his apartment but have thought better of it. I’m the last person he wants knocking on his door right now.