Oh that feels so good.

I love it when the water is so hot in a shower that it feels like it’s blistering my back. I once saw a piece on The Today Show that talked about taking cold showers in the morning to wake you up, get you started for the day.

What a load of crap.

I tried it once and I was miserable. Such a bear. All my coworkers steered clear of me that day, because who in their right mind wants to take a cold shower in the morning?

Sadists, that’s who.

I go for the opposite, and you know what, a blistering hot shower is better.

There I said it, I put it out in the universe.

Hot showers wake you up if you do them right. Turn them scorching, singe your skin, and then you are good to go. Trust me on this.

Turning the shower off, I wring out my hair and reach for my towel just as my phone starts to ring on the bathroom counter. I always bring my phone into the bathroom with me so I know how much more time I have to fuck around before I actually have to get ready for work.

Stepping on the yellow bathroom mat, I glance at the screen and see Emma’s face pop up. Smiling, I answer it.

“Hey girl.”

“Ugh, I miss you,” Emma groans. “We haven’t had our morning chats in so long.” It’s been a ritual of ours when getting ready for our early shifts, we call each other at least twice a week to catch up. It’s been a while.

“That’s because you were on a little mini vacay with Tucker. Not my fault.”

“It was worth it, but I don’t want to talk about that, I want to talk about your New York City getaway with the famous Hayden Holmes.”

Needing to dry off, I put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter. “It was amazing. I got to hang out with his friend, Calder, who is also his teammate along with Calder’s girlfriend, Rachel. They were so much fun—”

“Not as much fun as me.”

“Never.” I chuckle. “No one is as much fun as you.”

“Good answer. You may continue.”

Just a little friend reassurance break. Like anyone could take her place. Emma is my girl. We’ve been through far too much together, especially during our first year of nursing school.

“We also did some silly touristy things like the Statue of Liberty and touring Ellis Island. And his photo shoot. Oh my God, Emma. I know you’re madly in love with Tucker, but I am one hundred percent positive if you were there, you might have considered leaving him.”

“That good?”

“Ugh, so good.” I sit on the lid of the toilet, towel wrapped around me, and start applying lotion to my body, prepping my face for what little makeup I put on. “He was in underwear and that was it. The lights made every indent and crevice of muscle stand out, and then he starts pulling down the waistband of his briefs.”

“Oh damn.”

“Oh damn is right.” Opening my drawer, I shuffle around for my brush, not paying attention to what I’m doing. “It was so hot. Every woman in the area stopped what they were doing and watched.” My hand connects with something plastic and I move it to the side still searching for my brush.

“Please tell me you guys had sex. For the love of God, tell me you finally did it.”

Laughing, I stand to look in the drawer. “Oh yeah, we had—” I pause, my words falling from my lips when I focus on the plastic thing my hand was hitting. Oh fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

“Adalyn, are you there?”

“I . . . am.”

Picking up my birth control pills with shaky hands, I slowly open the top.

“Is everything okay?”

Swallowing hard, eyeing the pills in the pack that should have been taken, I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”

“What’s going on? Do I need to drive over there?”

Deflated, I lean against my bathroom wall and fall to the floor. “Emma . . .”

“Yes? What’s going on?”

Taking a deep breath, I count the amount of pills I’ve forgotten to take.

Six.

Six freaking pills!

How on earth could I forget six freaking birth control pills?

“Umm, let’s say someone forget to take their birth control pills and then had . . . um, unprotected sex against a wall in a dressing room. What are the chances they could get pregnant?”

“Please tell me you’re asking for a friend.”

“I wish I was.”

“Oh Adalyn, what the hell were you thinking?”

Pressing my hand against my forehead, I groan. “I wasn’t thinking. The man had me so horny from his photo shoot and holding out on me, that I kind of just jumped his bones the minute the opportunity presented itself.”

“Which was in a dressing room against a wall?”

“Yes, but for what it’s worth, it was the best sex I’ve ever had . . . until he took me back to the hotel and fucked me in the shower.”

“Let me guess, no condom?”

Oh Jesus Christ.

What the hell was I thinking? Did I really lose all common sense the minute Hayden’s penis made an appearance?

Thinking back . . . I cringe. Yup. All common sense when out the door once pants were shucked. I’m one of those girls. One of those girls you look at and think in this day of age, how can you possibly forget about birth control or condoms? And I’m a freaking nurse. I should know better. Ugh, I do know better.

