The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)

His neat, beautiful writing scrapes at what’s left of my strength, knowing whatever is inside has the power to fuel another onslaught of tears, sobs, and crushing pain that I’m just not ready for. I get up, walk to my room, and slide it in front of the mirror on my vanity instead. I need time - time to get myself together before I read it.

Jake kissed someone else, Marissa, of all people! Will I ever be ready to face that?

To some, the act is excusable, maybe even understandable, considering everything that went on leading up to it. I can’t change how irreversibly it has hurt me. It’s about trust, betrayal, and security. He did something as painful as full-on sex. He touched her and gave her something that should only belong to me from the second he gave me his heart, regardless of his pain. He gave his touch to someone he knew would crush me. The woman he will be tied to for an eternity because of her unborn child. I know drunk Jake can be irrational and impulsive, fueled by rage, but there’s still a part of me that shakes its head sadly.

If he loved me, he wouldn’t have been able to throw me aside so carelessly and cruelly, turning to that woman and doing something so vindictive.

Maybe this is what I deserve in life. Perhaps this is my retribution because of the insecure, afraid, emotional, weird mess that I am who pushed him away for so long, even though I’ve no doubt that Jake loves me. I’ve seen it so many times in the ways he’s changed his life for me. I do not doubt that he regrets what he’s done. I would be blind not to see it written all over him, but it’s not any of that which holds me here.

It’s knowing I may never be able to trust him again, letting my insecurities expand beyond control, knowing I’ll always be second-guessing him anytime he leaves me alone. Always doubting if he has unresolved feelings for Marissa. He showed me that all men, even the ones who love you, can still crush you so easily. It’s a black mark in our almost perfect union, a hideous ugly scar, forever there between us.

I know I have blame in this too. Maybe that’s why I can’t hate him, and maybe it’s why even as I’m dying inside, all I want is him. The source of my pain is my only cure, and as much as I hate what he’s done, as much anger and hurt there is inside me, I can’t stop pining for him. It makes me more messed up in the head and unable to get my thoughts straight.

* * *

I spend the next several days locked in my solitude, leaving only to buy groceries and then returning home. I’ve mindlessly sat through so many hours of daytime TV and horrible romantic movies that make me want to throw books at the screen. Sarah should be back soon, and I don’t want her to see what I’ve become; some slobbish, tear-stained mess of a girl living in a sea of junk food, chocolate wrappers, and screwed-up tissues.

Classy look, Emma; really holding yourself together, aren’t you?

After a much-needed pep talk and a long agonizing look in the mirror, I am finally so sick of my depressive mood and disgusting behavior. I force myself to get up and stop moping around like a broken-hearted zombie, doing anything to stop mulling it over in my brain.

I busy myself with cleaning the apartment, wiping away hours of lying around sobbing into tissues, and eating carbs. I can’t bear to look at the endless sea of clothes on my floor, all tied viciously to memories of him. I need to get myself together and show Sarah I can be who I used to be. I can pretend to be in control for her sake by looking as I should and having our home as neatly kept as we usually do. I won’t inflict this person I’ve become on her when she returns. I’m ashamed of who she is.

I have texts from him and emails, all unopened. The bunches of flowers and expensive gifts sent to my door were all turned away. Jake’s trying so hard to reach through my wall of silence and contact me, but as I told him on every returned gift card:

Leave me be. Give me time.

Every time the bell goes, the pain of being betrayed rears its ugly head, with each bunch of gorgeous flowers more extravagant than the last, chocolates, jewelry, and even a stuffed bear holding a broken heart. Each one causing a flood of tears and a ravaged soul. It’s been hell trying to tell the couriers to take them back, that I don’t want any of them. Inflicting my sobbing, manic, blubbering, messed-up self on any delivery guy brave enough to give me any of Jake’s gestures. Flapping my hands to move them out of my sight. It’s all too much to bear, and now I’ve muted the intercom, so drivers assume no one is home.

I can’t fault him for trying to reach me. Not a day has passed that he hasn’t tried, but I’m not ready to face this or him just yet. My head is a mess; my body is a mess; my emotions are a mess. I feel like I’ve been cut loose and left adrift. I can’t focus on a single thing. I’ve never experienced this kind of torment. I thought being sent away by Jake to his dad’s company was the worst pain I would ever endure in my life, but this tops that. This is excruciating.

At night, I barely sleep and reach for him when I do. I dream of him, and each dream gives way to my old night terrors, waking me up in a panic and causing me to dive toward my headboard. I pull my covers to my chest, trying to fight off the shadows coming at me as I drag myself out of my mind, desperate to wake up fully.

