Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires, #3)(7)

“You and I… It was stupid of me to think we would be a good match.”

I suck in a breath. He grabs a bottle of vodka off the nightstand and chugs until the clear liquid dribbles down his chin. My stomach churns at his drinking, but I ignore the acid crawling up my throat.

He is suffering, I rationalize.

This is only temporary while he copes with the end of his career, I repeat the excuse for the millionth time this summer.

I cradle his head between my hands, ignoring the way they tremble against his cheeks. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

My fingers press into the sides of his face. “Just talk to me and tell me what’s happening.”

His red eyes dart away. “I don’t have anything else to say.”

“I thought you were…happy.”

“No, Alana. I was high.” His upper lip curls.

I rear back. “What?”

That’s not possible. Cal knows how I feel about drugs. I’ve had the same negative stance on them ever since my sister overdosed the first time.

“How else do you think I made it through this miserable summer recovering from my injury while my team was out celebrating their big championship?”

Miserable summer?

I ignore the sharp pain reverberating through my body, knowing he can’t possibly mean that after everything we have shared together. “You seemed okay whenever I asked about it.”

“Because I took enough Oxy to make me feel that way.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Well, now that I know, I can make sure you get help. You’re not the first person to struggle with an opioid addiction after an injury.” My voice remains light despite the heaviness weighing me down.

“I don’t want help.” He pulls away before pressing the vodka bottle against his lips and drinking some more.

I snatch it away from him. “You’re better than this.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks. “Am I? Or are you too blinded by your love to see the real me?”

My vision blurs. “I’m not blind.” Hopeful, sure, but not oblivious to the issues happening here. I just thought we could work on one problem at a time, starting with his depression.

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Alana.”

The hole in my chest widens at his use of my full name, the single letter adding distance between us. “No. Don’t Alana me. I’m not going to give up because you’re afraid. We can get through this together.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not understanding me. This is over.”

“What is over?”

“Us.”

I lift my trembling chin. “No.”

He releases a heavy breath. “What we did this summer…all of it was a mistake. A huge one I made because I was too drunk and high to know better.”

The crack in my heart widens until I’m afraid it might break in half. “You don’t mean that.” My voice quakes.

“I do.” He zips up his suitcase and places it on the wood floor, leaving a few pieces of clothing scattered across his bed.

“I refuse to believe that.” I jump off the bed and step between him and the door.

“Ignoring the truth won’t make it any less real.”

“Then say the truth! Stop with this bullshit about us being a mistake! I know how you feel about me. About us.”

He might have been high for some of it, but I know he meant all the things he confessed. The future he painted of our lives together. The promises he made to me about his love. The wishes he had about us and the family he wanted to have one day.

His eyes shut. “I wish I had never come back here. It was selfish of me when you’re the last person I ever wanted to hurt,” he whispers as he clutches onto the handle of his luggage.

“You told me you wouldn’t ever leave me.” He promised. It’s the only reason I let him shatter our friendship with a single kiss. Because I was just as invested in our future as a couple as he seemed to be.

He looks up at me with cloudy eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The fight leaves me along with any hope of him staying. “You want to leave?”

Say no.

He nods. This time, the throbbing sensation in my chest is numbed by something far stronger.

Anger.

My hands curl into fists. “Fine. Then don’t ever bother coming back.” I’m not sure what would happen to me if he did, so I would rather not find out.

His jaw ticks again. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” The twinge in my chest doesn’t agree.

“Anything for you.” He sighs.

“Swear it,” I state in a flat voice despite the way my vision blurs from unshed tears.

“I promise not to come back here.” He rolls his luggage toward the door. His hand hesitates around the knob before he looks back. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I wish I was different. Stronger. Sober.”

I wrap my arms around myself and turn away, hiding the tears streaming down my cheeks. With one last sigh, Cal shuts the door to his room, leaving me alone to crumble. I pull my legs up against my chest and cry until my eyes swell and my head feels like it might explode.

I’m not sure how long I stay in his bedroom, crying myself hoarse, all while wishing for Cal to come back and claim that this all was some sick joke.