Two words: Hayden’s cock.

Oh God, it is such a nice cock. Long and thick with the perfect head. Slightly curved up so every time he pulsed inside me, it was reaching for that one spot, that one spot he hit every time.

“Oh Adalyn.” I don’t have to answer; my silence is enough. She knows. “How is that possible?”

Burying my head in my knees, I say, “It was the dick. The dick did it to me.”

Sighing on the other end of the phone, Emma says, “Damn the dick. Damn all the dicks.”

My sentiment exactly.

I’m not pregnant.

Nope.

After my revelation this morning, my minor slip-up on the no-baby train, I have convinced myself I am in fact not pregnant. There is no way Hayden’s athletic sperm, which I’m sure is super healthy and ready to impregnate, broke through my superior eggs. Nope, my eggs are on total lockdown.

Not only do my eggs laugh at little sperm who try to break through, but they are reinforced with steel metal and surrounded by sperm-eating acid.

You read that correctly: sperm-eating acid.

There are only a few of us who possess such defenses in our uteruses, and I am one of them. A medical marvel I must say.

And to hammer it home, I’ve spent the entire morning talking to my uterus, telling her that she’s still a single lady and she’s not eating for two.

It has helped. I’ve completely forgotten about forgetting to take my pills, or letting Hayden pound into me thrust after thrust with nothing separating my superior eggs from his athletic man-sperm.

Yup, not thinking about it at all.

Not one bit.

Leaning against the wall of a hospital, I squeeze my eyes shut.

I’m so pregnant.

My nipples have been tingling all morning, isn’t that a sign? That has to be a sign. And my scrubs are tighter. It’s not my imagination, they are tighter and yeah, I might have been eating more cake than normal, but it’s because I’m pregnant.

There is life inside of me.

Shit . . .

I can’t think like that. You are not pregnant, Adalyn.

Repeat after me: you are not pregnant. You are not pregnant.

“Hey there.” Logan bumps my shoulder, leaning against the stark hospital wall with me, glancing at the clipboard clutched to my chest. “Holding back some secret information?”

“What?” I take in the clipboard I have a death grip on. “Uh, no, just . . . God, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ah.” Logan knowingly nods his head. “So you’ve heard.”

So I’ve heard? Heard what? Oh God, can he tell I’m pregnant already?

I know, I’m in the medical field, I know how babies are conceived, it doesn’t show that quickly but I’m borderline hysterical right now so my mind is not quite making any sense.

“When I saw it trending on Twitter, I immediately thought of you.”

Okay, my possible pregnancy is definitely not trending on Twitter, because not enough people would care to make an idiot nurse who forgot to take birth control pills a trending topic. Although, as a society, we should continue to educate the youth about pregnancy. And I would be a prime example of what not to do.

Wanting to play it cool, as if I’m in the know, I say, “Oh yeah, why did you think of me immediately?”

His brow pinches together and he lifts off the wall. “Uh, because you’re dating him.”

For a brief second—very brief—I think that maybe my pregnancy is trending on Twitter, but I shake that thought straight from my head.

Don’t be a moron, Adalyn. For Christ’s sake, you’re not pregnant.

“Dating Hayden.” I nod, lips pressed together, still unsure what Logan could be talking about.

“From the blank look in your eyes, I’m going to assume you don’t know.”

Guilty.

“Yeah, I didn’t check the old Twitter yet today.” I’ve had embryos on the mind. “What’s going on? Did his underwear ad go viral?”

“No . . . Adalyn, he was traded.”

My eyes blink rapidly because my ears must be deceiving me. With my finger to my chin, disbelief consuming me, I say, “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say he was traded?”

“Shit, he didn’t tell you?”

“Does this look like someone who is in the know of their boyfriend being traded?” I stare at Logan, at his deep green eyes, trying to make sense of this. Traded. Like . . . to another team? Massaging my forehead with two fingers, I ask, “When you say traded, what exactly do you mean?”

Logan breathes out a heavy sigh and takes me to the nurses station where he sits me down in a chair. This is good, because in case I decide to pass out, the fall is shorter to the ground. No need to be a battered possibly pregnant woman with a boyfriend who has been traded. Battered makes me look pathetic.

Taking my hands in his after removing the clipboard, Logan forces me to look at him. “Addie, he’s been traded to the Quakes.”

