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The moment I get out of the truck, Drake flies from our cabin, the screen door slamming shut behind him.
“Where the hell have you been, man?” he shouts. “Where’s your fucking phone?”
I tap the pockets of my jeans and worry my brow. “I don’t know, must be in the truck. Why, what’s going on?” My heart races, praying he doesn’t say what I think he’s going to say.
He stands on the porch, hands on his hips, as his eyes shift over to Addison. “Uh... maybe we should talk inside.”
I look over to see a frown on Addison’s face. When her eyes meet mine, she must see the worry there, because she looks between the two of us like she’s unsure of what to do, and like the asshole that I am, I don’t help her.
I don’t reassure her that everything’s okay or tell Drake that he can say whatever he needs to in front of her. I know it’s not okay, and frankly, I don’t want him to say shit in front of her. I don’t even make a move to stop her when she dismisses herself, and I stay silent until she’s tucked inside her cabin. Then, I turn to Drake.
“It’s Emily,” he croaks, defeat replacing the anger on his face. “We need to go.”
I nod slowly, unsure if my head’s even moving at all with how weighed down my shoulders feel. With lead feet and a shattered heart, I follow him inside the cabin.
I pack my bags on autopilot, self-loathing rushing through me. I knew I shouldn’t have pursued Addison, but I did it anyway. I knew I shouldn’t have taken her to bed, but I did it anyway. I got so wrapped up in playing pretend that I forgot there was a whole world outside of her, and in that world, I have responsibilities and people who count on me to answer my goddamn phone when they call me.
Within minutes, I’m standing outside of Addison’s cabin. When she answers the door, it takes her mere seconds to return the look of dread on my face. I try to swallow, but the muscles don’t shift the tightness in my throat.
She shuts the door and steps out onto the porch. “Everything okay?” she asks quietly. The question’s rhetorical. She already knows the answer, but she still asks as a formality.
“I have to go,” I say simply.
“Just like that?” She reaches out to touch me, but I instinctively take a step backward, putting just enough distance between us that her hand falls aimlessly to her side. Pain slices across her face as if I struck her.
I shake my head, racking my brain for the right words to say but coming up short. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing I say will be enough, and I don’t have the time to try.
“I’m sorry” is all I can manage before I turn around and walk away.
