Rating: PG
Spoilers: Everything up to The Two Bartlets
Feedback: is as nice as my summer holidays…sigh….
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: Ainsley thinks back on the last couple of weeks.
Author's Note: So I'm back at school after the summer holidays…and I thought everyone should be as vexed as I am right now….

This is the same apartment that I've lived in since I came to Washington. There are years of memories, of memorabilia, and what some would call junk but which I call eclectica, in this apartment, mostly concentrated in my living room.

Rooms filled with memories, but all I can see are the empty spaces.

Most people wouldn't be able to see any difference. They'd walk in here and they'd see the couch where it's always been, the comfortable chairs, the VCR and television. They'd see the bookshelves, still crammed to overflowing with books of all shapes sizes and age ranges. They'd see the tables and the mantelpiece, still full of photographs, including the brand new school-made frame that Alex gave me as a Christmas present. They'd see a desk and computer, littered with papers and pens, and my own brand of organised chaos masquerading as a filing system.

They'd walk in here and think that all was as it ever was.

I'm the only one who sees what's missing; the tell-tales signs that for nearly six months, I had a de facto roommate, that someone else lived here besides me. It was never official; we never got that far. But somewhere along the line, it became a habit for us to stay at my place rather than his; I would usually leave earlier and he'd follow me home. This is the room where we used to talk about our day, curled up on the couch in one another's arms. Sometimes we would watch television, other times we'd listen to music. Sometimes, on rare days off, or evenings off, we'd sit together, each reading our own books, not talking, not needing to talk.

There are blank spaces on my bookshelves where some of his books took up residence; the same in my CD rack.

Every time I open one of the cupboards in the kitchen, I see the mug that I used to give him coffee in all the time. I tried to put it out of my mind by putting it to the back, hiding it out of my sight. Yet every time I open the cupboard, I know that it's back there.

There's a gap on the shelf of my refrigerator door where I used to keep a carton of tomato juice, and another gap on one of the shelves inside, where I used to keep the spare carton. I can't stand the stuff myself, but he always used to have a glass in the morning before he went out.

My bathroom too shows signs of one of the occupiers having vacated it. He never made it obvious that he spent much of his time here; after all, it wouldn't do to have someone who was visiting me notice something suspicious when they used the facilities. But in my bathroom cupboard, there's a shelf that used to have a razor and aftershave and a toothbrush, and everything else that he used in the mornings.

There's a drawer in my bedroom that used to be filled with his clothes, spaces in my closet with empty hangers where his suits used to be.

One side of my bed is cold and flat and empty.

All these empty spaces that no-one else can see but me, but they're nothing to the empty ache that's been inside me since the night that he walked out of my door, taking with him a box of his belongings and my heart.

I know that it had to happen. He lied to me about Jordan Kendall. He went out on a date with her, and despite the fact that he says nothing happened, he wanted it to. What happens the next time she bats her eyelashes at him?

Besides which, I know Leo. I know how long it took him to make a move on me. He's not a man who acts heedlessly.

At least I never thought he was.

I told him to go.

It still hurts like hell though. Almost as much as it hurts to watch him walking around the West Wing. He's good; I'll give him that. Almost everyone has noticed that something is wrong with him; but I've heard the gossip and they're all putting it down to the censure. I know better though. Especially on the rare occasions that I've crossed his path when walking through the halls. Sometimes I'll see him, or I'll be walking down the hall and I'll know, know without even looking, that he's there. I'll turn, or just look at him, and he'll look fine on the surface, but a second look, a longer look, tells me that he's not eating well, and that he's hardly sleeping.

I know this man; I can read his face. I saw him from down the hall on the day of the MS announcement and knew that the President had decided not to run for re-election, purely from the look on Leo's face, so don't tell me that he's not hurting. I know he is.

Even if I wasn't trying to read his face, the times that he's looked up and seen me watching him, or turned to see him watching me, would have given it away. The look in his eyes…it's like his heart is breaking, and I have to turn away from him, get as far away from him as I can, because otherwise I'll break down and cry.

I've been doing that a lot at home without doing it at work too.

It's not made easier by the fact that no-one knew that Leo and I were together, so I've got nobody to talk to about this.

Well, that's not exactly true.

