AVA

The two weeks back in Los Angeles were a slow-motion car crash of both anticipation and doubt.

Every time my phone beeped with a notification, my heart would try to punch its way out of my ribs, only for me to find a goddamn promotional email from my bank or a text from the manager at the club.

Bradley was silent. No "how are you doing?" No "I can’t stop thinking about you." Nothing.

He was playing me, and the worst part was that I knew it.

He was a Marine; of course he knew exactly how to starve an enemy out until they were willing to surrender just...