On the Rocks (Last Call #1)(73)

Pulling back, I look at her in curiosity because she turned away from my kiss, and now I am very much aware that she is pushing back from me. I drop my hold and she steps by me, walking into my house.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, closing the door and turning to her.

Her shoulders are tense as she walks into the living room, so I follow behind in trepidation. When she turns, her face isn’t one I recognize. It’s hard and her eyes are cold, causing my stomach to bottom out.

“I repeat. What’s wrong?” My voice sounds oddly detached and fear-tinged.

“We need to talk,” she says, her eyes firmly rooted to the carpet.

Taking three long strides around the couch, I walk right up to her, placing my hand under her chin and lifting her face to mine. “So talk, but do it while you look me in the eye.”

Her eyes fill with sadness for a moment, a light sheen of moisture coating the green-gold brilliance. It kills me to see that look and I start to wrap my arms around her, but she’s having none of it. It happens so quickly, I’m sure maybe I even imagined it, but the sadness is gone and replaced by a hard glint as she steps away.

“We’re over,” she says.

Of all the things I thought she might say, that never crossed my mind. Blinking at her hard, because surely I heard wrong, I say, “What?”

She takes a few more steps to put distance between us, coming to stand in front of the TV. Crossing her arms over her chest, she says, “We’re over. It’s done.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes.”

Her words are tinged in ice, her backbone ramrod straight. Defiance pours out of her eyes, daring me to argue with her.

Fuck that… I’m arguing.

“Want to clue me in on why we are over? Because as far as I remember, this morning you were crawling into my bed, telling me you loved me.” My words are just as icy as hers, my anger building fiercely inside.

“Does it matter?” she asks with aggression.

“Fuck yeah, it matters,” I snarl at her. “You break up with the person you supposedly love, you better have a f*cking good reason.”

Her eyes dart away from mine, once again sad and uncertain. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something going on inside of her that is fueling this ridiculousness. If I can figure out what it is, grab ahold and pull it out of her, I can salvage this fiasco.

Taking a step toward her, I soften my voice, “Gabs… please tell me what’s wrong. We can fix it.”

It’s still there… for just a brief moment, the look of uncertainty and sorrow, but then it’s gone—vanished. When her eyes meet mine again, I know it’s gone for good. In its place is resolve and determination, such as I’ve never seen on her face before, and dread overwhelms me.

“You slept with Sasha last night,” she throws at me, and it’s a blind side I didn’t see coming, hitting me so powerfully I physically jerk backward.

“Are you f*cking nuts?” I bellow, outraged that she would even make such an accusation.

“No,” she says quietly. “Sasha told me. She was waiting for me outside by my truck when I left you this morning.”

My mind starts spinning, frantically searching for clues as to what the hell is going on, and how in the world I landed in this mess. It hits me hard… the way Sasha was acting today. Refusing to meet my eyes, mumbling responses. She acted as if she couldn’t get out of here fast enough today when she and John were leaving.

“Son of a f*cking bitch,” I yell, clasping my hands on top of my head and looking in vain up to my ceiling in a silent plea for some type of help from God above.

Dropping my hands, I spin to Gabby and pin her with a hard stare. “And you believed it?”

“Yes,” she says, her hands now clasped and wringing together.

“You f*cking believed it?” I shout, taking a step toward her.

She takes a step back but tilts her chin up at me. “Yes.”

Fury such as I have never felt flows like lava through my veins. Some of that rage is for Sasha, for being spiteful enough to outright lie to Gabby and jeopardize my relationship. But most of that anger is reserved for Gabby, because she should have never believed it of me. She should have trusted me and, moreover, she should have come to me the minute Sasha filled her head with those lies.

Turning away from Gabby, because looking at her right now is not causing my rage to subside, I start to pace back and forth, racking my brain for a solution to this madness.

Stopping suddenly, I turn to her. “It’s a lie.”

“Maybe,” she says, her hands wringing hard against one another. “But it’s given me enough doubt that I can’t continue on with you.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “I don’t believe this. I really can’t f*cking believe this. You’ve known me your entire life. You gave your body to me… you gave your f*cking heart to me. And you believe Sasha over me?”

“She sounded convincing,” she says lamely.

“And I don’t sound f*cking convincing?” I roar, thumping a fist against my chest. “Do I not sound like I’m telling you the truth?”

She flinches and I instantly regret yelling at her, but I’m spinning so fast out of control that I can’t rein it in. Then she practically drives me to my knees when she says, “It’s my experience that the man who protests the loudest is usually hiding the most.”