A couple of nights after Leo collected his things, Cliff called me. Unfortunately, he called me in the middle of a rather prolonged fit of weeping. Twice I might add. The first time he called me, I let the machine get it, and he left a message saying that he'd try again in a little while. I knew that Cliff would be as good as his word, so I did my best to pull myself together, and had almost succeeded when the phone rang again. Sure enough, it was him on the other end of the line, and I made up some excuse about having been in the shower when he called earlier and how I had meant to call him back, but my voice wasn't as under control as I'd thought, and Cliff being Cliff, he called me on it.

"You ok Ainse?"

I had to swallow hard before I answered that question, and I think my intake of breath may have been audible. "I'm fine," I began. "It's just been a hell of a couple of days…"

My voice trailed off then as I felt another round of tears come into my eyes. "The censure?" he guessed, when the silence began to stretch. "Ainsley?" he prompted, when I didn't reply.

I didn't reply because I was trying to stop my tears and failing utterly. "Kinda," I finally managed, punctuated by a slight hiccup.

I heard a sigh down the line. "You there alone Ainse?" he asked.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm coming over," he told me, before hanging up the phone. He didn't even say goodbye, which under any other circumstances would have had me teasing him over his lack of phone manners. However, when I opened the door less than a half-hour later, he was standing there with two pints of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey Ice Cream in his arms, and I was ready to forgive him any and all sins after that.

I'm sure I would have done, had he not taken one look at my face, dropped the ice cream on the hall table and pulled me into his arms. Whereupon I cried on his shoulder as he rubbed my back and stroked my hair, and didn't say a word.

When I'd calmed down slightly, he manoeuvred me over to the couch, depositing me on it and handing me the half-empty box of tissues that was on the coffee table. Minutes later, he emerged from my kitchen, a huge bowl piled high with ice cream in his hands. "I put the rest in the freezer," he explaining, handing it down to me. "But I thought this would do for starters." I giggled, remembering another time he'd done this exact same thing for me. Once upon a time, I thought that was the worst heartbreak of my life. What can I say, when I'm wrong, I'm really really wrong. He let me eat a few spoonfuls, watching me carefully, before speaking. "You want to tell me about it?"

Slowly, taking deep breaths, and with the aid of ice cream pauses, I told him the whole story. About what Margaret and Donna had told me the last day that I'd talked to him. How I asked Leo about it that night, and what he told me. How I'd ordered him out of my house, and how he'd gone. How I hadn't talked to him since, not even when he came here the next night to talk to him.

Through it all, Cliff just sat there, not saying a word. When I was finished, I called him on it. "Aren't you going to say anything?" Still, he just looked at me, not even blinking. "No, 'I warned you'? No 'I told you so'?"

Cliff shook his head. "No," he said simply.

"Why not?" I hadn't been expecting that.

His only further response was to put his arm around me. "Because I really hoped that I was wrong."

That had been good for another round of tears and another bowl of ice cream. Or four.

Ever since that night, he's been calling me every couple of days, checking up on me, making sure that I'm all right. Which I'm really not, but I'm doing my best to keep a brave front. I don't think he's buying it though.

Tonight is promising to be another night, just like the last few weeks, where I curl up in front of the television, hoping that no-one comes to the door or decides to call me. Cliff called over last night; we sat down with Chinese food and watched the results of the Iowa Caucus come in, which didn't contain any huge surprises since the President was uncontested. What was surprising was the numbers that Governor Ritchie of Florida put up, and the fact that the scuttlebutt Cliff's been hearing has him as the Republican nominee for the Presidency.

Tonight, it's just gone eight o'clock when the chime of my doorbell sounds throughout the apartment, and I groan to myself. I did order a pizza, but that was only five minutes ago, and it's way too early for it to be the guy. I consider for a moment pretending that I'm not in, but the bell sounds again, and again, more insistently each time. Resigning myself to my fate, I plod through the living room and down the hall, not bothering to check the peephole.

When I open the door, I'm stunned at who I see there, although I barely have time to register who it is before I'm pulled into a hug. I recover myself enough to return it and then pull back, looking up slightly into the face of one of my best friends. "What are you doing here?" I exclaim.

Cassie, my college roommate, shrugs her shoulders, brown eyes twinkling, brown ponytail swinging as she laughs. "Ainsley Hayes, aren't you gonna ask me in?" she wonders, and it's only then that I see the suitcase beside her, as well as the bag of groceries.

I step aside to let her in, then I turn to her. "You're in," I tell her. "Now, what are you doing here?"

