Play With Me - Brittany Cournoyer Page 0,78

mother and inform her of this. Knowing what I did about her, I wouldn’t put it past Jennifer to out me before I had the chance to discuss it with them first.

“They already know, Jennifer. My mother only wants me happy, and they can’t wait to meet him at Sunday dinner.” She blustered into the phone, but I was too busy talking to hear any of her coherent sounds or words. “We’re over, Jennifer. And this feeble attempt at reconciling was a waste of time. Have a nice life, and please don’t bother to contact me again.”

I disconnected the call while she was still sputtering into the phone and dropped it on the couch beside me. I blew out a slow breath as I tried to calm the adrenaline that flowed through my body. Since my mother was off the table, I knew she was about to burn up the phone lines with texts and calls to her friends. But I didn’t care. They were hers and only acquaintances to me through association. Their opinions of me didn’t matter.

I was still reeling over the chaos the evening had become when a knock sounded on my door. My body was instantly on alert as it sensed who was on the other side. There could only be on person behind that persistent knock, and while part of me wanted to sit there until he left, a bigger—stronger—part wouldn’t allow it.

With a sigh, I heaved myself off the couch and walked the few steps toward the door. I licked my suddenly dry lips. Smoothed my palms down my thighs to wipe off the sweat. My hand shook as I reached out to flick the locks, and then I grasped the knob tightly in my grasp. With another deep breath, I exhaled as I twisted the knob in my hand and flung the door open. Then, I was face-to-face with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen, and I was positive they reflected my own.

Well, this was awkward. Stellan and I were both seated on my couch, but we were facing forward, our bodies not angled toward each other’s. The space between us might as well had been the size of the Grand Canyon, and not just the center couch cushion. And we hadn’t said a word since I’d opened the door. But if I were being honest, I wasn’t sure what to even say to him. Luckily, Stellan took the initiative.

“I fucked up,” he said gruffly, breaking the silence between us.

I finally turned my head to look at him, but his gaze was glued to the television. Was he seeing the argument play out on the blank screen? Was he remembering the harsh things he said to me? Or was he grappling with how to explain why he’d behaved the way he did?

“Yes, you did." This was not a time to mince words. He had hurt me…deeply. And he needed to know.

I watched the rise and fall of his shoulders as he clenched his tattoo-covered hands together. Then he slowly turned to face me. The look in his eyes, the torment and pain, rocked me to the core. But I couldn’t cave by closing the space between us to take him into my arms and offer him instant forgiveness. I deserved an explanation.

“I treated you like shit, and I know I need to tell you everything, but I don’t even know where to start.”

I smiled softly at him. “The beginning is usually the best place.”

Stellan pursed his lips together and nodded. “I figured you’d say that.” After blowing out another breath, he unhooked his hands long enough to run one through his hair. “Matthias and I met about five years ago. I was at the tattoo parlor to get work on my back piece, and while I was waiting, he came in to see his cousin, who was the piercer. Since his cousin was busy with a client, Matthias sat beside me and we struck up a conversation.”

“And hit it off?” I presumed.

Stellan nodded. “We didn’t exchange numbers that day, but over the course of a few months, we kept running into each other at the tattoo shop. Finally, he asked for my number, and we made plans to see each other that night.”

“So what happened?”

“Matthias came from a very prominent family and had a trust that funded everything he could ever want or need. If we wanted to steal away for a week to the Bahamas? It wasn’t an issue. If he wanted