I simply don’t deserve him.
He absolutely doesn’t deserve a woman like me.
We both went back to work on Monday as usual—him to the tattoo shop and me to the Hayes’ campaign headquarters—and it killed me to come home last night to find he made dinner for us. It was the perfect picture of domesticity, and it made me realize I could not let his hope continue to build.
So when I got up this morning for work, I knew I needed to send a decisive message to him that I was most certainly not the one for him. The note on the kitchen table telling him I was spending the evening at The Silo should do the trick, even though I’m sick to my stomach about it.
I need to stay strong. This is the best way… to remind him of who I am deep down so he can realize his heart is being wasted on someone like me.
Walking up to the bar, I glance around at the patrons. I should just choose someone, fuck him fast, and get it over with. That will, for me at least, cut the ties to Rand. Once I’m with someone else, I know it’s over.
Instead, I decide to order a drink to calm my nerves. I take a seat at the bar and order a glass of wine, sipping on it while contemplating how much my life sucks at this moment. Two men approach me, but I decline the invitation. I tell myself I’m enjoying my wine and want to finish it first, although truthfully, I don’t even know what kind I’m sipping.
“Odd… seeing you here,” I hear from behind me and recognize the gravel-like timber to Bridger’s voice. I don’t even bother to look at him as he takes the seat next to me.
“Why’s that?” I ask blandly.
“You’ve been absent for a while… you and Rand wrapped up in each other. It’s just odd you’re here now. Without him.”
I shrug and still don’t look at him.
A sip of wine.
Staring blankly at the bar top.
“I talked to my buddy, Kyle,” Bridger says in a low voice, thankfully leaving the subject of Rand and me alone. “He was noncommittal on whether he could identify the guy based on the description. I sort of got the impression he was going to poke around and find out what he could before he decides if he’s going to help.”
“What does that mean?” I ask as I swivel my stool so I’m facing Bridger.
“It means that if the hit on you was brought before the club and sanctioned, Kyle won’t tell me shit. But if this was a rogue act, he might give us a tip in the right direction.”
“Oh,” I say in disappointment as I swivel back to face the bar. I know Kevin’s not going to roll over on anything, and that the only way to pin him to this is by finding the guy who tried to carry out the order, hoping he gives Kevin up for a plea deal or something. It sounds to me as if that’s probably not going to happen, which is a cause for concern. It means I’m still vulnerable and although Richard has given me assurances, I think Kevin is a bit on the sociopathic side. I wouldn’t put it past him to continue to come after me.
“So this is it, huh?” he prods. “You’re making the break from him?”
So much for him leaving the subject of Rand and me alone. Gaze goes to my wine… wish I had about three of these in me right now. “It’s the right thing to do. He deserves better than me.”
“If you say so,” Bridger says mildly.
I turn to him in surprise, finally looking at the man who most people look upon as some sort of god around here. He’s been nothing short of nice and supportive of me, and I’ve always had the distinct impression he takes care of those he calls friends. I don’t necessarily think I’m in that category, but I know damn well Rand is. So, I thought he might try to persuade me otherwise.
For Rand’s benefit.
“You’re not going to try to talk me out of this?” I ask, my eyes narrowing on him.
“Nope,” he says with a confident smile. “You’re a big girl and can make your own decisions. You’re also a smart girl. I’ve got confidence in you.”
Huh?
I think this just affirms for me that Bridger probably recognizes those same god-awful qualities that I see in myself. He probably knows this is the best thing. This should be affirmation to me of my decision but instead it hurts me deep down to know that I must be right about myself.
“Besides,” Bridger says as almost an afterthought. “Rand just pulled into the parking lot as I was walking in. Figured he’ll have plenty to say to get you to change your mind.”
“Rand’s here?” I spin swiftly on my chair, looking back at the door. And sure enough, he’s standing there just at the end of the short hall that leads into the main room. His gaze is pinned on me with an absolutely unreadable expression on his face.