She takes off her coat, hanging it up on the coat-stand as if she's always lived here. "I was in town," she shrugs, and I don't know how her Texas twang has got broader from living in New York, but it has. "And you know I always stay with you while I'm in DC, unless of course you want me to go to a hotel…"

I frown, because I vaguely remember Cassie mentioning something to me a couple of weeks ago about possibly coming to town on business, but as near as I can recall, that was all cancelled. "I thought that was all off," I ask out loud, crossing my arms, and I know I've hit paydirt when she chuckles softly, but doesn't look up at me.

"It got put back on again," she tells me. "Plus which, the Federalist Society is having a function on Friday and I have tickets. It's been too long since we went out anywhere together. And like any good houseguest, I brought some food with me, to make up for my landing on your doorstep unannounced." She holds up the bag of groceries, and leads the way into my kitchen, spreading them out on the table.

Three kinds of ice cream. A bottle of chocolate fudge sauce. A rich chocolate cake. One bottle of tequila.

Things suddenly become very clear to me as I look from the spread on my kitchen table to the suddenly guilty face of my best friend, and I narrow my eyes. "How much did he tell you?"

I don't waste any time getting down to business, because I know that I'm right. I'm even more sure of it when she blinks, her brown eyes wide in her head, the very picture of false innocence. "Ainsley, I don't know what you mean."

"When did Cliff call you, and what did he tell you?"

Our eyes lock and hold like that for a long time, and she's the first one to break. What can I say, working for over a year in a Democratic White House, I've become expert in not being the one to blink first. "He said that you were in a bad place and that you might need someone," she tells me, rushing it out in one breath, running her words together.

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, rubbing the bridge of my nose hard. "Figures," I grumble. I'm lost in thoughts of how to best to kill Cliff when I feel a hand on my shoulder. When I look up, Cassie's eyes are filled with sympathy.

"Want to talk about it?" she asks, and I shake my head. It's strange; because before, all I wanted to do was talk about it. Now all I want to do is get drunk with my best friend and laugh like college girls again, back before everything got so complicated. "Well then," Cassie smiles brightly. "Not only do I have all this food…" She goes back out and grabs her carry-on bag, opening the zip triumphantly. "I have entertainment!" She holds up a DVD. "Moulin Rouge. Because Ewan McGregor could sing to me anytime!"

I smile, but I shake my head. I cry like a baby at that film, and I've cried too much already the last few weeks.

"OK…" Undaunted, she pulls out another one. "Someone Like You. Hugh Jackman, in another film where he takes his shirt off. I really do think it's in his contract."

A film where Ashley Judd falls in love with her best friend, where they spend lots of time talking together, and things grow from there. Does that sound heart-breakingly familiar to anyone else? I shake my head again.

"Not to worry." Once more, Cassie reaches into her bag of tricks. "Coyote Ugly," she announces triumphantly. "Girl power, Charlie Daniels music, and Adam Garcia, dancing on the bar."

Once more I shake my head. "I'm really not…"

"OK…" Cassie murmurs, pursing her lips. "I see that it's time for the big guns." A familiar looking video cassette box is next out. "Pure Country."

Memories of a weekend not unlike this one come flooding back to me, Cassie telling me there was no problem that time spent with George Strait couldn't solve. She's probably got five or six of his CDs in her bag just in case, and there's quite a number of them in my CD rack as well.

But once more, I shake my head. "I don't think that even George can do anything for me," I tell her sadly.

She reacts as if I've slapped her. "Not even George?" The box is dropped back in the bag, and she turns to look at me, her eyes wide. "Who is this guy Ainse?"

After that question, it's my turn for the wide eyes. "Cliff didn't tell you?" I ask, surprised.

"All I knew is that you were seeing someone, but you'd told me that. Cliff called me a couple days ago, told me it had ended, that you weren't taking it well. Thought you might need someone. He didn't tell me anything else."

I let my breath out slowly, turning back towards the living room, knowing that she'll follow me. The walk however, gives me time to collect my thoughts, to figure out what I'm going to say to her. I wait until we're sitting down on the couch before I begin. "His name doesn't matter Cass," I begin, and I expect her to protest, but she just nods.

"Someone you maybe shouldn't have been with?" At my nod, she closes her eyes as if in pain. "Ainsley, for the love of God and all that is holy, please tell me he's not married."

"He's not married," I tell her, leaving out the fact that he's divorced. "But I can't tell you his name."