“Mm-hmm, I hear ya. The Quakes. Sounds like a fun team.” Swallowing hard, I ask, “By chance, do you happen to know where the Quakes are located?”

Logan pauses, his eyes softening with regret as he says, “Los Angeles.”

I’ve seen hysterical women before, when their eyes bug out of their sockets, their hair looks wild, like they played around with the electrical socket for far too long. They bare their fangs and start hissing at everyone within a three-foot radius. I see hysterical women at least once a week, and I always wonder what it must be like to be in their shoes, to want to chuck a tongue depressor across the room and demand non-latex gloves. But I’ve never been in their position. I’ve never felt so passionate about something that I’ve felt the need to karate chop every throat that crosses my path.

And I’m not saying I’m hysterical, because I’m more in shock than anything, but I can feel the hysterics. I can feel the need to strap on a black belt and take innocent victims under my steely slice of a hand. If a tongue depressor were in reach right now, I would consider stabbing Logan in the ribs with it.

But I’m not there. I’m not at that level. I’m just itching to get there.

“Question.” I prop my chin on my hand, trying to act as casual as possible. “Is this trade final?”

“It’s final, Addie.”

I hold up my finger. “One more question. What is the distance between Binghamton and Los Angeles?”

Pity is written all over Logan’s face when he says, “It’s not drivable.”

Yup.

I start nodding my head, bobbing it up and down, trying to comprehend what Logan is telling me. Hayden, Captain Sexy Cock, is moving to Los Angeles, where palm trees flank the streets and snow is a mythical ice crystal that falls from the sky in far-off lands.

I, Adalyn, General Forgets Her Pills, will be staying in Binghamton, New York, which is located two miles down from Jack Frost’s tundra of an armpit, with a possible demon baby that can bypass sperm-eating acid.

I’m not a mathematician, but I’m pretty sure the two don’t add up.

“I’m sorry, Addie, but maybe it’s for the best. Because what were you two—”

“Adalyn.”

That voice. It vibrates down my spine, sending chills across my skin. Turning in my chair, I find Hayden standing at the desk, his eyes searing Logan in half from under the bill of his baseball cap.

“Can we talk . . . alone?”

“Oh, hey there . . . Hayden, is it?” I don’t know why I said that. His jaw ticks, his eyes focused on Logan’s hands that are holding on to mine. “I mean, of course I know it’s you.” I laugh awkwardly. “Didn’t recognize you for a second. Hats can be deceiving. It’s why so many celebrities wear them. What better way to hide yourself than under the brim of a hat. Oh, is that why you’re wearing one now?” I zip my lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone it’s you.” Clearing my throat, I say to Logan, “This is my friend, Franklin. He’s from Switzerland and knows nothing about hockey.”

“Adalyn,” Hayden says with more force in his voice. “I need to talk to you.”

I pull on my ear. “I hear ya, but I have some nurse duties to attend to.” I stand and look around, looking for anything to show I’m doing my job. Logan hands me the first thing he sees, a pee cup. I hold it up to Hayden. “Urine isn’t going to collect itself.”

Walking toward a room on the corner, Mr. Glasco’s room, Hayden jogs up to me and pulls on my arm, halting me in place.

“Adalyn, we need to talk.”

“Is there a problem here?” Logan asks, eyeing Hayden’s grip on my arm.

Furious, Hayden, talks from between his teeth. “This is none of your concern.”

“It is because Adalyn is my friend.”

“And she’s my fucking girlfriend,” Hayden spits back.

Shaking his head, Logan mutters under his breath, “Not for long,” and walks away.

“Hey, what the fuck is your problem?” Hayden asks, pushing Logan to the side.

Oh God. Okay, pushing in hospitals should not be happening. Before Logan can retaliate, I step between the two men, putting hands on both of their chests. “Logan, go check on room sixteen’s vitals.” When he doesn’t move, I look him in the eyes, pleading. “Go, please.”

Not happy, Logan adjusts his shirt and turns toward room sixteen. One guy down, one more to go. Bringing my attention to Hayden, I muster up all the strength I can find. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Just give me a few seconds.”

I hold my hand up in front of his face so he sees I need him to stop. “We can talk later. I have to do my job and you’re making a spectacle. I wouldn’t come on the ice, interrupting one of your games, saying I need to talk to you. So I expect the same kind of respect.”

