Page 134 of Sweet Surrender

I should leave. Should turn around, walk inside, lock the door, and pretend none of this matters. But I can’t move. Can’t look away from him, sprawled in the middle of all of them, laughing, drinking, accepting the kisses they’re pressing to his neck, his chest . . . as though I’m only a long-forgotten memory. Pretending like nothing happened.

Like I don’t exist.

One of the girls tilts her head back in a flirtatious laugh, tracing a finger down his arm. My stomach twists. I hate this feeling. This anger eating at me. This stupid, irrational ache.

How do you fight for someone who doesn’t want to fight for himself?

How do you love someone who doesn’t want you to?

Jase finally catches sight of me. He grins lazily, lifting his drink in some kind of mock toast. “Hey, wifey,” he drawls. “You wanna join in? Or call some of your friends over?”

And that’s when I shatter.

I don’t reply. Don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I just turn and walk away, my hands shaking as I push through the house, ignoring the burn in my chest.

I should have known better.

I knew he would push, but not like this. Cruel. Unforgiving. Devastating.

“You win, Gizmodo.”

Because I do deserve better.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Hendrix

I don’t stop walking.

Not when I reach the front door. Not when I climb into my car and put as much distance between the two of us as possible.

I should have never let myself believe in the possibility of us. That he could love me back.

My chest aches, my hands tightening on the wheel as I pull up to the only place that’s ever made sense—my bakery. The parking lot is dark, and the closed sign hangs in the window.

My home.

The thought makes everything that happened hurt that much more.

As I get out of the car, I pick up my phone to start a voice text to Jase—my need to tell him what I think of him real and raw—but when I look up, I freeze.

Someone’s inside.

Paul.

What the hell?

It only takes me a few seconds to spot his car parked on the opposite side of the street. And only a few seconds more for my fury to form rage, because there’s only one reason he might be here and that’s to wreak havoc and cause trouble.

My pulse kicks up, a slow, steady dread as I shove open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He smirks, leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place. “Oopsie. I must have forgotten to turn in this one extra key I had back to you.”

“Convenient.” I set my phone down.

“Perhaps. Or maybe I just knew it might come in handy.” His voice lowers a notch. “I came to collect what’s owed to me.”

“Nothing is owed to you.”