Chapter 216: The Hell I Walked Into

David’s POV

I sat there in my office chair, spinning it slowly like some idiot who couldn’t sit still.

It’s been one week. One damn week and nothing from Holly. Not a text, not a call, not even a sign she was still breathing in this city. My fingers drummed on the armrest, harder than they needed to. I stared out the window at the sky and tried to look calm, like always. But inside? My stomach was in knots.

Did I hurt her that bad? Bad enough that she just… vanished? Did she pack up and run back to L.A., back to Ava and the sunshine and whatever perfect life waited for her there?

I told myself I didn’t care. Hell, I wanted her gone. I’d been clear about that from day one. So why did the thought of her leaving for good feel like someone kicked me in the chest?

I was an asshole that night. Worse than usual. I knew it the second the words left my mouth, but I said them anyway.

I kept telling myself I didn’t care. I kept repeating it like a prayer. Good riddance. She’s gone. Exactly what I wanted.

But every time I closed my eyes I saw her face from that night.

Not the spiteful version I was used to. Not the stubborn, fire-eyed Holly who always pushed back.

I saw another Holly the moment the word left my mouth.

Whore.

I said it loud, careless, like it was the funniest thing in the room.

She went completely still. Like someone hit pause on the whole world except her.

Her face drained of color so fast it scared me, even then. Her mouth opened just a little, like she was trying to pull air in and couldn’t find any. And her eyes, those stupid, wide, trusting eyes, filled up instantly. Not slow. Not blinking it back. Just full, brimming, spilling over before she could stop it.

I watched the first tear slide down her cheek and something in my chest twisted so hard I almost reached forward. Almost.

But I didn’t.

I sat there with that smirk plastered on my face while everyone looked at her.

She looked at me like I’d just reached into her ribcage and crushed something soft and alive.

And then she ran.

I’ve seen that face every single night since.

In my sleep. When I’m awake. When I’m staring at this damn computer screen pretending to work.

I dream about it over and over.

I’m back in my backyard, watching her break in slow motion. Watching the exact second her heart cracked open because of something I said on purpose.

In the dream I try to move. Try to grab the words out of the air and shove them back down my throat. Try to reach for her before she turns away.

But I can’t.

I just sit there, useless, while she cries because of me.

Sometimes in the dream she doesn’t run. She just stands there staring at me with those shattered eyes and whispers, “Why did you do that?”

I wake up gasping, chest tight, tasting blood where I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek raw.

I wanted her gone.

I wanted her to stop looking at me like I was something worth wanting.

I wanted to hurt her before she could hurt me.

And I did it. I did it perfectly.

So why does it feel like I’m the one bleeding out?

Why can’t I stop seeing her face the second I said it?

Why do I keep thinking, over and over, that I would give anything, anything, to take that one moment back?

I told myself I hated her.

I told myself she deserved it.

But the truth is uglier.

And now she is gone because of it.

I’d called her. Four times. Straight to voicemail every time, like her phone was dead or she’d blocked me. I even drove to that apartment she was staying…twice. Knocked until my knuckles hurt. Nothing. No one answered. The door stayed locked, the lights stayed off.

Justin hadn’t heard a word from her since that night either, and every time he looked at me now it was like he wanted to put his fist through my face. He didn’t say it, but I knew he blamed me.

I even swallowed what was left of my pride and went to Tyler. Walked right into his shiny office like I belonged there, asked if he’d talked to her. He looked at me like I was dirt on his shoe and said no. Haven’t heard from her. Don’t know where she is. Now get out.

So where the hell was she?

I thought about calling Ava. More than once. My thumb hovered over her name in my contacts yesterday like a coward. What would I even say? ‘Hey, Ava, funny story…I called your little sister a whore in front of half my neighbors, she ran off crying, and now she’s missing. She with you?’

Yeah. That’d go over real well.

I hated this. Hated how she’d gotten under my skin so quickly in just one night. Hated that I couldn’t stop thinking about her face that night…how it crumpled when I said it. How her eyes went glassy before she turned and ran. I kept replaying the moment I grabbed her chin before embarrassing her. The way she felt under my hand. Soft. Warm. Familiar in a way that made my chest tight.

Stop it, David.

She’s Ava’s sister. She’s trouble. She’s gone. Good.

But I didn’t feel good. I felt like shit.

A sharp knock snapped me out of it.

The door opened before I could answer. Norman walked in, rubbing the stubble on his chin like he hadn’t slept either.

“Any news from Holly?” he asked, straight to the point.

I shook my head. Didn’t trust my voice yet.

He sighed and dropped into the chair across from me. “Dave, I’m tired of making excuses to Griffin. If he pulls out because his little star bailed, we’re screwed. Back to square one. You remember square one. We both lived there too long.”

“I know,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m handling it.”

“You said you fixed it. That was a week ago. Why hasn’t she come back? Give me her address. I’ll go talk to her myself—”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I meant. I stood up fast, chair rolling back and hitting the wall. “I said I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

Norman raised an eyebrow but didn’t push.

One of our staff, Tom, poked his head in, knocked too late, and grinned like a kid on Christmas.

“Boss, she’s here!”

My heart slammed into my ribs.

Holly?

I was moving before my brain caught up. Out of the chair, across the room, hand on the doorknob…then I froze. What the hell was I doing? I cleared my throat, turned back. Norman was staring at me like I’d lost my damn mind.

“If I didn’t know you hated her guts,” he said with a smirk, “I’d think you two were secretly banging.”

He laughed, clapped my shoulder, and walked out.

I stood there like an idiot. Adjusted my tie. Ran a hand through my hair. Caught myself and stopped. What the fuck am I doing? Fixing myself up? For her?

Stupid.

I messed my hair back up on purpose, forced my face into that cold, bored mask I’d perfected years ago, and walked out.

But my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

She was standing in the middle of the office, surrounded by people. Cast on her left hand. Band-aid on her forehead. Bruises peeking out from under her sleeve.

My chest caved in.

Jesus Christ. She’d been hurt.

I wanted to shove everyone out of the way and ask what happened. Who did this? If she was okay. If it was because of that night…because of me.

But I didn’t move. Just stood there, hands in my pockets, pretending I didn’t care.

Someone asked if she was okay. Someone else touched her shoulder. Norman rubbed her arm like it was nothing.

I hated it. Hated all of it.

Then she pulled out a paper. Smiled that soft, polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Norman,” she said, voice steady. “I just came to hand in my resignation.”

The room went dead quiet.

She’s quitting?

This is what I wanted. Right?

This is exactly what I fucking wanted.

So why did it feel like the floor just dropped out from under me?