“That little weasel,” Paul snorts. “I assume he was ecstatic to gain that kind of leverage.”

“Well, he threatened Mackenzie’s job,” I manage tightly, her name on my tongue stinging just as much as I thought it would. “Mine as well, obviously.”

“That’s ridiculous. You should report him for harassment.”

“What good will that do? He knows what I am, and he knows that we lied. I don’t know if Mackenzie’s career can survive something like this, and I’m not willing to risk it.”

“Don’t you think she deserves to make that decision for herself?”

This gives me pause. The only thing worse than the thought of jeopardizing Mackenzie’s future with my lie is the guilt of lying to her. I know without a doubt that Mackenzie would do exactly as Dennis said she would, that she’d fight tooth and nail to try and have it all—just like I know that there is a high possibility it would go the exact same way. She would lose her job, and maybe at first she wouldn’t blame me, but eventually . . . It’s inevitable. It would be only a matter of time before she realized that I am definitely not worth throwing away her future for. I don’t have anything to offer someone as bright as Mackenzie. I’m not sure I ever did.

“It’s already done,” I answer quietly, closing my eyes as I lean back into my chair. I’d really like to down another drink and pass out on my couch right now, since the bed is out of the question. “I can’t take it back now.”

“So you’re just going to pack up and move? Leave it just like that?”

“That was always the plan,” I say with increasing irritation. “It wasn’t so long ago that you wanted that for me.”

“Well, that was before I thought there might be a shot at real life for you. Not just one that involves long workdays and nights spent at home. Alone.”

“There was never any suggestion that anything would even come from any of this. Mackenzie and I agreed from the beginning that it was a temporary thing. She wanted it that way, Paul.”

“And can you honestly say that’s what she still wants?”

“I . . .”

I stare at the flicker of orange and red behind the grate in my woodstove, frowning. The memory of Mackenzie’s face when I’d callously told her that I was ending our arrangement bleeds into my thoughts, just as gutting now as it was then. Even as desperately as she wanted to keep it from me, it had been more than clear that I was tearing her to shreds with my feigned indifference. Knowing that there’s a chance she’d begun to feel something deeper for me as I have for her makes my chest ache, because with all I know about her, that in itself feels like a miracle.

And I tore it all to shreds.

“It’s probably for the best.” I’m nodding slowly to myself, as if this might somehow convince me. “She’s too good for me, anyway.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Paul says. “The man who loves her is obviously the worst possible choice.”

I tense, gripping my phone tighter. “I never said I loved her.”

“Son,” Paul laughs. “You didn’t have to. No one feels this shitty about someone unless they love them.”

The suffocating emotions that I’ve been working so hard to suppress fill my head and my chest and everywhere else—my body feeling heavy and weary. Honestly, I’d just like to sleep for a while and forget.

“I’m going to have to let you go,” I tell Paul softly. “I have packing to do.”

Paul sighs, sounding weary himself. “For what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry, Noah. Truly.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “So am I.”

I hang up without saying good-bye, immediately downing what’s left in my glass and shutting my eyes tight to focus only on the burn as it goes down. If I could go back—I would have never touched her. I would have never let myself know how soft she is, how warm . . . Maybe I would even go back to the beginning and tell her that it was a ridiculous idea, this plan of ours. I would face the board and take my punishment and that would be the end of it.

Except . . . I wouldn’t know what her laugh sounds like. I wouldn’t be able to recall the way her nose wrinkles when she’s thinking. The sweet softness of her scent that haunts me, even now. I wouldn’t know her, and I feel like that would be an even greater tragedy than losing her, to never know her at all.

I don’t remember getting to my feet, but I feel my body carrying me down the hall toward my bedroom before I even realize where I’m going. It only takes seconds to fall into my bed, to press my nose to the sheets and breathe in deep. It’s still there, almost as strong as the day she left it, and scenting her feels almost like touching her, like she’s brushing back my hair or sighing in my ear. It makes everything better. It makes everything worse. It makes the reality even more crushing, because I know I will never touch her again.

I roll away from my bed as fast as I can, pushing away from the mattress like it’s burned me and cursing myself for coming in here again when I promised myself I wouldn’t. I stomp toward the bedroom door, only to pause just inside it, turning back to glance at the sheets as memories of having her there beneath me taunt me in vivid recollection, making that suffocating feeling inside almost unbearable.

I close the door behind me, making myself another promise not to come back even while knowing I’ll probably break it. Again.

Time for another drink.

OceanofPDF.com

25

“That’s it. We’re getting drinks tonight.”

I blink, remembering where I am, noticing Parker grimacing at me mindlessly stirring my soup. “What?”

“I actually cannot sit here and watch you space out like a depressed zombie for another day.”

“I’m not depressed,” I lie, frowning down into my soup as I stir more aggressively.

Parker rolls his eyes. “You’ve been giving me ‘Anne Hathaway in Les Misérables’ vibes for the past week, Mackenzie.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” I mumble.

“Well, I can’t help it if you refuse to culture yourself.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m serious. You’re making me depressed. I’m worried about you.”

My brow knits. “I’m seriously fine.”

If seriously fine means crying myself to sleep like some downtrodden heroine in a romantic comedy after being viciously dumped counts as fine, that is. But Parker doesn’t need to know about that.

“Whatever. You don’t have to cry on my shoulder or anything, but you can admit that you’re hurting.”

“What’s there to hurt about? It was a fake relationship.”

“Most people don’t take heat leave with their fake relationship,” he accuses. “And they don’t call me crying from outside a café because their fake relationship broke things off.”

“I wasn’t . . . crying.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Right. Sure. Regardless—We are getting drinks tonight.”

“I don’t really feel like going out,” I protest feebly.

“Well, I don’t really feel like watching you wither away in front of me because of that asshole.”

It’s strange; my first instinct is to defend Noah, even now. To tell Parker that he’s not an asshole, he’s just delivering all the things that we expected from the beginning. Why is that? Maybe it’s because I had (quite literally) just opened myself up to something more, to trying out something real—only to have my entire heart stomped on in an old booth of a café I used to really enjoy. Which is a double whammy, because now I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back.

“I’m sure it’s just some hormonal bullshit,” I offer. “It’ll pass.”

“Mackenzie,” Parker sighs. “You can feed that shit to someone else, because I know you. I saw you with him that day when you were going into heat. I don’t know what the fuck happened between you two when I wasn’t looking, but something changed. And it’s okay to admit that you’re hurting.”