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I paced the room, my thoughts racing like a runaway train. How had everything spiraled into this mess? How could he have ever thought this was a good idea?
Clark’s use of the word “psycho,” flashed through my head.
As I wrestled with my emotions, the most overwhelming one…was despair. I’d believed Ari was my hero. A person I was safe with. A person I could trust.
The weight of Ari's words and the depth of my emotions threatened to drown me. I knew I needed to confront him, to figure all this out.
But for now, I needed a moment.
Because my heart had just been broken.
CHAPTER23
ARI
Two weeks. Fourteen long days. That's how long it had been since Blake and I had stumbled into that tiny Vegas chapel and ended up married to each other. Of course, it had mostly been Blake stumbling. I’d been perfectly sober.
But I wasn’t going to miss out on a chance to tie that girl down.
Blake had barely said twenty words to me in those two weeks—I’d been counting—and most of them had been variations of "Get the fuck out."
I mean, I could understand why she’d be alittleupset.
I had taken advantage of her drunken state, married her without her clear consent, and then sent pictures of our wedding to my agent, who had promptly shared them with every news outlet in the country so that everyone knew we were married.
But I hadreallygood intentions. I was going to make Blake happy forever, just like I’d promised.
We just needed to get past this little…speedbump first.
Or at least that’s what Lincoln kept telling me.
Practice had been a disaster today. My mind was a dark place, and it showed in my performance. I made sloppy mistakes, the kind that would have been laughable if they weren't so damn frustrating. My coach had yelled at me to get my head out of my ass, and he wasn't wrong. I was a mess, and it was affecting my game.
After practice, Walker had dragged me to a nearby bar. He knew something was up, and he wasn't the type to let a fellow circle of trust member suffer in silence. We'd downed shots and beers like there was no tomorrow, and for a while, I’d almost forgotten how angry Blake was with me, how there seemed to be no end in sight. How my dick hadn’t been in her perfect cunt in what felt like forever.
But alcohol unfortunately wears off, and the reality of my situation crashed down on me.
I stumbled back to our home. She hadn't called it "our" house in weeks, and every night she attempted to sleep in the guest room.
But itwasstillourhome.
Every night she would slink away to the guest room, and every night I would bring her back to our room.
Except tonight.
Tonight I sank into a chair in the room and just watched her sleep.
She looked peaceful, her features softened in slumber. None of the anger was there when she was sleeping. I could almost pretend things were normal.
Almost.
Her silence was deafening. I had expected anger, frustration, and maybe even resentment, but this cold, unyielding silence was something else entirely.
I missed her. I missed her voice. I missed her laugh. I missed the feel of her skin. The taste of it…
I missed fuckingeverythingabout her.
I was living with the ghost of her and it was excruciating pain.