His jaw moves from side to side, the veins in his neck popping with anger. He looks like he’s about to explode. Seems like he hasn’t had the best of days. I’m right there with him.

Letting out a heavy breath, he asks, “You’re still coming over after work?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” Even though I want to avoid this conversation like the plague.

“Okay.” Leaning down, he places a chaste kiss on my cheek and takes off, his retreating back acting like a prelude of what’s to come.

We need to talk.

I can only imagine how that conversation is going to go. He hasn’t made any true commitments to me. He hasn’t spoken about what our future looks like. He’s said this is the real thing, but when it came to working out something for when he went back to Philly, that was never discussed. Why would it be? Before Monday night, we hadn’t even had sex. He hadn’t been inside my body, so why discuss a future that may not have been in the cards. And now that he’s moving across the country? Why bother talking at all?

Los Angeles. New York.

How could we possibly make that work?

So this is what walking the plank feels like?

But instead of a gaggle of bloodthirsty sharks at the bottom of the plank, it’s the end of a relationship I never thought I wanted. And I don’t want it to end. I want all of this to go away. I want my boyfriend to stay in Binghamton. I want our bubble to remain intact. I want to walk into this house, throw my arms around Hayden and love him. I want him to be mine.

I don’t want to have this talk.

I don’t want to break his heart.

Sighing, I knock on the door of the cottage I’ve come to love, a sanctuary I used to hide away in after a long day of being on my feet.

It’s no longer a hideaway. It will be the place where I put on a brave face, and try to make it through this conversation without breaking down at his feet.

Hayden opens the door in what seems like a panic. His hair is standing on end, his clothes disheveled, a pinch to his brow. “Fuck, I thought you weren’t coming.”

“There was an accident on the way over here that delayed me.” There was no accident. I might have stopped off at a gas station and ate two Twix bars before coming here. I blame it on the non-existent baby in my uterus.

Not saying a word, he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around my shoulders. For a brief moment, I allow myself to feel this man’s warmth, taking in his masculine scent, committing it to memory, allowing myself to get lost in his touch.

But only for a second.

Because my heart is already raw.

He’s been traded.

Traded.

No matter how many times I say it in my head, I still can’t fathom what this is going to do to us, what kind of relationship we’re going to be able to maintain. I was nervous about him going back to Philly, trying to work that all out, but now that he’s going to Los Angeles, that changes everything, it puts a giant chasm between what we have, what we share.

I don’t want to lose him, but how can we make this work? My mind is completely blanking.

Placing my hand on his chest, I put some distance between us, stepping away, trying to gather my thoughts.

“What are you doing?” He studies me, and I’m sure he wonders why I stepped out of his embrace. Maybe because it’s too much, having him that close, knowing I’m grasping for any kind of link to keep us together. Maybe because I don’t want to lose the one person who’s ever made me feel like I deserve more than a one-night stand. Bending at his knees to look me in the eyes, he says, “He told you, didn’t he? Logan told you.”

The anger in his eyes, the worry, it slays me as I take a step back. “I would have found out somehow,” I answer, looking up in time to see Hayden blow out a frustrated breath and rake his hand through his hair while turning to the side. His arms flex, his fists opening and closing. “He took any opportunity to get between us. I should have fucking known.” I’ve never seen this kind of anger in Hayden. The way he clenches his fist, like he’s about to blow his hand through the wall, the strong tick in his irritated jaw, the rise and fall of his proud chest; it’s startling.

“What are you talking about? Logan was being a friend. He thought I already knew and wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Spinning on his heels, Hayden boils with fury, nostrils flared, and jaw clenched. “Don’t be so fucking naïve, Adalyn.” As if he slapped me in the face, I take another step back. I really don’t like this side of Hayden. I get that he’s upset and frustrated, but he doesn’t need to take it out on me or Logan. “I drove as fast as I could the minute I found out I was traded. I wanted you to hear it from me, but you didn’t give me the chance to fucking tell you. You sent me home.”

“Because I was working.” And I didn’t want to have that conversation in the middle of the nurses station. Surely he can understand that.

“You’ve taken time away from your job for me before, and this was no different.”

“This was entirely different. I wouldn’t want to have this conversation at work.” I swallow hard.

Raking a hand through his head, a sardonic expression clouding his eyes, he says, “What did he say to you? What did he tell you? Might as well see what the gossip is.”

