Page 164 of Sour Notes

I carefully walk toward her nightstand and stick the Post-it to her phone, my eyes not straying from her face. The urge to touch her is so strong my hand ghosts her jaw but I can’t bring myself to do it and risk waking her up. This is tearing my heart in two as it is.

Once I’m in the cab, I’ll send a message to Nick and my parents explaining why I’ve left. I need to get some distance from her so I can figure out what to say.

Distance.

That’s a laughable concept when she lives with me. In my house. It’s not like I can kick her out. I’m not that guy.

So now what?

I guess I can sleep on the pull-out in my office for a few nights and try to get my head on straight. Shove all these feelings for her back in the box I never should’ve opened all those months ago.

I’m an idiot.

My Uber arrives—thank fuck the app works over here too—and I load up my luggage and ask the driver to take me to the airport.

There’s a flight leaving in four and a half hours, so at least something’s gone my way tonight. I haven’t even bothered to change out of the clothes from the wedding because I don’t want to wash away the scent of her yet.

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back on the seat, lost in thought. Her face flashes through my mind, every moment we shared replaying in slow motion.

Our pool breakfast, the beach dare, her excitement at the clone Wolff—the only part of me she apparently wants to keep—her face last night, when she told me she was mine, this morning in the mirror.

Fuck. I could’ve sworn I saw love in her eyes when she looked at me.

Okay, maybe not love, I’m asking too much after what she’s been through when she’s more broken than she lets on. But I thought it was real.

Real feelings, working towards a real forever.

At least I was.

Jumped the gun again, Wolff.

How am I supposed to stop loving someone I’ve loved for as long as I can remember?

Should I move out? Maybe I should just rent somewhere else temporarily and leave her the house, at least until things get easier. I could crash with Lucas, but he’s a nosy shit and won’t stop asking questions until he gets the whole sordid story.

Fuuuuuuuck. Our families.

God. How do I tell them?

Maybe I should let her do it. It was her idea to fake all this bullshit in the first place.

And for what?

Mario was there. He could’ve protected her if the douche came near her.

I’m sure he’s gonna have questions too. He caught me walking back to the room, and even though I made up some crap about having a migraine and needing a lie down, it was written all over his face that he called bullshit.

He’s a good dude and I hate lying, but what’s another lie to add to the ever-growing pile?

Swiping to my photo app, I see a bunch of photos Nick took of us when we were posing for the photographer.

I stare at us immortalized on my phone screen, but it's like I’m looking at someone else.

That isn’t Mia and me.

There’s no way it can be because that couple looks madly in love.

The cab pulls to a stop at the red light and I glance up, catching the driver's eye in the mirror.