“Please, Roxy,” he started. “I really want—­”

“Do you see how many fucks I have to give when it comes to what you want?” I spread my arms wide. “This many fucks.”

Nick was suddenly there, hands planted on the bar top. “I think you really need to leave.”

“I’m sorry.” Henry raised his hands, looking back and forth between us. “I’m not trying to cause any problems. I just want to talk to her. That’s all.”

Anger swelled inside me so swiftly that when I opened my mouth, I thought I’d breathe fire. “I don’t want to see your face let alone talk to you.”

“You heard the lady,” Nick said, raising his arm and pointing at the door. “Get out.”

Henry looked like he was going to argue, but then shook his head. Reaching down, he pulled a small white square out of his pocket and placed it on the bar. He looked me dead-­on. “Call me. Please.”

I glanced down at what turned out to be a business card with some kind of car on it and then back at him. He’d already turned away, making his way through the crowd. Before I could stop myself, I laughed. It was kind of crazy-­sounding, sort of like the noise a hyena made before it killed something.

Nick reached for the card, but for some reason unknown to me, I grabbed the card. He arched a brow, but I shook my head as I slipped the card into my pocket.

He lowered his head so he could speak into my ear. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, pulling back and looking at him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the shift was uneventful. Instead of seeing Reece, who I secretly kept waiting to see come through the door, all I got was Dean, Henry Williams, two drunk chicks that had puked on the floor, and a guy who offered to buy me a drink and let me give him head.

When I got home, I was too tired to worry about the weirdness that had been going on in my apartment. Placing my phone on the nightstand, I stripped down to my undies and unhooked the bra, leaving the tank top on since it could’ve doubled as a dress. Then I slinked into bed, tugging the covers up to my chin.

Today . . . today sucked.

Yesterday sucked.

Tomorrow had to be better.

That’s what I kept telling myself as I lay there, utterly exhausted. Tomorrow seriously had to be better. And truthfully? When everything first happened with Charlie, it had been worse than this—­the helplessness, the anger, the depression. All of it had been raw and razor sharp. I’d gotten through it. I’d get through whatever crap was happening right now, because what other option did I have? Curl up and give up? That wasn’t in my nature.