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I head straight out the front door, to the elevator, and toward the exit. My feet not carrying me quickly enough.
The muggy air hits me in the face the moment I step outside, and I feel like I’m suffocating.
I suck in a lungful of air, not giving a shit about any people passing by. Let them look. Let them watch my breakdown.
I don’t care anymore.
How can she be her?
Pip. My Pip.
Moments from the past rush at me like a freight train as I start to walk, needing to put distance between us.
There’s no destination. I’m just allowing my feet to guide me. My head is lowered, and my hands are balled into fists at my side. But the farther I walk, the more my shoulders slump, and my hands relax.
I’m a shell of a person.
Betrayal oozes from every pour. But there’s also this strange feeling of relief.
Pip is alive.
Shouldn’t that matter for something?
Fuck.
A war rages inside me.
My emotions are all over the place, and I don’t know what is up or what is down.
When my feet stop, I’m at the local hole-in-the-wall bar a few blocks from my apartment, and I know exactly who I need to text.
Dane.
He’ll help me forget.
Me: Need you. Now.
Dane: Is this Cassidy?
The mention of that name causes a sharp pain in my chest. My hand flies up over my pounding organ, surprised to find it still beating.
Dane: Did you steal your man’s phone?
Me: Seriously. Meet me at Dickies.
Me: And don’t mention that name again…
It doesn’t take long before the seat beside me at the bar is being pulled out. The sound of the metal scratching the floor grates at my ears.
“You look fucking awful.”
I turn to look at the teammate who has quickly become more than just a friend, but family.
“I feel awful,” I groan. “My head is pounding.”
“Nothing a drink can’t help.” He peers down at the half-empty tumbler in front of me, lifting one brow. “Looks like you already started.”
I lift my glass up in a mock cheer.