Taking another step back, my back hitting the wood of the front door, I say “He said what happened. I don’t understand why you’re being so mean to me right now.”

“I’m fucking frustrated that I couldn’t tell you, and I can see doubt in your eyes. You’re not giving me a chance.”

“Excuse me if I’m having a hard time trying to wrap my head around the news. I need a second to comprehend everything, Hayden.” Trying to come up with anything to make this situation better, I ask, “Do you have a choice in the matter?” There is a little drop of hope that maybe he can turn down the trade, even though, I know that’s generally not how it works in football, but a girl can hope hockey is different.

“What do you mean?”

“Like . . . can you say no to the trade?”

Chuckling with distaste, he shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. I don’t get to decide things like that.”

“So you’re moving to Los Angeles.” I say it more as a statement rather than a question, letting the words sink in, coming to terms with the giant bump in our road.

“I don’t have a fucking choice,” he shouts, his arms tossed in the air.

And just like that, I can see my future being laid out in front of me, bricks of despair leading the pathway.

We won’t get our forever.

This man has shown me what being with a good man can truly feel like, this man has doted on me, spoiled me, made me laugh, made me . . . come. God, he’s not real, he’s not forever, he’s temporary, and that right there is what’s breaking me.

“But you have a choice,” he whispers, stepping forward. “You can come with me.” His voice is so soft, shaky with his request as if he’s nervous to ask.

“Go with you?” We’ve been dating a few weeks and he wants me to fly across the country to be with him? Is he insane? I shake my head. “I don’t have a choice either, Hayden. My life is here. My job is here. My friends are here. My family. I can’t just pick everything up, move across the country.”

“If you wanted to, you could.”

“What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind.” His hands go to his waist, and he stares at the floor.

“No, what did you mean by that?”

He grips the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Adalyn. Maybe I’m a little fucking sensitive right now, but . . .” He pauses and I can see the wheels in his mind spinning. “Fuck, what about Logan?”

“What? What about him?”

“I don’t know, just seemed like you two were fucking comfy at the hospital.”

Is he serious?

Is he really questioning my friendship with Logan, questioning it against the way I feel when I’m with him? Is there really any kind of competition? Does he not remember our conversations about Logan? How he hurt me, how he’s just a friend, and will always be a friend? Is he really so blinded right now he can’t see how much I wish I could stay in his arms forever?

“You can’t be serious right now, Hayden. I know you’re upset, I get that, I’m broken over this too. But I can’t pick up everything in my life and move across the country. Who’s to say I would be able to find a job?”

“You wouldn’t have to work. I would take care of you.”

“Hayden, I went through four years of schooling hell to become a nurse, so I’m not about to give that up.”

“Then that’s it?” He nods, even angrier, a sarcastic laugh escaping him. “You’re giving up? Just like that. Treating me like every other man you’ve ever fucked. Taking what you want and not bothering to give it a chance.”

I suck in a harsh breath. My heart splinters in half, his words so destructive to my already fragile being. Never in a million years would I have expected Hayden to use my past against me, to throw it in my face so easily as if it’s a thought he’s held in his head since we’ve been together.

And yet, he did.

Tears well up in my eyes, my hand finds the handle to the door and I open it, needing to escape, needing to find fresh air.

And I see it, the minute he regrets the words that fell out of his mouth. Anguish hits him hard, but it’s too late. His words are hanging in the air, adding to the pain already resting heavily on my chest.

“Adalyn . . .”

“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t.” I look to the open the door, casting my head down, not able to make eye contact. “Let’s call it like it is.” Using his words against him, the ones he so clearly regrets now, I say, “Let’s say I took what I wanted with no intention to give us a chance. Let’s call it a fling and move on.”

“A fling?” The word rolls off his tongue with utter disgust. Isn’t that what he meant? Isn’t that a nicer way of rearranging what he said? “Is that what this has been to you? A fling?”

No.

Not even a little.

This has been so much more than a fling. This relationship has changed me. Hayden has opened my eyes to my worth. He has shown me I deserve so much more than a one-night stand; I deserve someone who will respect me, challenge me, and make me feel beautiful inside and out.

