My hands are shaking when I sit down on the bed and pull out my phone to text Lia.

Me: Can I come stay at your place for a couple of days before I head back to Colorado?

Lia: Of course. When you coming?

Me: Is tonight too soon?

Lia: This late? Something wrong?

Me: Long story.

Lia: Come on. I’ll wait up.

Me: No, you don’t have to do that. Just leave me a key somewhere.

Lia: No, I’m waiting up. You need BFF services. I can tell.

Me: I don’t need BFF services. Don’t wait up. Please.

Lia: I’ll consider it, but only if you tell me what’s going on.

I sigh, my fingers hovering over the tiny keyboard.

Me: Remember the guy I kissed at the bar?

Lia: Tall, dark hottie? Oh, yeah!

Me: Well, the next morning, I found out he worked for my dad.

Lia: Ohhhh, let me get some wine. This sounds juicy.

Me: Parts of it, I guess, but the main thing is that he lied to me. He’s actually part of a group that bought the ranch, and they’re turning it in to a dude ranch.

Lia: What? Why?

Me: Another long story, but I’ll just say he was keeping some secrets for my dad.

Lia: Hmmmm. Did you sleep with him?

Me: Yes.

Lia: And he still didn’t tell you?

Me: Nope.

Lia: I assume you’re mad.

Me: You assume right.

Lia: Is that all you are?

Me: What do you mean?

Lia: You run when you’re hurt. You fight when you’re mad.

Me: I’m not running.

Lia: You’re running. Trust me.

Me: No, I’m simply heading back home. I’ve been here long enough.

Lia: Then why leave so late? Why not wait until morning?

Me: I don’t want to see him.

Lia: So you ARE running?

Me: No, I’m avoiding an unwanted confrontation.

Lia: Have you asked yourself why you’re so upset?

Me: Yes. Because he lied to me.

Lia: Men lie. This isn’t news.

Me: I know, but this is different.

Lia: Why?

Me: Because.

Lia: Because you really like him.

Me: I didn’t say that.

Lia: You didn’t have to.

I see a tear drop onto the screen of my phone. I swipe angrily at it. I don’t want to be hurt. I want to be angry.

Me: Thanks for letting me come so late. Don’t wait up.

Lia: Oh, I’m definitely waiting up now.

Me: That’s the whole reason I told you now, so you could sleep.

Lia: Who needs sleep when her BFF is in distress?

Me: You’re the best. You know that, right?

Lia: I have my moments.

Me: I might actually forgive you for getting me into this mess to begin with.

Lia: Me? How am I to blame?

Me: Let’s see. Getting me drunk, harassing me into kissing a stranger, leaving me at the bar by myself. Take your pick.

Lia: You didn’t have to go along with any of that. You know what a crazy person I am when I drink.

Me: How could I forget?

Lia: You wouldn’t have done any of it if you hadn’t NEEDED to cut loose. You’re the most stubborn and strong-willed person I know.

Me: No, I’m not.

Lia: Yeah. You are. Which is why you’re leaving there and coming here in the middle of the night.

Me: It’s not the middle of the night.

Lia: By the time you get packed and find a way here, it will be.

Lia: Not complaining. Just making my point.

Lia: When you get your mind set on something, nothing can stop you.

I wish setting my mind was the hard part, but it’s not. It’s never easy to just walk away. At least not for me. It never has been. But it’s always been necessary.

Me: I’m really lucky to have you.

Lia: I know.

She sends a winking face, and I send one blowing heart kisses. That’s our way of being done for the moment, so I set my phone aside and look around the room. My phone bleeps again. It’s Lia with one parting shot.

Lia: Make sure you aren’t in love with him before you go and do something stupid.

Me: I’m not in love with him.

Lia: Are you sure?

My chest aches at the question, but my brain kicks in to remind me I can’t possibly be in love with someone I’ve only known for such a short while. No matter how much it hurts beneath the anger, it’s not because I love Nixon. I won’t let it be.

I don’t respond to Lia. I go back to looking around the room. This room that my mother used as her hobby room and art studio when I was a little girl. This room that I moved into as soon as I turned sixteen. This room that I shared with Jason when I thought he hung the moon. This room that I left when I found out he didn’t. And this room that I occupied as I dipped a toe back into really feeling again.

This will also be the room that I leave for a second time because I trusted a man who wasn’t trustworthy.

I don’t even notice the tears streaming down my face as I throw my belongings into suitcases. I just keep telling myself that I’m angry, angry with Nixon, angry with the world. Mostly, I’m angry with myself, though. I went against my better judgment. I opened myself up to someone even though I knew I shouldn’t. I took a chance and trusted, and gave another gorgeous man a shot at my heart. And, in the end, he turned out to be just like all the rest.

In the quiet of this room that holds so much history for me, I admit that I’m most angry with myself for having hope. I really thought Nixon might be different. I wanted him to be. I wanted him to be the one who proved that not all men are the same, that not all men set out to use me for their own pleasure and purpose with no thought as to how it might affect me.

I gave Nixon the chance to prove me wrong. But all he did was prove me right.

When my bags are packed, I take a deep breath and open the bedroom door. I expect Nixon to be on the other side, waiting to ambush me again. But he’s not. The living room is empty. His bedroom door is open, and that room’s empty, too. He’s gone.

He didn’t even care enough to stay and fight, to try any harder to stop me.

I pause in front of the door. I close my eyes. I’m not going to look back. But then again, I don’t have to. Behind the curtain of my lids, I see Nixon’s cocky grin as he exercises in his half-dressed state, trying to tempt me. I see his handwritten notes, his sparkling eyes, his hungry mouth. I see it all as though it were burned into my mind. I see it, and I feel my heart break.

I hadn’t meant to fall in love with Nixon Holt.

But I did.

Without meaning to, I detonated a bomb. I lit the fuse the night I walked the hall down to his hotel room. It’s been burning faster and faster every day since. It was only a matter of time before it exploded and left me with the fallout, the devastation, the destruction. I have no one to blame but myself for this, this cocktail of pain and disappointment and bitterness. I should’ve expected it. It’s called consequence, consequence for loving and trusting the wrong person.

I feel like I’m choking on it when I open the door and wheel my bags out into the night.