She shrugs. "OK, so you can't tell me his name. What can you tell me?"

"We met a little less than a year and a half ago. We were friends at first. We would talk. First about work. Then about other things. We would do out for coffee together, late at night, after work. It was never supposed to be anything more than that." I sigh, remembering those late night talks, those trips to the coffee-house, the nice young girl who used to bring us our order without being asked, and a pang of longing sweeps through me.

"But you ended up falling for him," Cassie surmises.

I nod. "I didn't even realise it was happening. By the time I realised, it was too late to back out. But even then, nothing happened for a while. Not until last May. He was…" I swallow, remembering all too well the events that had lead up to our first kiss and beyond, the disclosure of the President's MS, and the death of the sweet lady with the cookie jar who had made me feel welcome in the White House and gave me advice on how to handle Lionel Tribbey. "Some stuff was happening. He came to me to talk about it. Just as friends. He wanted my opinion on some things…wanted to know what I thought of it. What I thought of him." I close my eyes, almost able to feel him sitting beside me, his hands pressing a dollar bill into mine, his lips against mine. "That's when I kissed him."

I smile softly, remembering his reaction. "He was such a gentleman Cass. There was only one place that we were heading; one place I wanted it to head. He's the one who put the breaks on. He said he didn't want us to go too quickly, didn't want us to rush things. It wasn't until later that we slept together. Someone we both thought a lot of died suddenly, and he came to tell me…" I shrug, looking up at the ceiling, tears brimming in my eyes. "It seemed stupid to wait when we knew that we wanted."

When she sees my tears, Cassie reaches over and takes my hand. "And you were together since then?" she asks gently.

"Until just after Christmas," I confirm. "There's been a lot going on these past few months; you know that." Cassie has been privy to many complaining phone calls from me over the last year, and her smile tells me that she remembers them well. "But I was happy with him."

"I could tell that."

"He was always so sweet Cass. And it didn't matter what was going on at work or anywhere else. Once the two of us were together, it was like none of that mattered. We had our disagreements, sure, but there was never anything major." There had been that one huge fight in October, but we got over that, left it behind us. The only other serious disagreement we'd had was over whether or not I'd go home for Christmas. Looking back now, I wish I'd stayed.

I meet Cassie's eyes now, shrugging as I do, seeing the sympathy there. "I fell in love with him Cass. Head over heels."

She squeezes my hand again. "What happened?" she asks me quietly.

I swallow hard. "I went home for Christmas early on Christmas Eve morning. I was with him the night before. We had our own Christmas early. Swapped presents, curled up on the couch." It wasn't an especially happy Christmas, being as he was so distraught over the Hearings, but I leave that out. "In the morning, I kissed him goodbye and got a cab to the airport. I did the family thing, we went to Midnight Mass. And I called him late that night. He was supposed to go to friends with friends of his for dinner. There was stuff going on, and he didn't want to be alone. I didn't want him to be alone either. So I was relieved when he was supposed to be going out with them." Once more, I swallow hard. "He went out with another woman instead."

Cassie hisses. "Who was she?"

"Someone he met at work." It's almost the truth, and I hope she doesn't call me on it. "He told me…or he let me think…that it was a business dinner. It was later, when I got home, that I was talking to people. I heard rumours. About the two of them. So I asked him."

"And he admitted it?"

"He told me that he just went out to dinner with her. That nothing happened, that he didn't even kiss her on the cheek."

"You don't believe him?"

I don't have to close my eyes to picture Leo standing there, telling me the whole story. I know Leo. I can read his face. My answer comes easily. "No. I do."

She frowns, puzzled. "Ainsley…" She draws out my name with that accent of hers, and I drop my head into my hands. "If he didn't do anything, then why…"

"Because he did do something!" I protest. "He was attracted to her, he went out to dinner with her. And the only reason that nothing happened is because he had an attack of conscience and couldn't go through with it."

"Isn't it better before than after?"

