DARREN tossed his suitcase onto the bed and flopped into the chair next to the window, tipping his head back against the headrest. The curtains were open, providing him with a view of a sliver of the lakefront, two blocks away. He stared at the choppy water, his stomach churning.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve known better.
No more, he told himself. No more letting him get to you.
He pulled out his cell phone to check the time. He’d already deleted the two text messages that had come in since he left their hotel room. He considered blocking the number but didn’t want to waste any more energy on him.
Ducking into the bathroom, he relieved himself and washed his hands. He glanced into the mirror, taken aback by what he saw. His hair looked like straw, his skin was pale, and his eyes were red from the tears he’d shed in sheer frustration. He grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the cold water, pressing it against his face.
Dammit, he thought. I’m not going to do this. He’s not going to win.
Not this time.