Tyler doesn’t miss the fact I’ve started to curl inward, unable to defend myself or my worth at this point in the face of his antagonism. I see a gleam form in his eyes that I imagine would be the same as a lion’s that is ready to pounce on the gazelle. I brace for another insult, but he throws me majorly off balance when he turns his attention across the room and nods.
I turn my head and look, spotting Evan talking to three women. On its face, he’s doing nothing more than talking to them. They’re all tall and gorgeous with California sunny looks, blinding white teeth, and perfect bodies. They could be runway models, and actually, they probably are. They stand in a closed, intimate circle and Evan says something that has all three of them laughing.
Tyler leans over and murmurs to me, “That’s the life Evan loves. He’s a little infatuated with you now, but don’t mistake it for anything long lasting. I can guarantee you that if you weren’t here with him, he’d be balls deep in all three of those girls before the sun came up tomorrow. I mean… how could you ever compete with that?”
A wave of dark, gray depression sweeps through me as I compare myself to what’s in front of Evan right now, and for the first time, I’m thinking Tyler is being honest with me. And now that little circle of people talking doesn’t look quite so innocent to me. In fact, the two women to the left and right of Evan are standing intimately close to him. He’s got his attention on the woman in front of him as she says something, and he’s absolutely intrigued by whatever it is. His attention is focused like a hawk’s, and I’m wondering if perhaps she’s making him an offer that he doesn’t want to refuse, but will have to because he’s here with me.
“You’re not cut out for this, Emma,” Tyler says, the surety in his voice slicing through me. “I hope to hell you realize that or else you’re in a world of hurt when Evan finally has to break the news to you.”
A low hum of dismay bubbles in my throat, but I refuse to let it out. Instead, I turn to Tyler and hand him my wineglass. With as much bravery as I can muster—which isn’t much because I feel like shattering—I tell him, “I think I’ll be going now.”
Tyler’s lips curl into a satisfied, victorious smile as he nods. “Just ask for Evan’s limo when you get outside. It will get you back to the hotel. It will even take you to the airport if you want to catch a red-eye out of here.”
Yes, that sounds like a good plan.
Without another word to Tyler, I walk carefully in my five-inch heels across the marble floor. Out of the party. Out of that house I had no business being in. Into the limo, and then back to the hotel.
Throughout this entire time, I don’t even shed a single tear, because what I’ve come to realize is that Emma Peterson is far more pragmatic than she is emotional. Even though I feel a hollow emptiness right in the center of my chest, I absolutely refuse to give into it. I can’t be mad at Evan because he’s not done a damn thing wrong. I can’t be mad at Tyler for telling me the truth and really just verifying what I maybe already thought tonight.
That I don’t belong in this world.
The only one I can be mad at is myself, for even daring to believe I could have something with Evan. But even then, it’s hard to be too mad. I mean, for the past few weeks, I’ve had the most amazing and wondrous journey of my life. I’ve experienced feelings and sensations I’ll probably never feel again, and I took a fucking major risk putting myself out there.
I try to remember that. I should be proud.
I should be grateful for what I had for a short time.
And even as I say that, my eyes well up with tears.
“Keep it together, Emma,” I mutter to myself as I stalk through the hotel suite and back to the master bedroom.
My mind is spinning as I try to figure out what the hell I need to do.
1. Get changed.
2. Get packed.
3. Get to the bus at the arena and grab Sirius.
4. Figure a way back to North Carolina. I can afford a plane ticket for me, but I’m not sure how to handle Sirius. I’m assuming dogs can fly, but I really have no idea. So…
5. Call my dad and get his advice.
I manage to get number one on my list completed, carefully taking off the expensive dress and hanging it in the closet, as well as putting the shoes back in the box they came in. Perhaps Evan can return them and get his money back. I pull on a pair of jeans and a summery blouse, along with a pair of flat sandals, and then turn my attention to number two.
I manage to get my suitcase on the bed and opened before I hear the suite door open with such ferocity it bangs off the wall, causing me to jump.
“Emma,” Evan calls out and he sounds pissed.
I furiously grab clothes out of a small dresser and turn to the suitcase by the time he enters the bedroom. His face is thunderous as he takes in what I’m wearing and the fact that I’m packing.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he grits out.
“Going back home,” I say as I dump my clothes in the suitcase and start to zip it. I think there’s another drawer full, but I’m prepared to leave them behind.
“Why?” he clips out.