Those nights are the worst, drenched in sweat and fear, gasping in terror as I slap at the shadows around me. I wake up, often hoping that it’s all been a dream and that I’m in his apartment again. Held captive by his limbs, and he’s right there beside me to make me feel safe, but every time, my body gives way to sobbing when I realize where I am.

I’ve cried so much that I’m unsure how my body still has any fluid left, but it seems I have a never-ending supply reserved just for him. Exhaustion is the only thing that helps numb the pain; my head is foggy with fatigue constantly.

* * *

“Emma?” Sarah’s worried voice hits me as I scrub the cooker for the fiftieth time, her arms flying around me as she sees me. I didn’t even hear her come in. I finally caved a few hours ago, in a phone call while she got ready to travel home, and told her why I was here, unable to talk through tears, but she finally understood.

“Oh, my God! I was frantic the whole flight, desperate to get back to you.” She croons, holding me tight, and I relax into her embrace. Holding myself together, telling myself not to fall apart. To not be the girl who crumbles when her friend asks how she is.

“I’m okay, Sarah … Better than I was the last couple of days.” a numbness has started to envelop me most of the time, making me able to cope with menial tasks and mindless routines in an almost zombie-like state.

I turn in her arms and spot Marcus scurrying away with cases to her room, a typical man avoiding female tears, a real charmer. Jake would have brushed them away for me and asked me to tell him all about it. He would’ve wiped the floor with the likes of Marcus and his evasive behavior to female tears.

I push down the thought and bite my lip.

I can’t keep torturing myself this way. Stop thinking about him.

“Is this it? Are you really walking away from what you had?” She gazes at me with an intense frown. “He made a mistake, Emma … He’s human.” Her revelation surprises me; it makes me stop what I’m doing and gape at her.

“On our call, you were all for me kicking him the balls, if I remember.” I point out in surprise. Complete disbelief etched on my face. In truth, I’m more than a little hurt.

“Yeah, but then I had time to simmer and think about everything, Ems … Jake loves you. I don’t think this is something he’d ever repeat.” She looks incredibly sincere at this very moment.

Why am I shocked? She’s just another version of my mother, letting a man hurt you then crawling back to him again. She’s given Marcus so many chances in the past, and here he is again.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m beyond confused.” I admit, glancing down between us at the way she’s holding both of my hands tightly, a sudden urge to haul her into my arms and cry. I don’t miss the old me who never allowed this kind of touch between us. It’s comforting and so necessary to me right now.

“Emma, think about it, he could’ve done more than a kiss … He could’ve taken her back to her hotel and done the deed. As soon as he kissed her, he knew he’d fucked-up, right?” Her hopeful blue gaze bores into my face, and I try to ignore it.

I can’t deny that the Jake of old would have thought nothing of screwing some girl from a bar or even screwing Marissa if he was drunk enough. He’d done that already, the baby proof of that. I quash down the vile thoughts of his body entwined with hers, revulsion pushing up my throat at the traumatic visions going through my mind.

“So, you think I should just forget it … Brush it off as nothing?!” I snap, yanking my hands away. Of all people, I expected Sarah to be on my side.

But not this!

“No, of course, I don’t. He’s hurt you, Emma. But I think you can move past this and be with him again when you’re ready.” She sounds so young and pleading. I don’t want this version of Sarah. I want her jokes on what she would do to maim him in her unrelenting loyalty to me, dragging his name through the dirt, calling him all the cusswords she can think of. Instead, she’s championing him, making me feel anger that has lain dormant the past few days.

“It’s not just the kiss … It’s who he kissed!” I stamp, pulling myself away, heading to the couch, and slumping down. Trying hard to simmer the wave or irritation growing in my belly. “It was her … Marissa. The one person I hate more than anyone and the one person that can truly kill everything between us.” the tears sting my eyes at the mention of that bitch’s name, and I bite them back defiantly. Not while her name is on my lips, I wouldn’t dare.

That bitch will never get my tears.

“It probably wasn’t a choice, Emma, just a coincidence. Someone or anyone that happened to throw themselves at him because that’s how much he was hurting; how irrational he was being … There was no attraction in it.” She raises her hands almost in exasperation and meets my furious scowl.

How are you so sure, Sarah, because I don’t even know!?

“If he loved me, then he wouldn’t have so cruelly kissed her.” I spit, her stance unmoving, arms folded across her chest as though dealing with a petulant child. Her voice is steady and stern with a look in her eye that belongs to a schoolmistress.