I jumped into my car and automatically reached for my cell. The phone rang and rang until it went to voice mail. And then I called again. When she didn't pick up, I called the house phone.

"Hello?" Her voice was pitched with panic as if her conniving behavior had been a figment of my imagination. "Angelica, is everything okay?"

I took a deep breath first so my voice would come out clear. "Is Dad with you? Are you in your room right now?" I debated on driving there and doing this face-to-face, but I wanted to save my father from heartache and stress. That had been the purpose of my idiotic silence at the restaurant, right? Why waste it now?

"Yes. Is everything okay?"

"Step out of the room, Mom." I was so done playing her games. It was time she listened.

She muffled something to my father, and I heard the rustle of the bed and a door shut before she got back on the phone.

"Angie, where are you?"

I breathed through my next words. "Did you tell Roland about Cade?" I knew she had, but I wanted her to admit it out loud.

"Angie ... I love you," she began, but I stopped her short before she tried to play on my emotions.

"It's over, Mom. With Roland, with you and your fantasies of getting to dictate what I want to do with my life. It's officially over." Tears nearly threatened to spill over, but I kept myself in check, kept my voice steady. There was no way I’d show her that she’d won, that she’d betrayed and hurt me in ways that were unforgivable, that her actions caused a permanent wedge between Cade and me.

"What did you do? Where's Roland?" Her tone was accusatory.

I blinked. Oh, my goodness. Did she think I offed him? Her voice was tinged with worry, which was not usually in my mother's vocabulary. "I told him we're not getting married."

She huffed, agitated, and aggravated. "You're making a big mistake, Angie. You have to think things through."

I pushed through my next words. "If you really loved me, Mom, you would’ve respected my decision, but you didn't." I had never once remembered raising my voice to my mother. That was Tene's job, but now I understood why. It was because I was the obedient one. I didn’t break things, I fixed them. I could be controlled and Tene couldn't. And my mother couldn't handle things she couldn't control.

"Don't push this, Mother. Don't you dare push this any further, because if you don't accept my decisions in my life, then I don't want you in it."

I hung up before she got the last word in, then I took a deep breath and pushed my key in the ignition, driving to where my head and heart wanted to be—the restaurant.

* * *

I walked into the bar, my feet slow and deliberate. I shouldn't be here. Not so soon, anyways, yet nothing could keep me away from him. He was like a drug—addicting, exhilarating, and electrifying. Now that I’d had a taste of Cade, I couldn't go back to how I was, my life before him.

I stood by the door, fear and anxiety knotted my insides. I watched him wipe down the bar, worried out of my wits that I’d already lost him. Hours ago, I had been here, in front of another man down on one knee and pretending and lying to my family.

Guilt shook through me. It didn't matter that I was in front of my family and we had a slew of spectators watching us. I should’ve said no and not stand there, still silent. But I didn't. Because I was a coward.

I was just like Roland. My words said one thing, yet my actions spoke another.

I could only hope that by standing up to my mother and Roland tonight, things had changed. I just hoped I wasn't too late.

Beautiful tattoos highlighted his toned arms. I'd traced every one of them the other night with the tip of my fingers, now knowing what each one signified. God, what I'd give to run my hands over them now, to rewind time to just nights ago, when we’d made love.

I walked toward him, the sound of my heels clicking on the hardwood. As he turned around, my stomach plummeted to the floor and kept going.

The spark that had previously been in his eyes every time I entered the room was now gone, replaced with apprehension.

I waved my hand, dipping my chin as I approached. "Hi." That's all I said because that's all I had. I had no words and sorry seemed overplayed. Roland had overused the word, and I’d been taking after him recently.

Cade rested both hands on the bar, his eyes dipping to the ground as though he didn't want to see me. We are not ending, I told myself. With my jaw clenched, I straightened my stance and moved forward, willing to fight for him—for us—because what we had was worth it.

The only thing that separated my body from his was the bar. "Please, look at me." My voice was shaky and fragile, just like my broken heart. I begged him to lift his head because I needed to see those hypnotic gray eyes, the eyes that drew me in like no others could.

And when he lifted his head, I saw the wariness had been replaced with war. The anger that I'd been waiting for, been expecting because anyone in his situation would have been livid at the predicament I’d put us in.

"What do you want?" His harsh tone made me jump, made me cower. I wrapped my hand around my middle, keeping myself together, keeping myself steady, straight.

I told him the truth. "I wanted to see you."

His nostrils flared as though I'd hit a nerve. He leaped over the bar, and I jumped back.

"See me? Why are you really here, Angel?" His head jerked up. "Or maybe you're not an angel, huh?" His voice seethed with mounting range. "Maybe you knew what you were doing all along. Playing me, my heartstrings and him like the player that you really are."

