Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,79

hit the doorway, and I backed away.

My lips part as I try to drag more oxygen into my lungs.

I need to calm down.

Naturally, as if he knows I need consoling, he chooses this moment to place a hand on my knee. I want to push it away. I want to tell him that despite what he said to Oliver, I’m not needy.

His hand remains on my leg because I don’t have the strength to remove it.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he says.

I hum in agreement instead of using words.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod, tearing my eyes away from his hand and staring out the window instead.

“I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed,” I say.

It’s not a lie. I am overwhelmed. Just not like he’ll assume I am.

The sound of our voices stirs up my emotions again, and I feel the unwanted sting of tears. So many emotions flood through me.

I’m embarrassed that I was going to talk to him tonight about meeting up in a few weeks. There’s anger with myself for not sticking to my guns when I told him I didn’t want to go to dinner that first night. And there’s so much freaking pain from knowing that I told Holt about my ugliest moments and now he’s decided he’s walking away.

Even though that was always the plan—for me to leave—it still feels like he urged me to open up, to be vulnerable, and then he assessed my emotions and bailed.

Like Jack.

He took my greatest weakness and turned it against me.

I laugh quietly at the irony. The sound surprises me. I feel Holt move around in his seat, but I don’t look at him.

We pull through the gate at the end of his driveway. The sun is high in the sky, welcoming us with its full rays. It feels good on my skin and helps dissolve the water droplets gathering in the corners of my eyes.

The car rolls to a stop in front of his house. I grip the door handle.

“I have to head to the office,” he says.

“I know.”

Please want to talk to me. Please care.

“I have a meeting in a couple of hours with an investor that Boone set up. I don’t know how long it will last,” he says.

I turn and look at him over my shoulder. He’s so handsome despite the lines around the corners of his eyes and the bags beneath them. And I realize the truth of the situation: there’s no room for me in his life.

My heart cracks in my chest.

“I understand,” I tell him.

He bites his lip. “I’ll be home late.”

And I’ll be gone.

I have to leave. I have to do it now before my emotions get any more volatile. I was a fool to have let it get this far. Letting it continue would be insanity.

My lips tremble as I lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. This will be the last time I feel his skin against mine and smell the warmth of his cologne. I want to cling to this moment and relish every bit of comfort I can find because as soon as this moment is over, I’ll never have it back.

It will be as close as I’ll ever get to love.

It hurts too damn much.

“Good luck,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the frog in my throat. I open the door and hurry out of the car. By the time the door shuts, I’m already on the steps.

I don’t look back. Whether it’s my subconscious telling me to keep going forward or simply because I don’t want to torture myself anymore—and that’s what I’d be doing if I look back—I’m not sure. But I press on and open the door using the code on the keypad and slip inside the house.

Cool air kisses my cheeks, making the drips of my tears cold.

I slide my back against the wall of the foyer—the same wall Holt held me against after the concert.

I was different then. Full of hope. Teased with the taste of having someone who thought I was worth their most valuable commodity: time.

I was fucking stupid.

Tears fall steadily down my face as I look around Holt’s home.

“I’ll be honest—I didn’t really think you being here all the way through before inviting you.”

My hands are smeared black from mascara as I wipe my face. It’s a physical show of what a mess I am. I turn to go up the stairs when the front door opens.

My head spins to the right, and my breath catches in