"Not for me." She shakes her head, tutting, and I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"Ainsley…I love you. You know that. But you're talking a pile of hooey." I make a noise of disgust and begin to stand, but she's still got me by the hand, and her other hand reaches up and grabs my arm, holding me half-standing in place. "This guy was attracted to another woman. It's not ideal, I'll give you that, but it happens. You mean to tell me that you've never looked at another man?" I open my mouth to say something, but she keeps right on going, not letting me get a word in. "So he went out to dinner with her. Fine, he shouldn't have done it. But he stopped it before it went too far. There could be a thousand reasons why he did it, but you told me just now that he was dealing with some stuff…you told me that you didn't want to leave him alone at Christmas, and, by the way, don't think that I don't know that there's a story there, but we can get back to that later. But Ainse, ask yourself this - why were you so scared to leave him alone? Was it because you were afraid that he was messing around? Or was it because you were afraid that he'd do something stupid?"

All through that speech, I was standing in a crouch, and that question had me dropping down to the couch, breath momentarily eluding me. I'd been terrified that he was going to fall off the wagon, that what had happened in that hearing room, what he'd been forced to relive, on top of all that had happened since May, the pressure, the tension, the meeting with Alan Adamley, would all combine to push him over the edge.

"I was afraid he'd do something stupid," I whisper.

"And he did." Cassie's voice is very quiet. "Just not what you thought."

"He lied to me."

Cassie leans back in her seat. "You want to know your problem Ainse?" I look at her curiously. "You think that just because Simon the Jackass was a lying shit that every guy you fall for is going to be the same way. That they're going to hurt you. You don't even know you're doing it, but you do. This mystery man of yours, he was the first guy you've been serious about since Simon, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," I whisper. Except for the fact that Leo is nothing like Simon. Simon cheated on me for months, while we were engaged no less. Leo would never do that. And when he did tell me, there wasn't a hint of remorse on Simon's face. Not like there's been on Leo's. What's happening between us is killing him, I know that.

"You were scared of what might happen. You were probably half expecting him to do this. So when he did, you pushed him away."

I shake my head. "I was never scared of that." Which is true. I always felt secure with Leo, safe. He never made me second guess myself.

Cassie isn't letting that get in the way of her theory though. "So when he did do something jackass-like, it was worse. Because you weren't expecting it," she decides.

I consider that a moment. "I'll give you that one."

"Thank you." She looks at me in silence, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. "Ainse…I know you're hurting. I also know that this guy made you happy." She waggles her head from side to side, as if she's considering how best to word her next sentence. "Don't you think you could be cutting off your nose to spite your face?"

"I can't trust him." Those are the words I said to him, the words I've been telling myself over and over again. I wonder do they sound as hollow to her as they do to me?

I can tell from the look on her face that she's just about to say something entirely disapproving, and I'm saved by the doorbell ringing once again. We look towards it, and I wipe the traces of tears from my face. "I sent out for pizza," I tell her, standing up. "My wallet is in my purse…will you get the door while I find it?"

"Sure," she replies, and I get my purse as quickly as I can, while she takes her time going to the door. I find my purse and am going through it, looking to see if I have enough coins for the pizza when I hear the door open.

There's silence for a minute, then a familiar voice speaks. "I was looking for Ainsley…"

I can feel the colour drain from my face and I look slowly up. Leo is standing there, looking uncertainly at Cassie, and past her to me. He's just come from the office, I know, and he shifts uncertainly on his feet. "Hey Leo," I find myself saying, and I'm amazed at how normal my voice sounds.

I take a couple of steps towards him. Those are the first words I've said to him since we split up, and I really wish we didn't have an audience.

Especially an audience that knows me this well, because Cassie is looking from me to Leo and back, and there's a look on her face that I'm all too familiar with.

"Cassie, this is Leo McGarry, the White House Chief of Staff." In for a penny, in for a pound, I tell myself. "Leo, Cassie Summers."

"It's nice to meet you," After a hastily concealed flicker of recognition, Leo holds out his hand, and Cassie takes it, with a muttered reply that no-one is listening to. "I just needed a word…about the thing…"

"I'll head into the bedroom…" Cassie says when his voice trails off, still looking from one of us to the other. "I can unpack…" She shoots me a look when she bends to pick up her suitcase, and an uncomfortable feeling settles itself in the pit of my stomach. I know I'm going to hear all about this later on.

I wait until I hear the click of the bedroom door, but even then, I'd bet every last cent in my bank account that she's listening at the door. "What are you doing here Leo?" I whisper.

He shrugs. "I wanted to talk to you," is all he says, and he steps into the hall, closing the door behind him. "I didn't realise you had company."

