63.

☆☆SUMMER’S POV☆☆

I didn’t remember leaving the penthouse. Or the elevator. Or the lobby where the concierge’s eyes caught on my teary face like I was something rotten dragged in from the gutter.

I only remembered Hayden’s hand—the one that stayed on the small of my back the whole time. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run back and bang on Jake’s door and beg him to forgive me. But I didn’t.

I just followed Hayden through the glass doors, out into the bright morning that felt like the end of the world. In my pocket, my phone buzzed. I slipped it out hastily.

But when I looked at the screen, the ink blooming under the glass turned every call into a black smear. I wanted to believe it was Jake. I just wanted him to call me back despite everything. I would make amends. I’d be forever sorry if he wanted me to.

Hayden’s car smelled like old leather and mint. He didn’t speak. Neither did I. His hand never left my thigh as he drove. His thumb drew lazy circles, soft enough to