But my truth doesn’t matter right now. Because setting aside how he broke my heart with his meanness—even though I know he didn’t mean what he said—what would happen if I told him this was so much more to me than a fling? What would be the point? He’d want to try to make it work. He’d move to Los Angeles, I’d stay in Binghamton, and we’d FaceTime every night. He’d never be able to visit me with all the training he’ll have to start soon with the new team. I won’t be able to visit, because my schedule is far too demanding. We’ll get in fights because we never see each other and then the inevitable will happen: We’ll break up.

So why go through the pain? Why hang on to something that is broken already? There’s no point. It’s better to end things now than to give each other hope.

Summing up all the courage I have, I tell one of the biggest lies of my life.

“It was just fun for me.”

It hurts.

All of this hurts.

I’m broken.

Cut.

Bruised and battered, his assumption of me still swarms around in my mind.

I can’t make eye contact with him. I can’t possibly see the hurt I’ve caused him, and I can’t let him see the hurt he’s caused me. This is hard enough as it is. Living with that image in my mind will be too much.

Letting go of my hand, he takes a step back, his voice so full of anger I’m startled when he speaks. “Fucking look me in the eyes when you say that.”

Breathe, Adalyn. One breath at a time. Push back the tears, push down your feelings.

Taking a deep breath, I lift my head. Hayden is vibrating with stormy eyes, glowering. There is an infinitesimal twitch in his jaw, and from the look of it, his fingernails are digging painfully into his palms.

“Say it,” he repeats, emphasizing each word with barked precision.

Tongue-tied and on the verge of breaking down, I twist my fingers together, keeping my eyes locked on his. “This was just fun for me.”

“Fuck,” he bellows, turning away from me and pulling on the back of his head, his biceps pulsing under his shirt.

Oh God, this is so terrible. The world seems to move in slow motion as Hayden angrily paces the living room, and I can’t breathe. With each pass of his distraught body, my heart stutters in my chest, spinning, colliding, then falling to the ground.

I can’t take much more of this. It’s too much. “I’m going to go.”

Whipping around, Hayden heaves, looking like he’s about to explode any second. “So that’s it. You’re just going to leave?”

“Well, you didn’t expect me to stay for dinner, did you?” The words are so bitter falling from my lips.

I hate myself.

I truly and utterly hate myself.

“Fuck, I actually thought you gave a shit about me, Adalyn. But I guess I was wrong. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? And now you’ll leave.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I croak out, needing to defend myself. I’m trying to leave with dignity, but I won’t be dragged through the mud in the process.

“Oh, it wasn’t? It seems like it. We fucked and now you’re on your way. Isn’t that what you did with every other man you’ve ever been with?”

Low blow.

Again.

But it’s justified. That’s the message I’m giving him.

Twisting my lips to the side, I attempt to steady the shake in my jaw, the weariness in my voice, the tears willing to fall, but I can only hold back so much. A lonely tear falls down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away but not before Hayden sees it.

The crease in his brow lessens, the anger in his features softens. He can see it, can’t he? He can see the lies in my eyes.

“Adalyn.” His voice shakes, his body moving toward mine, but I step away and shake my head.

“I have to go.” Stepping back towards the open door, I make an attempt to leave, but Hayden presses his hand against the door, his overbearing body eating up the space between us.

“You don’t really want to go, do you?”

Another tear.

“Don’t do this. Just let me go.”

“I . . .” His voice deceives him. “I fucking can’t.” Lifting my chin, he searches my eyes, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for something, for any kind of tell. “Can we talk? Please?”

Lowering my head, I shake it. “There is no use, Hayden. There is no point in dragging on the inevitable. You’re moving to Los Angeles. I’m staying here. Let’s call it like it is.”

“And what’s that?” he grinds out.

Lifting my gaze, I hold my breath. “A summer fling I will forever remember.”

Twisting his lips, his jaw shifting back and forth, he punches the door behind me before lifting away and shouting, “Fuck.”

Not able to take any more, my heart crumbling into an unfixable pile, I turn my back and slip out the door. I jog to my car, and the minute the door shuts, I let out a wail of a cry and rest my head against the steering wheel. Catching my breath, I start my car and look out the window where I find Hayden standing in the frame of his front door, both hands pulling on the back of his neck, the lift of his shirt showing off a patch of tan skin on his narrow waist.

Pulling myself together, I wipe the tears from my face and put the car in reverse. All the while, Hayden keeps his eyes trained on me, never detaching, never letting go.

That was without a doubt the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do.

To walk away from the man who stole my heart.

To say goodbye when all I want to do is stay.

When all I want to do is love.