"She just got in…I didn't know she was…" I stop talking abruptly, closing my eyes and shaking my head in frustration. It's so easy to forget the way things are, that he shouldn't be here, that he's not a part of my life anymore. "This is nothing to do with you," I tell him firmly. "And you shouldn't be here."

That scored a direct hit, because he winces slightly. "Where should I be?" he asks. "In my office? In the apartment I haven't lived in for the last six months because I've spent all my time with you? Where should I be besides here, trying to work this out?"

"There is nothing to work out." I grind out the sentence, enunciating every word.

"There is," he objects, taking a step closer to me. I take a step back, maintaining our distance. "This is not over Ainsley. Not for me."

"You made your choice," I tell him. "It was over the minute you went out with Jordan Kendall."

"Oh for crying-" He stops himself in mid-shout, looking in the direction of my spare room, mindful of the listening ears there. "Nothing happened. I told you that."

"And I told you that's not the point. What happens the next time that things go bad and you're attracted to someone? I will not spend my life looking over my shoulder Leo, and that's what would happen."

"It wouldn't." He takes another step closer to me, reaching out, putting his hand on my elbow. I try to move away, but his grip is firmer than it looks, and he won't let me go. He's not hurting me, or anything like it, but conviction is burning in his eyes, and his hand is warm on my arm. "Ainsley, I promise you, I will never do anything like that again. I will never hurt you again. I made a mistake, I admit that. But do I have to pay for it by losing the most important thing in my life?"

I have to close my eyes, because his proximity is overpowering, and it would be so easy, too easy, to give in. To lean forward, meet his lips with mine and forget that the last few weeks ever happened. I want so much to do that, and I can feel myself leaning towards him, feel his breath on mine…

Then I remember our last conversation and I pull back sharply, wrenching my arm from his grasp, taking two shuddering steps back. "No," I tell him, rubbing my elbow. He didn't hurt me, but I can still feel his touch on my skin. "No," I repeat, and I'm not quite sure who I'm talking to her.

He can't seem to take his eyes off my elbow. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, and I can hear the worry in his voice, as he stretches his hand out to me.

"Not now." He hears the answer and his hand drops back to his side. I see his Adam's apple move up and down once, then twice, and he nods slowly.

"OK." He takes a step back. "OK. I'll go. Just…just think about what I said."

I nod, but I can't speak past the lump in my throat, so I just let him go.

It seems like a long time before I hear the door opening, and I hear footsteps behind me. Muttering a prayer to my dearly departed Momma and Gramma, although Lord alone knows they haven't been kind to me so far, I turn to face Cassie. She's looking at me with an expression her face that's part shock, part horror, with a hint of amazement thrown in for good measure. "Please don’t," I murmur, going back to the couch.

"You are not…you did not…you couldn't have…" If Cassie is having trouble finding a sentence, then it's surely a sign of the Apocalypse. Which, you know, would not be unwelcome right now. "Ainsley Marie Hayes, please tell me that the man you've been seeing, the man who has stomped all over your heart, is not Leo McGarry."

Well, that didn't last long.

There's absolutely nothing I can say to her, so I settle for just staring up at her.

"Ainsley!" Her shriek has me wincing. "He's…he's…he's old enough to be your father! He's your boss, he's an alcoholic…didn't you eviscerate him in print a while ago? He's the White House Chief of Staff…he's a Democrat…what the hell were you thinking?" She pauses for breath, and I open my mouth to say something, but she anticipates me and holds up a hand. "Don't say it Ainsley, please don't say it…"

"I loved him."

She throws up her hand. "And she said it." She drops down into the couch with a sigh, rubbing her forehead.

"I loved him." I say it again, shrugging as the truth comes out. I couldn't stop it if I tried. "I still love him. And I would do anything to take back the last few weeks."

Cassie sighs. "Then why don't you?"

"Because I can't trust him." She rolls her eyes at my response, and this time, it does ring hollow, but I don't know what else to say. "And I won't let him hurt me again."

"Yeah well…" The doorbell rings again, and this time, I'm sure it's the pizza guy. "That stubborn Hayes pride of yours is all well and good Ainse. But it's not going to make you happy. And it's not going to keep you warm at night." She stands, letting me digest that. "I'll get the pizza."

I stay where I am, pushing my hair back from my face, running her last few words through my head. I know that she's right. I know that there's a part of me that would go back to Leo in a heartbeat; I know it's only my pride that's stopping me.

But right now, pride is all that I have.

And I'm not willing to let it go so easily.

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