The sun is rising by the time I manage to pack a bag and get ready for work. I’m already running behind schedule since I was supposed to catch the ferry that left ten minutes ago and have no choice but to wait for the next one.

I’m sure Jess will be thrilled with my lateness considering she gave me three days off last week.

Then again, Jess is a shady bitch. So fuck her. The mood I’m in this morning has me tempted to quit, but according to Reggie’s text twenty minutes ago, my nanna still has a pulse.

Which is odd if you ask me, because I’m certain the woman doesn’t have a heart.

Reaching for the tube of concealer, I dab some under my eyes. This way, it won’t look like I’ve spent the last six hours crying over a husband who is God only knows where for the second time in seven days.

Although if I had to take a gander, I’d say there are slot machines and poker tables nearby.

I pick up the mascara next and my mind floats back to all the times I watched my mom put on her makeup in this mirror. It never hit me just how much I favor her until now.  

The thought causes a bubble of anguish to rise to the surface. Not because my mother was unattractive, she was beautiful. Her features were delicate and proportionate, and she had a smile that could light up an entire room.

But that smile was a distraction from her most prominent feature.

Despite her sunny personality, her hazel orbs held a sadness in them that couldn’t be masked.

Like mine do this morning.  

Funny how we only remember the positive things about our loved ones when they’re gone.

After I apply a coat of Chapstick and give myself a once-over, I find my black blazer and slip it on. I’m not sure what one wears for their first day of work at a porn company. Well, when they’re not the talent that is. However, I’m a professional and I’m there to do a job, so I might as well keep it classy.

After I grab my suitcase and car keys, I head for the front door.

Then I pause. What if he doesn’t come back?

A lump fills my throat. I’m this close to calling Jess and asking for another few days off, but I remind myself that Preston is a grown-up. And like a lost dog, he’ll come back eventually.

Or he won’t. And yeah, that will sting, and it very well might break me again…but I’ve built up scar tissue. It’s not as dense as I’d like it to be, but it’s there. Somehow, I’ll find a way to deal.

Hopefully without mind-numbing substances, Brazilian models, or arrests this time around.

Either way, keeping my mind off Preston’s whereabouts and focusing on something I enjoy, like social media management seems better than wilting away in my parents’ house waiting for him to return.

I stick my sunglasses on my face, shielding my sad eyes. I’ve got this.

Straightening my spine, I march forward.

Until I hear the faint click of the front door.

A second later, six feet and three inches of pure asshole comes barging in. Or rather, stumbling.

My heart wants nothing more than to throw my arms around him, but the scar tissue surrounding the organ tells me to sit this one out a little while longer.

Preston’s eyes are bloodshot, and I can smell the potent stench of alcohol coming off him from where I’m standing.

I can’t decide if I find it more humiliating or heartbreaking that the thought of fucking me drove him to drink.

He’s the first to speak. “Hi.”

All I can do is stare at him. Six, make that seven, hours ago I was sprawled out on a bed, ready to do the unthinkable with him before he walked away.

But the only thing he has to say to me when he comes back is a single word containing two letters.

It makes me feel about as insignificant as I did last night.

I clutch the suitcase handle so hard when I walk past him, I’m surprised it doesn’t break.

On second thought, I have two letters for him, too. “F.” I square my shoulders. “U.”

Breslin once told me that bruising a woman’s ego during sex was like ramming your fist right through her chest and bruising her heart.

I never really got that until now. Sure, I’ve been turned down my fair share of times. But never while I was naked and vulnerable. Ignorance really is bliss.

But even that I can get over. What I can’t get over? Is the impassive expression on his face.

It’s tragic how someone who once looked at you like you were everything…can turn right around and look at you like you’re nothing.

“Listen, if you don’t want me to stay here I won’t.”

My nose crinkles. “That’s really the best you can do?”

Silence.

I push past him, but he grabs my elbow. “What do you want from me, Kit?”

The list of things I want from Preston Holden is about a mile long.

But right now? I want him to leave me alone, so I can forget everything that happened between us last night.

“You want me to tell you that I fucked up?” His large hands cup my face and my pulse skitters. “That I’m sorry?” A muscle in his jaw flexes and he lets go of me so abruptly I sway back. “Or that I warned you not to marry me?”

I stand there, chest heaving, the hold I had on my emotions cracking. “I want you to grow a goddamn heart.”

With that, I snatch my suitcase and throw open the front door.