Page 40 of Over the Limit

“Hi. I missed you. I thought maybe we could hang for a bit.” I step into him and he takes a step back.

Whoa. What the hell?

“I’m kind of busy.”

I take a closer look at the people on the couch. They’re crew members he hangs with on occasion. They’re FIA staff members. All of whom appear to just be having a drink, relaxing.

“Can I come in?” Why do I have to ask?

He glances over his shoulder and then back to me. “Nah. Not right now. Like I said, I’m busy.”

“Rossi.”

“What?”

“We hardly talked when you were gone last week at Sterling. You’ve been busy all week with your team. I had a really great day and I wanted to share it with you. Celebrate with you.” I shrug almost as if that should be enough of an explanation for him to agree.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there with that impassive look on his face. “Of course. Your job. Your success. You. You. You.”

“Yes. Me. For once. God forbid.”

“Then go celebrate.”

I stare at him, blinking, with my lips lax and my brain unable to process that he really just said that. “I wanted to celebrate with you.” My voice is barely a whisper as the writing on the wall becomes bold and flashes in neon yellow.

“Yeah, well, I said I was busy, and I meant it. We can do something next week. Call Trina and have her put it on my calendar,” he says.

“Trina?” I laugh his personal assistant’s name out like he’s joking but his expression says he isn’t.

“Yes. Trina. She knows my schedule.”

“Since when do you need to pencil me in, Oliver?” I ask, arms crossing over my chest as if that’s going to protect me from the hurt already burning in its center.

I stare at the man in front of me. For so many years, I’ve counted him as one of my closest friends. Now . . . he feels like a stranger. But over the past two months or so, he’s definitely pushed me away. Canceled last minute—if he made plans with me at all.

And when was the last time we had sex?

He’s disregarded me as if I mean nothing to him.

And asking me to book time with him via Trina? What the actual fuck? Does he not consider that I’ve seen the pictures from the media or from bystanders on the socials where he’s been at clubs with women on his arms? Or the ones of him out partying, mouthing off to anyone who will listen, and reveling in the attention of his adoring public?

We have lines we’ve said we’d never cross. Ones I’ve never thought he had. Ones I thought he respected me enough and that he never would.

But now? Now I’m not quite sure about anything.

Clearly, I’ve been looking at this relationship through rose-colored glasses. Yes, Skylar. You were right about that one.

We barely see each other despite seeing each other. Has he just assumed we’re in one of those off-again times we’ve been through in the past? But even so, in the past we’d address it. We’d agree to it.

This . . . this time just feels different. Like it’s so much more than a “break.”

I grew up in a home of chaos. One full of love, but also one where I craved to feel significant. Seen. To be the center of someone’s world.

Rossi was the person who made me feel that way. Like I mattered. But . . . if I’m honest with myself, not for some time.

Isn’t that what hurts the most?

Death by a thousand cuts.