Page 81 of Sin for You

And God, I hated Bevan, for breaking more than just my heart.

I bit back a sob, pulled away from him, and ran out, fighting the tears that wanted to flow with every bit of strength I had left in me.

* * *

Bull

Being drunk for three days straight was exactly what I needed. I’d barely thought about Quinn at all. Only before I went to sleep…okay, passed out, whatever. When I woke up and stumbled out of my cabin to take a piss. Then the rest of the day. Oh yeah, and I dreamed about her as well, so when I was asleep.

And when I wasn’t thinking about her, I was looking at that picture she sent me, but it wasn’t her beautiful body that had me opening that photo time and again. It was her eyes, the way she was looking into the camera, like she was looking right at me.

I missed the feel of her eyes on me.

I was totally fucked.

I shouldn’t have come out in the boat today, because being out here just brought back memories as well.

I groaned and stared up at the clear sky.

After she’d run out of my room at Cal and Cassy’s, looking at me in a way I never wanted to see again, I’d waited a twenty minutes and left as well.

Then I’d gone fishing, and I’d stayed out here, either sleeping in my hunting cabin or on my boat, and I didn’t have any plans of going back anytime soon.

Because Quinn had been right, not only about cooling things down, but about it being too hard. I’d made it hard for her.

I’d seen the way she was with Laney at the bar, how it had affected her, how deep her own wounds still were.

Quinn wasn’t ready for what I wanted, and I couldn’t be with her and not have all of her, not anymore. But the biggest thing was that she was still hurting badly, and my wanting—shit, demanding—more from her, something she wasn’t capable of giving at that moment, had just made it worse and had hurt her.

I’d rather be without her and suffer the hell of that for the rest of my life than cause her any kind of pain.

Christ, she’d been ready to marry another man a short time ago. For all I knew she was still in love with the prick. The last thing she needed was me pushing for something she couldn’t give.

I sure as hell refused to drag her down with me.

She saw it, Mase saw it, everyone saw it. Even if she was ready to move on, which she wasn’t, I wasn’t the right man for her. I was an ex-drug dealer, ex-con, and an ex-fucking screwup.

You’re still screwing up.

Yep, I was.

So I was doing what I needed to, going cold turkey, fighting my addiction to Quinn the only way I knew how: by staying out here on my boat until I could breathe without feeling like my lungs were filled with concrete, when my chest cavity didn’t feel like it had been kicked in repeatedly by fucking Bigfoot.

And when I could see her, walk past her, look at her, and not want to throw myself in front of an oncoming truck.

Which meant that, yeah, I wasn’t heading back anytime soon.

Water lapped at the side of the boat, the shore so far in the distance I couldn’t see anything but a blur of color, the town framed by pines and snow-covered mountains.

Yep, I was good out here, thanks very much, where I was the only person who existed. I took a swig out of my bottle of Jameson, finishing it off. I tossed it with the others then flung an arm out, hunting around for another one.

My phone started ringing for the millionth time. I didn’t know why I kept it on.

Maybe it was Quinn? I doubted it. And even if it was, I wasn’t ready to hear her voice. I sure as fuck didn’t want to talk to her while I was like this. I was lucid enough to know I wasn’t fit for any type of intelligent or even coherent conversation.

I’d probably confess my undying love and beg her to love me back. I shook my head in disgust.

I checked my phone anyway. But it wasn’t Quinn, or Cal or Dane.