Playing, p.24
Playing, page 24
This…
Fuck, this doesn't make any sense.
She wipes a tear from her eye. "I should have told you. I know that. But you'd have left."
"No." My voice rises. It's too fucking loud. I'm causing a scene.
But it's my birthday.
I can cause a fucking scene if I want.
"Yeah, you would have. That doesn't make it right, but… I… I guess I wanted to believe you." She struggles through her words. "To believe it was possible you might love me anyway."
My eyes find hers.
Those same beautiful blue eyes.
Filled with that same hurt. Usually, I'm desperate to destroy it.
But now?
Fuck, my head hurts.
Iris takes a step backward. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
I try to find words, but they're too ugly. Too raw.
What the fuck can I say?
I did mean it, that the past didn't matter.
It didn't.
But it does.
I'm a fucking liar.
As bad as she is.
No, worse.
But that doesn't change shit.
I still can't stomach this.
I still—
I swallow the last drop of my drink. It still fails to offer clarity.
I don't know much. But I do know this. "You should go."
Her heart breaks. Fuck, I can see it all over her face.
I still hate her pain.
But I still can't do this.
This still doesn't make any sense.
Her eyes go to the floor.
Without a word, she turns, and moves to the door.
It swings shut behind her.
Everyone looks at me.
Fuck that. I refill my drink.
Dean steps forward. He tries to grab the cup. Knocks it over instead. "You're not going after her?"
I shake my head.
I don't see how it can be anything else.
I don't…
This doesn't make any sense.
"What the fuck, Walker? You're crazy about her." He scratches his head. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You heard everything. You know the answer."
"She's an addict. So what?" Something fills his eyes. Guilt.
"You knew?"
"Suspected."
"So that lecture about friends helping each other. That was bullshit?"
"You're being a fucking idiot."
"Fuck you." Fuck the entire world. Is there anyone I can trust not to keep shit from me?
"You're gonna regret this tomorrow."
"No. I'm gonna regret being sober tomorrow."
Someone steps forward. "I'll talk to her." That's Leighton. She sounds worried.
But it's a blur.
It's all a blur.
It's all bullshit.
It's all a fucked-up mess.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Iris
A tattoo shop in Venice Beach is a terrible idea.
There's nowhere to park.
I keep taking the bus here. Because Walker keeps driving me home. But now…
Where the hell is the bus stop anyway?
I pull my cell from my purse. Unlock the screen. A drop falls on it.
A tear.
I blink and another catches on my lashes.
Fuck.
This is bad.
This is so bad.
No… it's worse than bad.
It's over.
That look in his eyes…
He hates me.
He hates me and there's nothing I can do about it.
"Hey." Heels click on the pavement. "Shit." They stumble. "These stupid shoes are too loose." Leighton catches herself. She takes a shaky step forward. Forces her raspberry lips into a smile.
"I appreciate whatever this is, but—"
"You want to take the bus?"
"How did you…"
She motions to the bus stop to my left.
Oh. Duh. I'm way too out of it. "I'll be fine."
She pulls her keys from her purse. "I'm leaving. This is my last offer."
"I…" I press my lips together. "Did you hear everything?"
"Enough."
"You think I'm a liar too?"
"It's none of my business."
"You really believe that?"
She presses her lips to one side. "Depends on the day." She motions to the street to our right and nods follow me.
I don't want to take the bus.
And she isn't looking at me like I'm the scum of the Earth.
I follow her down the side street. We walk in silence for a few blocks.
She hits her key fob and an old silver sedan's lights turn on. "Go ahead." She motions to the passenger side door.
"Thanks." I open it. Slide into the car. Click my seatbelt.
She gets in, slides the key into the ignition, looks to me. "You, um… You live in Brentwood, right?"
"Yeah. It's easiest to take eleventh to Wilshire."
She nods sure, turns the key, puts the car in drive.
Music flows through the speakers. Something familiar. It was popular when I was in high school. Well, Leighton looks about my age, maybe a little younger, so I guess it was popular when we were in high school.
I lean back in my seat. Smooth my dress. Press my heels together.
She's quiet as she pulls onto eleventh.
I watch the sun sink into the horizon. The pink sky is beautiful. But it doesn't stick.
"Can I ask you something?" My voice is soft. Unsteady.
She nods. "Shoot."
"Do you think Walker will forgive me?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah."
"No."
My stomach drops. She's right. I know that. But hearing another person say it…
Fuck.
She turns onto Wilshire.
