Chapter 82 For the best
“Kaden,” Bastian says quietly, tightening his hold on my wrist just slightly. “Listen to me.”
I shake my head immediately.
“No.”
My voice comes out rougher than I mean for it to. I’m suddenly too aware of everything. The pressure of his hand around my wrist. The silence in the room. The distant pulse of music through the walls. The fact that he’s standing this close while trying to tell me this is over.
“I’m tired,” I tell him. “It’s been a long day, and if I’m not bartending tonight, then I wanna go home and sleep. So, please let go.”
For a second, he just looks at me. But then he says it anyway... “I think it’s best if we keep things strictly professional going forward.”
I whip around so fast I nearly stumble. I can feel the raw edges of my pride beginning to fray. There’s fire burning beneath my skin now. It crawls straight up my chest into my throat and settles behind my eyes because anger’s easier than letting him see how badly that actually hurt. Then I stare at him in disbelief.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
His expression tightens almost imperceptibly. “Kaden...”
“No.” I step toward him this time. “Seriously. What makes you think you can just toy with someone’s emotions like this?”
“I’m not. I wasn't.”
That curt, controlled tone again. Like he’s discussing contracts instead of ripping something apart between us. It pisses me off instantly. I yank my arm fully free even though he’s already loosened his grip, then look him dead in the eye.
“No.”
For the first time since I walked into this room, he actually looks momentarily thrown. It’s a small flicker, gone almost immediately. But I catch it. “I’m going home,” I tell him firmly. “And you’re gonna stand here and take a minute to fucking think this through. Then when you realize what a massive jerk you’re being, you’re going to finally use that damn phone of yours and actually answer my texts.”
His jaw flexes. “Kaden.” His voice drops lower. “Trust me. This is for the best.”
I’m so frustrated I don’t know what to do with it.
“You might know everything about me,” I say, breathing harder now, “but you definitely don't know what’s best for me. And this?” I gesture sharply between us. “This proves it.”
There’s a rational part of my brain screaming at me to leave. Now. While I still have some dignity left. Because apparently I’m standing here arguing against being rejected like an absolute idiot. It’s pathetic. It’s a terrible look. But I ignore it completely, because something inside me refuses to accept this conversation. Refuses to believe this is real after everything between us. I’ve moved past self-respect into something much more desperate.
I turn to leave, get three steps toward the door, and then whip around again because the words won’t stay inside me.
“Is this what you do?”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What?”
I stare at him. At the man who kissed me like I mattered. Held me like I mattered. Looked at me like I fucking mattered.
“Do you just go around getting inside people’s heads for fun?” I ask harshly. “Pull them in until they’re attached and then decide you’re done?”
“I wasn’t–”
“You were.”
His eyes flash. And for the first time, his composure cracks just slightly. “If that’s how you feel,” he says tightly, “then all the more reason to put an end to this.”
“Fuck you.” The words echo sharp in the quiet room. I gesture between us again, furious now. Hurt enough that it physically aches in my chest. “You don't get to do this just because you had a nightmare and panicked.”
That lands...I see it land. His entire expression shifts for half a second. Something raw flashing behind his eyes before he locks it back down. I turn and walk straight for the door again, and this time I don’t stop. I’m done. I’m empty.
“Kaden!” he calls out, his voice sharp with a sudden, desperate urgency.
I don't even look back. I reach the door, my hand closing over the cool metal of the handle. “If you wanna talk to me,” I say over my shoulder, “you have my number.”
Then I yank the door open and slam it behind me hard enough to shake the walls. I don’t stop walking until I’m downstairs again. The music crashes into me immediately after the silence of that room. Voices layered over each other. Everything feels too fucking loud.
There’s this awful awareness crawling beneath my skin as I move through the club. Like Bastian might still be watching me. Like those blue eyes are still pinned to me through the railing or the glass or whatever architectural nonsense exists up there. And it’s messing with my head. The exposure is sickening.
I feel raw, like I’ve been flayed open in the middle of a crowded room. And the worst part is the voice in the back of my head, the one that sounds suspiciously like my own insecurities, whispering that maybe I’m the crazy one. Maybe there was never anything to begin with.
But fuck that. I was there. I felt it every damn time he touched me. Every time he looked at me too long. Every time he kissed me like he was starving and terrified of the same thing simultaneously. You don’t get to infiltrate someone’s life that intensely, weave yourself into their thoughts until they can’t see straight, and then just... decide it was a mistake.
I spot Erica exactly where i left her. I stop for a second, forcing my lungs to expand, trying to slow the frantic rise and fall of my chest. I scrub a hand over my face, trying to wipe away the look of a man who just had his heart stepped on, and stride over.
I tap her shoulder. She turns, a bright, club-ready smile on her face that instantly wilts the second she sees me. "Hey," I say instead, leaning in so I don't have to shout. I gesture toward Trey, "Someone else picked up my shift. Turns out I’m not working tonight, so I’m heading home."
I look at her, trying to keep my eyes from darting toward the stairs. "You good? Or do you need that ride?"
"Oh," she says, her brow furrowed with concern. "Actually, a friend of mine is on her way to meet me here, I'm good."
Relief washes through me instantly. I can’t handle a detour right now. Or conversation. Or pretending I’m okay for thirty straight minutes in a confined space.
"Good. That's good." I give a stiff, jerky nod. "Okay. Goodnight. Stay safe, alright?"
I start to turn, but she reaches out, her fingers squeezing my upper arm. She pulls me back just enough to study my face, her eyes searching mine with a sharp, feminine intuition that I really don't have the energy to fight right now.
"Kaden," she murmurs, leaning closer. "Is everything okay?"
I force a smile. It feels tight, like a mask that’s two sizes too small. "Everything's fine. Just... long day."
She doesn't look convinced, but she's graceful enough not to push. She gives me a quick side-hug, the scent of her perfume momentarily masking the smell of the club. "Right. Get some sleep. I'll see you on the boat."
"See you there."
I turn and walk away, my pace quickening with every step. I don't look back upstairs.