Shit.” I bang my head against my headboard. It’s been three days since Ember landed my dinner on my lap, three days since I’ve heard her sweet voice—although it wasn’t exactly coated in sugar at the time. Three days since she cut me with those words, with the pain in her eyes that I never meant to give her.

I stare down at my phone, wondering how in the hell I got myself into this mess. I have nothing against love. Hell, I’ve always known it existed in some manifestation, but the truth is, I didn’t want to feel the knife plunging into my chest like it did with Meghan. I glance over her precious bear. And here that knife hasn’t stopped plunging into my chest since Friday night.

Damn, silly, stupid bet. And for what? Something I could have bought myself night one and should have rather than putting my hand in some juvenile frat boy ante.

My eyes close a moment and block the light from the world, ironic since Ember took all the light with her that night. That night. I was hours away from letting her know how I feel. I was about to pull her close, right here on this bed, and let her know that there has never been a woman who has unlocked my frozen heart the way she has. And now it’s right back to subzero temperatures, burned and necrotic from the deep freeze. There’s no way Ember will ever forgive me. Nor should she. And in the mother of all ironies, it was Trish I opened up to last night. I went over to visit Chelle, who is completely on the mend and apparently headed to the park this afternoon—but it was the fact Trish offered me a cup of coffee that loosened my vocal cords. It felt good to get it all out. The only problem is, I spilled all the right words to the wrong woman. Trish says she’s happy for me—too bad Ember isn’t happy.

All of my groveling texts, my direct approach to knocking on her dormitory door, none of it worked. Blocked at every pass. Something tells me that when Ember Sparks is pissed off at you, there is a better chance of a hailstorm in hell than her ever gifting you a warm smile again. Nope. I’ve done this. I’ve nailed the coffin shut with my ego, and now I’ll have to live with it. For a brief moment, I was living someone else’s life, falling for someone, out of control and reveling in it. I was a poster boy for my own reality show. Ember and I could have had it all, and in the rotten end we’re left with less than zero.

A hard thump comes from downstairs right before the doorbell goes off spastically.

I spring to my feet and fly on down, skipping three stairs at a time just to get there faster. I swing the door open with my heart stomping its way out of my chest, my adrenaline shooting through the stratosphere, but it’s not Ember’s beautiful face I see.

“It’s just you.” I step back as Scarlett breezes by me. I lean out before shutting the door and can’t help but note not a single soul in the vicinity. Her red hair looks wiry, makeup streaking her face in that undone princess way she seems to be selling herself these days. “You’re losing your touch. Where’s the mob of paps who live to document your every move?”

“They’re no longer in hot pursuit.” Scarlett glares at me with those heavily drawn in eyes, those bright red painted lips that look more like a slash than a bowtie. “Why have you been avoiding me? I want you back.” She pulls me in by the tie, a greedy grin taking over her papery skin. Her lips come dangerously close to mine as the hint of hard liquor emanates off her breath. “You know you want me, too, Dex Dex. We’re a good team, remember?”

“You called me a mule, if memory serves correct.”

She glowers at me as if it were all my fault.

“Crap.” I hold up my hands. “All right. I admit I was to blame, but you ultimately showed me the door.”

“You left me no choice!” she riots back.

“And here we are, right where we left off.” I nod to the door. “Come on, this is over. You don’t need my negative energy. I’m sorry, Scarlett, but you don’t have my heart. Let me call someone to pick you up. You’re in no condition to drive.”

“Oh, I’ve been driving all morning.” Her eyes come alive like flames, bloodshot and dangerous. “Would you like to know where I’ve been?” She ticks her head toward the door. “Paid a little visit to that bitch ex-wife of yours who used to call me a country fried skank.” She twitches a quick smile. Those bright red lips of hers look as if they’re issuing me a warning, and I’m taking it.

“You saw Trish?” I glance to my bedroom where I’ve left my phone to rot.

“That’s right.” A sputtering laugh comes from her, and it’s becoming crystal meth clear she’s come genuinely unhinged. “You know who else I saw? My sweet little Chelly pie.” The clown grin on her face turns upside down. “But Trish wouldn’t let me near her.” Her brows tick up as if someone up above were pulling them on a string. “So, I simply got in my car and waited. Said they were leaving, so I followed right along. You really should talk to Trish about being a little more careful.” A long, drawn-out laugh belches from her. “Let’s just say I got my Chelly pie time in while Trish was yacking her head off.” Scarlett takes a step back. Her affect bleeds of all emotion. “She’s in the car now, Dexter. Chelly and I are finally going to be a family. You can be the daddy. Would you like that?”

“Who’s in the car?” The world warps into a pinhole as both rage and worry take over at once. I lunge for the door, and a stiletto boot lands square over my back sending me to the wall. “So help me God, if you hurt my baby.” I twist my way to the door and find myself staring down the barrel of a graphite black Ruger. I know it well. I gifted it to her.

It’s all I can do to steady my breathing. My hands slowly rise as if I were under arrest, my eyes never leaving that damning dark hole that has the power to do me in, change my destiny, make me a memory to my own daughter, to Ember.

“You don’t want to do this, Scar.” I swallow hard, carefully moving my gaze to meet with hers. “Put the gun down.”

Both hands are steadied over the hellish device. Her face is squinted in pain, her mouth pulled down, forming a hard square as she grunts and pants, intermittently holding her breath as if she were standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, death at hand—only it appears it will be mine.

“Give me the gun.” I hold out my hand, slow and steady, hoping she won’t notice that my proximity to hers is closing. “I won’t tell a soul. We’ll get Chelle and go out for donuts like we used to.”

An agonizing sound comes from her throat, caught between a laugh and cry.

“You’d like that?”

She groans and nods, tears pouring from her like rain, muddying up her mascara, making her look every bit as deranged as she’s proving to be.

“Why are you doing this?” My right foot edges out toward her without ever lifting off the floor. “Why do you care so much about me when you can have anyone else on the planet? My God, you have male models by the dozen throwing their briefs at you.”

“I don’t care about them!” she screams so loud the windows rattle, and I freeze like wild game staring down the hunter’s barrel. She closed her eyes when she shouted those words, and I missed my chance. I could have knocked her feet out, knocked the gun out of her hands, but Chelle and Ember blinked through my mind in that brief moment and all I saw was them. If this were it, the sum-total of my existence, I would have lost so much. I would have failed so many. I could be a better person if I tried. I could love deeper. I could show my daughter that it’s good to fall in love, to have someone in your life. I could have said those words to Ember that night at the Pinewood Steakhouse. I should have, and now I see what a coward I was. My ego stood up that night and sealed my mouth shut. I was caught. The evidence was damning, but to hell if I was going to spew the words she needed to hear. I needed to lick my wounds for a moment. And for what? I realized the error of my ways as soon as she took off—only then it was too late. And now with Scarlett tottering on the edge of an emotional oblivion, it just might never happen.

She steadies the gun with her hands as she widens her stance. “Say you love me!” she shrills so loud her voice goes threadbare.

But I can’t say it. The only sound we hear is the firing of that Ruger, shockingly loud, numbing all of my senses, deafening me to the world as I fall to the floor.

A pool of blood pours out of me like oil, like wine, and the world collapses to darkness.