Page 182 of House of Cards
But I extinguish the flicker of pride like crushing a slug under my heel.
She’s not mine. Never was, never will be.
“That it?” I clear my throat, hating how desperate I sound.
“No.” Troy pauses, and I can practically hear him deciding how much to tell me. “Called you a coward.”
I scoff. Christ, how I wish it wasn’t true.
I am a fucking coward.
Myles didn’t need me at the casino today. Half the shit we discussed, that I did, could have been done online. The rest could have waited.
But when he summoned me back to the Devil’s Luck, I jumped at the excuse. Told myself it was business. That duty called.
Bullshit.
I left because staying hurt too much. Because watching Zoey look at me like I’d destroyed her world—which I had—was more than I could handle. Because every second in that villa with her was another second of wanting things I could never have.
So I ran away like a fucking coward.
And now she’s spending her last night thinking I abandoned her without a second thought.
“I’m coming back,” I tell Troy.
“Smith—”
“I’m twenty minutes out.”
“Everything’s already been arranged for tomorrow. By morning she’ll be?—“
“I know. I’m coming anyway.” I end the call and gun the engine, tires squealing as I pull back onto the road.
Twenty minutes. I have twenty minutes to figure out what the hell I’m going to say to her.
I realize I’m fingering the marks on my cheek and jerk my hand away.
How the hell am I supposed to explain that leaving wasn’t about not caring enough, but about caring too much?
How do I tell her that every minute we were apart felt like walking on coals? That I spent the entire day thinking about the way she looked at me after I kissed her, like she was seeing past the monster to someone worth saving?
I can’t. Not any of it.
Because admitting to even a single one of those traitorous thoughts would mean admitting that I’m in love with her.
But I can give her one more night.
A few more hours to make sure she knows she mattered.
The villa’s lights appear through the trees, warm and welcoming against the darkness.
Almost there. Almost back to her.
The Bentley smoothly scales a low rise in the road. Seconds later, headlamps flash in my rearview mirror.
I’m dragged back to the present.
What the fuck am I doing, running back to Zoey like a lovesick teenager? The man who put a bullet in his traitorous Angel without blinking wouldn’t recognize who I’m becoming.
