“I can’t stay here and play make believe anymore. I’m not pretending to love you. I want to go home.” Back to Texas. He would rent a car if he had to that afternoon. He could be in his own bed by that night.
Anton tracked his movements as he gathered his clothes. He felt his heavy gaze when he yanked up his shorts, and he felt it again when he pulled his shirt on over his head.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Anton said softly. “But I can’t hurt her, either.”
“I’ve told you before, Anton, that you deserve to be happy. If she makes you happy, or will make you happy, then who I am to argue, right?” And one day, when the rejection didn’t make him feel broken, he’d truly mean that.8