“I mean it.” I narrowed my eyes and stood a little straighter, wishing for a moment that I wore something more commanding than flats and Hudsons. “You and I are done. I’m in love with Carter.” It was the first time I’d said the words aloud, and they came out flat and uncertain, almost like I was posing it as a question.
“Really,” Vic drawled out the words. “Love?”
“Yes.” I lifted my chin and met his eyes.
“Do you even know what love is, Chloe?” Funny that the man who’d tainted the word for me could speak so confidently about it.
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “I’m figuring it out.”
He didn’t like that. I saw the tighten of his lips, the clench of his jaw, the curl of his fingers around the lip of the bar’s edge. “So it’s the same? As it was with me?”
“No.” The next part was cruel and hard but true and necessary and the words fell out painfully. “It’s better. It’s a real relationship. I trust him. I don’t know if I ever trusted you.” So many nights, waiting up for his calls, wondering where he was. So many trips taken without me, Instagram pics on other girls’ accounts, his jet in the background, their smiles where mine should have been.
“And how well could he treat you, Chloe?” His loose position was gone, his stool empty. He was on his feet and stepping closer, one of his hands wrapping around my arm and squeezing. “Does he let you super-size your fast food order? Get a popcorn at the budget movies?”
“Don’t be an ass.” I yanked my arm and turned, stepping away, wanting some distance, some space, less of him and more of me. I raised my arms to my head and breathed deeply. Willed myself to relax.
He kept his distance, thank God. I heard the screech of a stool and looked over, seeing him push my purse aside, his hand on my glass and he met my eyes, lifting it to his lips. He scowled at the taste and set it back down. “What—you stop drinking too?”
I squared my shoulders and met his eyes. “I love him.” I watched him shove at my glass, the tumbler slick on its slide across the counter, and I winced when it went over the edge, turning away when it hit the tile floor, the crash loud and painful.
“Bullshit, Chloe. I know you. You don’t love him. And I’m different now. I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’m the only one who can give you the life you deserve.” At one time, that threat would have affected me. Now, it was laughable.
“You’re wrong. I love him.” Each time I said it, I found more truth in it.
“Stop saying that!” There was another crash of glass and he was on his feet again, stepping toward me, and I flinched, my hands coming up in protection.
There was a growl from the doorway in the moment before Vic’s hands latched onto me.
I didn’t know how long Carter had been standing there, or what he had heard but I knew when Vic’s hands grabbed me, Carter moved—a fluid burst of masculinity, his impact with Vic flinging me free, my side hitting a table’s edge. A burst of pain flared in my ribs and I clutched my mid-section, my head whipping to the two men who, at different moments in time, owned my heart.
Carter got to his feet, his hand tight on Vic’s shirt. Vic lifted his head, a manic laugh bubbling out. “Go ahead,” he spat out. “Give me your best shot.”
“Carter,” I spoke quietly but he looked up, his arms bulging as he held up Vic’s weight. I nodded to the three men standing in the doorway, Vic’s security team, men with guns underneath their jackets and itchy trigger fingers. “Let’s go.”
Vic’s fist swung upward as Carter let him go. It was a cheap shot, unsurprising, but I heard the connection and winced. Carter stood, his hand wiping at his mouth, his eyes dark, and looked at me. I hurried past him and grabbed my purse. It had fallen to its side, and I shoved its loose contents inside, my hands quick, steps quicker, and then we were outside, the night air warm, our exit lost in the madness that was a city at night.
We stepped into a curbside taxi, my butt sliding across the vinyl seat, my hand tightly grasped by Carter, nothing said between us until the cab pulled off, bumping over