She puts an arm out when I try to stand up. “Can you swear to me that you had nothing to do with why we’re on a break?”
It’s a low blow, one that I can’t possibly answer truthfully without broadcasting my blatant guilt. But I’m suddenly feeling quite petty. “Were you even really dating? Because that’s not what he told me.”
Her lips thin in anger. “Careful, Chloe. You don’t want me as an enemy.”
Oh, no she didn’t. “Are you threatening me?”
She folds her hands across a knee. “I will fight for him.”
Is she for real? What does she expect me to do, cat fight her or something? “Does that surprise you?” she asks when I don’t respond. “I told you the first time we met that I loved him.”
I can’t help myself. I totally laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Hell yes, I am,” she says. “He’s mine.”
The cramping in my stomach is almost unbearable. All I want to do is go home and crawl into a tiny, fetal position and sleep. How did I get into this situation? It’s beyond surreal. I rub at my forehead. “I’m really sorry you seem to be taking this breakup hard—”
She cuts me off. “You think your hold on Jonah Whitecomb is strong? Think again.”
WHOA NOW. I’m off the bench in a flash. “Excuse me?”
“What’s the old saying? An eye for an eye?”
My fingers curl into fists. “What in the hell—”
“By the time I’m done with you,” she says, sitting on the bench like she’s the Queen of England, “you may not have anyone at all.”
I can’t even speak, I’m so stunned.
She finally stands up. “Nobody takes from me what’s mine.” She makes a motion of looking me up and down in disgust. “Nobody.”
And then she walks away.
Kellan is looking at me like I’m crazy.
“I’m not lying.” My stomach cramps and I double over. Effing ulcer. Why can’t I get rid of the damn thing already? “I swear to—”
He grabs me. “Sit down.” The pain subsides after he lays a cool hand on my cheek, making me wonder if he knows about the ulcer. Then he rubs at his forehead. “Okay. Okay. So—she just showed up and threatened you?”
“HAVEN’T YOU HEARD A WORD I’VE SAID?”
“Don’t yell at me,” he says calmly. “Of course I’ve heard you. The whole building heard you. I’m just asking for clarification—”
“Just surge and take the damn memory already!”
When he enters my mind, I close my eyes and sink back into his couch. I pretty much stormed directly to his apartment the minute Sophie was out of my eyesight.
It’s a pattern of mine, I think, running to Kellan.
He watches the memory carefully, replaying the last bit of threats a second time. After he eases out of my mind, he stares at the wall in front of us.
“Can I ask you something?”
He nods.
“Did you tell her about me—us?—when you broke up with her?”
“No.” He’s clearly tired.
“She knows.”
“Frankly,” he says, “I’m surprised more people don’t. I don’t think I’m good at hiding my feelings for you anymore.” He stands up and walks over to where his cell phone is. When he dials the phone, I know exactly whom he’s calling.
I consider leaving, but when he comes back and sits next to me, I stay where I am. I’m morbidly curious as to what he’ll say.
As if he knows I am, he puts the call on speakerphone. She’s tremulous and delicate sounding when she answers. “I’m so glad you called, sweetie. We really need to talk.”
He lays the cell phone on the coffee table in front of us. “You’re right. With the amount of messages you’re leaving me on a regular basis, I fear I wasn’t perfectly clear with you before.”
She’s alarmed.
“We’re done, Sophie. I really thought that we were on the same page, because I clearly remember us discussing that first night I agreed to go out with you that I wasn’t interested in anything more than something that, at the very most, could be classified as casual. You told me that was what you were looking for, too.”
Bitter laughter hisses across the connection. “It was a line and you know it.”
I cannot believe I’m listening to this, but I’d have to physically be escorted out of the room to stop. “Really? Because my stellar dating track record spoke differently?”
“You felt something for me. I know you did!”
“But I didn’t.” He tugs at his hair. “Sophie, I am truly sorry if you misunderstood the nature of our relationship—”
“I love you.” It’s a cross between a plea and a curse. “Don’t you get that? I LOVE YOU.”
He’s quiet but firm. “I don’t love you, Sophie. I never will.”
I wonder if he wishes he could. Loving her might be easy. She used to make him laugh. She’s gorgeous and smart (according to gossip) and really good at her job. Maybe they would’ve developed a shorthand between them. They could’ve been one of those couples everyone was jealous of, because they’d be so beautiful together.