My eyes begged him to believe me. My tone was laced with heartbreaking regret. "It's not like that. I never said yes to Roland."

“Well you didn’t say no, did you? I saw him put a ring on your finger.”

His words were like a sucker punch in the gut, each word biting, hitting me, making me step back.

He kept on. "So, you get the boyfriend jealous, then he'll propose? Well, it fucking worked." His breath came out in loud, broken puffs and his features filled with a murderous rage, causing tears to well up behind my eyelids.

It took all my energy, all my might to keep them from falling, seeing that we had come to this. That our love—our passion—had come down to this hatred and knowing that this was my doing.

He stalked forward, and I retreated until the round table hit the back of my butt.

"I know what you want." He grabbed my forearms with such force and jerked me toward him.

He pushed his erection against my stomach. "Is this what you want?" His voice was distant, disconnected, disdainful. He tugged me forward again, the feel of his hard-on pushing through his jeans. "I know you came for this." He gripped my arms with such strength that the third time he pulled me in, tears fell, not from the impact, but from the unbearable hurt in my chest.

"Stop." My tone was whisper soft, broken like glass.

"Stop?" He laughed without humor, his voice incredulous, his eyes wide. "This is what you came for, right? I know this is what you want. Why you keep coming back."

He gripped my ass and shoved his length against my core, and I tensed, putting my hands up against his chest. "Stop." Tears cascaded down my face, the salt hitting my lips. Maybe, in the beginning, it had been the sex, but over the time we'd spent together, it had morphed into something more. Something special, and I was the only one to blame for its demise.

"P-please, Cade. Stop."

My words seemed to break him from the angry haze that controlled him.

He staggered back, releasing his grip. I peered up, and my tears blurred his figure. He ran one hand over the top of his black hair, and I cowered into myself, dropping my gaze to the floor and swiping desperately at my tears, hating how weak I felt in the moment. I had wanted to appear strong, win him back by fighting for him, and I was failing yet again.

With one step forward, he held both hands up. His chin lowered to his chest, his eyes defeated. "I'm sorry," he wheezed out, his voice cracking and thick with emotion. "I'd never hurt you—ever.”

When I nodded, he closed the distance between us and cupped the side of my face, brushing the tears with his thumb as he leaned into me, his forehead against mine. "Never," he whispered.

He tapped his head against mine, so gentle. "I'm sorry." He tenderly kissed my head. "I'm so sorry." His lips trailed to my damp cheeks. "I want you all the time." His hard length pressed against my stomach again. "Even when I'm mad, even when I'm hurt."

He pushed into me. "I want this." He cupped the side of my face, his thumb gently brushing my cheek. "I want this." He kissed my lips, my cheek, my forehead, his touch light as a feather. "But I want this, too." He interlocked our fingers and placed them on my chest, over my heart. "I want this so badly because this—" He placed our hands on his heart now. "—is already yours."

The tears came down harder, faster, longer, and deep sobs racked my insides. "It's yours," I exclaimed with a mad desperation. "All of it."

"Last time I saw you, you were engaged." A small shudder ran through his body.

"I’m so sorry, Cade, it was for show, and I shouldn’t have stayed silent and let that scene play out. I’m sorry," I gushed, emotional and anguished and wrecked. I shook my head fiercely and inhaled deeply through my nose. "My father was there, everyone was staring at me, and I cowardly gave in to the pressure when I knew that I wouldn't go through with it." I spoke with conviction and certainty and pure desperation. "I couldn't go through with it because he's not the man that I want to be with. Because I want to be with you."

He let out a huge unbelieving sigh and his eyebrows furrowed.

He’s unsure about us. And I put that uncertainty there.

"I told Roland I wasn't going to marry him. I told my mother, too, because it's the truth. I know I've said a lot of things before, and my actions haven't always backed up my words, but before I came here tonight, I made things right. Made things right with them, so I could finally make things right with you."

My heart, my eyes, my soul were poured out for him to see. But when he tore his gaze from mine and stepped away, the spark of hope in me extinguished and a sensation of pure desolation swept over me. I was too late.

He dropped his hands, his arms limp at his sides. "I love you, Angel." He ran one shaky hand over his hair. "But ... but you were wearing his ring." He looked tortured as he drew in a deep breath. "And I just can't anymore. I can’t do this back and forth." He pounded his chest with his fist, his eyes wary and defeated. "My heart is fucking breaking, and it's killing me. I ... I just can't."

Looking into the gray eyes that I loved so much, I knew that nothing I said, nothing I could say, would matter because they were merely words, and my actions had failed him.

As he turned to walk away, tears blinded me and choked my voice. My heart shattered in a tiny million pieces at the finality in his eyes, at his words.

At the end of us.