Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

Tilting my head, I glare at the woman whose bed I was in hours ago and is now as familiar as a stranger. “Why are you doing—”

“If you don’t get out, I’ll call the cops myself.”

Axelle sobs from the living room. “Mom.”

A billion sharp pains splinter my chest, like being stabbed on repeat and never dying. “Mouse?”

“Get the fuck out!” Her chest is heaving, her face flushed.

Her words shake and rattle around inside, destroying my earlier anger and replacing it with nothing.

Void.

Stew steps to the door and swings it open wide, flashing a razor-sharp grin. “You heard the woman. Out.”

I can’t believe this. She’s choosing him over me. All the reasons why I don’t date women with baggage flood back. That shit holds on so tight that it destroys any chance of happiness with anyone else. Here’s proof. No one can take her out of an abusive situation. That’s on her. And if she wants to stay in her fucked-up life with her fucked-up husband, well… fuck her.

“This is bullshit.” I walk up to Layla, and she straightens her shoulders and steels her expression.

I used to find that shit adorable. Now I see it for what it really is. Fake confidence. A big fat fucking lie. Just like my mom and all her bullshit. Layla’s no different. She’s not the strong woman I thought. She’s an insecure housewife who’s cowering under the oppressive arm of her piece-of-shit husband. And the worst part is, her daughter’s standing here watching it. What the fuck kind of woman, knowing what that shit does to her, seeing firsthand what poison it is, would continue to do this?

No, this isn’t the woman I fell in—fuck.

I smile, actually fucking smile and laugh. I’d never fall for a woman this stupid. Whatever shit she pulled over my eyes was potent. But I’ve seen the light. And I’m moving toward it and the hell away from this fuckstorm.

I look into the cold chocolate eyes of the woman who pulled my strings like a motherfucking puppet. “Well played. I gotta give it up to you. You had me fooled.” I move my eyes from Stew’s face back to Layla’s. “Yeah, you two belong together.” I direct a chin lift toward Axelle. “Tough break, kiddo. Unfortunately, we don’t get to pick our parents.”

Without looking back, I leave the apartment behind, along with the man I’ve been for the past month and a half. A life of one night stands, threesomes, and strip clubs is better than putting my fucking heart through a shredder. Yeah, suddenly Zeus’s Playground on Valentine’s Day doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

What’s that saying? The best way to get over a girl is to bang as many chicks as humanly possible in one night? Sounds like a brilliant idea.

Anything to dull the all-consuming pain that’s slashing my chest.

Layla

I’m numb.

Again.

Right back where I left off before I moved.

Exhaustion is the only thing that penetrates my deadened emotions.

Even unfeeling, I register that something was taken from me. Or rather, that I gave a part of myself away.

The look on Blake’s face when he left burns through my mind on an endless loop. The void in his green eyes when they stared right through me. The disgust on his face right before he walked out, as if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I shut my eyes, blink, rub my temples, but nothing erases the memory.

I deserve that.

The words flew from my mouth on instinct. I knew he’d never leave unless I forced him to. When I said Stewart fights dirty, I wasn’t kidding. He’s had people fired for something as trivial as bringing him the wrong drink. Who knows what he’d do to Blake, the man sleeping with his wife. I had to get him to believe me. To see me as someone unworthy, who’d jerk him around for selfish reasons. In order to protect him, I had to hurt him.

“Elle, your date’s here.” Stewart calls to Axelle, who’s slumped over in my lap on the couch. “Would you rather me talk to him?”

Killian’s here? I didn’t even hear the door. Was Stewart waiting for him?

She hauls herself up, her expression mirroring the detachment I feel. “I got it.”

Stewart’s phone rings. “Remember what we talked about, Elle. Make it fast.” He puts the phone to his ear. “Talk to me.” He barks his words to the caller and walks into one of the bedrooms, I’m assuming for privacy.

Axelle watches him until he disappears then scurries to the side table and scribbles something on a piece of paper by the phone. I can’t imagine what she’d be writing, and I can’t bring myself to care.

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