and yanked through his hair, a sigh hard off his lips. “Chloe,” he said, and it was the end of the sentence, neither of us eloquent.
“I’m going to bed.” I unlocked my door and hoped he’d stop me. Rolled the strap of my purse over my shoulder, and gave him a moment of opening, plenty of time for something to be said. But he stayed quiet, and I stepped inside, then the door was shut and I was alone.
Truly alone.
Vic was fully gone from my life. I had seen it in the sag of his shoulders, the moment he had finally understood that I wasn’t his responsibility anymore. It saddened me that he’d gotten excited over the idea of a baby. That he had planned that big proposal with the thoughts that we could start a family—a life—together. Six months ago, it would have made my heart sing. Of course he’d assumed it was a Worth child. That was the type of man he was. Confident that, in the race of sperm, his would always win. But something had died between us, out on the street. Maybe it was the public humiliation of my snub, maybe it was seeing me turning to Carter and physically choosing between the two of them—I don’t know what it’d been, but something changed. I searched for feelings of regret, but there was none, only relief at the end of that chapter.
It made me a little nostalgic, a big chapter of my life to close, a chapter in which I changed a lot, grew up a lot.
I skipped a shower and changed into pajamas, crawling into bed, all of the lights off, the television dark. I lay there for a long time, waiting for sleep, trying to drown out my thoughts, so many what ifs floating through my head, trying to find places to settle.
I hoped for his knock, and when it came, I was out of the bed and ready, swinging open the door, my voice quiet considering the screaming of my heart.
Carter stood there, pajama pants low on his hips, his shirt off, every muscle on his torso tense as he stopped mid-knock. He looked at me and said nothing.
I stepped back and waved him in.
That night was one of our first without sex. He pulled back the covers and climbed in, pulling me beside him and close to his chest. Hugging me tight, his arm around my chest, his legs hooked through mine and he said only one thing, his breath against my neck, his heart beating a hard rhythm against my back.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” It was my first time saying the words out loud, and they almost rushed from my lips. His arms tightened a little around me, and I felt the relief in his grip, a moment of hold before we both relaxed. I fell asleep there, in his arms, the murmur of the city loud outside the window, my body warm in his embrace.
Below us, on the floor where I’d carelessly dropped it, was my purse. Inside, my phone vibrated with each new tweet and Instagram post that mentioned me. As Carter and I slept, social media exploded.
83. Aren’t Visitors Supposed to Call First?
Someone hammered on my door. The pounds were hard enough to wake us, the door shaking against its jamb. Carter jumped from the bed, moving to the door, and I groped for my phone, pulling the sheet around me, trying to figure out through a haze of sleep what day it was, where I was, and who the demon in the hall might be.
Carter spoke, his hands on the door, eye to the peephole. “It’s a woman.”
I found my purse, then my phone, and didn’t bother unlocking it, seeing a chorus of missed calls from Dante and Nicole. “Oh God,” I mumbled.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Carter remarked, the door shaking with a fresh round of knocks.
I tossed the phone on the bed and walked to the door, waving Carter aside and steeling myself. I pulled opened the door.
I’d seen fury in human form. I’d never seen this before. Dante stood behind Nicole with a warning on his face, but none was needed. Not when the woman before me sizzled with emotion. She glared at me, and I could see the edges of her psyche breaking. She was as close to killing me as sobbing in my arms.
“You … bitch.” The words spat from her mouth and I flinched.