Something in Jared changes. Like an icy wind blew through and froze him solid.
"Dad!" I shriek and literally put my hands on his chest and shove. "Get. Out. Actually, move out of my way. I'm leaving with Jared."
"No." Jared's voice is hollow. "No, stay, Angelina. I'll go." He drops to hang from the balcony, then lets go and falls softly to his feet on the grass below.
"No." I fight past my dad and dash for the stairs. I fly outside in my bare feet just as Jared's starting up his motorcycle. "Wait!" I yell.
He turns his head in my direction but doesn't look at me. His focus is a million miles away. He's receded into a shell of his normal self.
"Jared, wait. I'm really sorry about that. I don't know why my dad's acting so crazy. It's just been a weird night."
"No," he cuts me off. "Your dad is right. This isn't going to work." He revs the gas and shifts the motorcycle into gear.
"Wait." I grab his forearm. If I could just get him to look at me.
To come back to me.
But he's gone. Not physically, yet. But emotionally. The Jared I know isn't there.
"Jared, please. Can we talk? I don't even understand what's happening here."
He turns and his expression is hard. "Yes, you do. You and I weren't meant to be, angel." His use of the endearment without any of the usual feeling flays me. "We knew it from the start and we were fighting fate. It's better if we cut ourselves free now, before things get even harder."
He looks at me for one moment longer while I struggle to speak, and then he guns the motorcycle and shoots off, down the street.
"Jared!" I scream at his back, but he doesn't turn. Doesn't respond. Just drives away, his broad back getting small until he disappears around a bend.
I drop to my knees. "No."
"Angelina, Angelina, come in." My mom's scandalized voice reaches me, but I don't move. "What's the matter with you? Get up, honey. This is ridiculous." She hauls on my arm until I blink away the tears enough to stand up and get myself inside. Back to my stupid frilly bedroom, where I collapse on the bed and cry myself to sleep.
I'm the hollow man.
What was that stupid T. S. Eliot poem they made us read in high school? I can't believe I remember it. I seriously can't. I remember very little from high school, but for some reason, that poem is what surfaces now.
Because I'm a lovesick fool, I look it up on my phone.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper.
Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. No wonder that poem surfaced. It's the same depressing bullshit I'm feeling right now.
It's been five days since I drove away from Angelina's parents' house. Five sleepless nights. One hundred twenty hours logged in the warehouse, making everything goddamn perfect for Angelina.
Is it ironic that I still need to help her even though she won't remember me? Won't know why I'm doing it?
That I loved-no, love, present tense-her?
Because Garrett's sent the order to have her wiped. He was patient at first-gave me a few days to make certain I wasn't going to change my mind. I refused to talk about what happened between us with any of them-even Trey. All I said was that it was for the best.
This is the way things have to be. Angelina's dad was right. I have nothing to offer their beautiful rising star. I would only drag her down.
A nightclub bouncer who uses his fists more than his brains? I'm nothing compared to her.
So yesterday Garrett came over to the warehouse and picked up a paint roller and a can of paint and helped me paint the entire set black. Then he told me it had to be done and asked how I wanted it taken care of.
Trey was there and offered to take care of it, which was a relief. Because he's the only guy I trust and there's no way I can handle that shit. I guess I'm a fucking coward.
I didn't ask when it was going to go down. I really don't want to know. So long as it's done by the next time I see her. Because I only want to see happiness on that girl's face. If I see any more pain, I'm going to tear the roof off this fucking row of warehouses.
I still don't know how I'll present the warehouse to her. Maybe just chat her up at the club and mention I stumbled on a great performance space and I think she should check it out.
And that thought feels about as good as getting hit by train. Or a car. No, I'd get hit by Angelina's car again in a heartbeat. I'd groundhog that day over and over again because it was the night I finally got to kiss her. To touch her. To make her scream in pleasure.
She's still my mate. Even if I can't have her. I will watch over her and protect her until the day I die. Even if it means watching her take some human asshole for a husband. I'll be goddamn happy for her as long as she's happy.
And I'll do whatever I can to make sure her dreams are fulfilled.
Even if that means sacrificing my own chance at happiness. My own future with a mate and pups.
I don't care.
As long as Angelina doesn't get hurt.