"You think I'm an asshole?" I ask.
"Did he really lay on that 'the past doesn't matter' shit?"
"Yeah."
"Then no. You're not an asshole. You made a mistake. Everyone does."
"Will he ever see it that way?"
"I hope so." Her fingers tap the dash. "But I really don't know."
Chapter Thirty-Six
Walker
"Either you're an idiot or you have a deep appreciation for irony." Brendon hoists my arm onto his shoulder.
"He's an idiot." Dean grabs the other.
Fucking assholes.
I don't need their help.
I can get wasted and stumble home on my own just fine.
Dean drags me up the steps to my apartment.
"Fuck you." I try to pull my arms to my sides, but there's two of them and one of me. It isn't happening.
Fuck this.
Fuck the entire universe.
"Didn't work the first time." Dean motions to the door. "Hand me your keys or I'm digging through your pocket."
"You're holding my arm." I grit my teeth.
"You're being a child." He shoots Brendon a look and releases my right arm.
"Thanks." I flip him off, dig into my pockets, take out my keys. The pewter Millennium Falcon, the one Iris bought me, mocks me.
I can see her soft lips pressing into a smile. I can hear her nervous giggle. Do you like it? Tell me you like it.
Was she high?
Thinking about getting high?
Did she mean a single fucking thing she said?
Dean grabs the key. Slides it into the lock and kicks the door open.
"I can walk." I plant both feet on the ground.
They share a look. Can he?
I use their distraction to pull my arm free. Stomp into my apartment.
All right, I stumble.
I'm drunk, yeah, but not drunk enough.
I won't be drunk enough until the entire fucking world is a blur.
I can't think about this. I need it far away. I need to forget every time Iris ever smiled.
I need to forget how badly I want her.
How much I meant it when I said the past is the past.
I did. I really fucking did. I was sure there was nothing ugly in her past. I was sure there was nothing like this.
I…
My head pounds.
My heart aches.
Brendon fills a glass of water and hands it to me.
I drink. Even though they're both assholes.
There. I set the glass on the counter. The damn thing only makes me think of her.
Her lips on mine.
Her thighs wrapped around me.
Her groans in my ears.
She's all over this room.
And my bedroom.
And the shop.
Even the fucking ocean—the one place where shit always makes sense—makes me think of her.
"We should hide his wallet," Dean says. "So he can't go out again."
Brendon shakes his head. "He won't."
"Go fuck yourself." I press my hand against the wall. The room is spinning. But it's not from too much whiskey. It's my world tilting on its axis.
I know all the signs.
They were there.
It was obvious. How cagey Iris got about Bree. How she kept alluding to some secret I'd never forgive. How she looked at me when I tore her clothes off—like it might be the last time.
But I didn't see it.
I didn't have a fucking clue.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Iris
I wake up with a familiar headache. An I've been crying all night, my body is deprived of sleep, salt, and water headache.
Coffee and sugar only make it worse.
I'm a zombie at school. I absorb nothing in my classes. I fumble over walking undergrads through experiments. I stare at the results without a clue as to what they mean.
Work is the only thing that makes sense to me.
And even that is fuzzy.
* * *
A long walk helps. The pounding fades to a dull ache. My thoughts settle. The world comes into focus.
I manage to sleep. To get up on time. Shower. Eat breakfast. Drink coffee. Pretend to pay attention at school.
I even make it to the gym. And manage to read a little.
But, all day, I think of him.
He might hate me.
He might never want to see me again.
But then he might not.
He might forgive me.
He might still care about me.
I wait until I'm home. Until I'm fed and showered and ready for bed.
And I text him.
Iris: I'm sorry.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Walker
My phone buzzes against the end table.
Fuck. I thought I turned that off.
Who the hell is texting at this hour?
I squeeze my eyes shut. Rub my temples. My head is still aching. It's been aching nonstop for days. Ever since I saw Iris's heartbreak written all over her face.
I did that.
But she—
Fuck.
This still doesn't make any sense.
I pull my arms over my head. Let out a heavy exhale.
That must be her.
Whatever it is, I'm not ready to hear it.
I'm not ready to piece this together.
My cell's notification light blinks. It mocks me with its brightness.
I turn over. Pull the blanket over my head. Block out every bit of light in the room.
It doesn't help.
My head keeps pounding.
My thoughts stay on her.
All the sincerity in her blue eyes.
How much of it was real? Was she high when she was with me? Did she sneak off to the bathroom to swallow a handful of pills?
I don't know what to believe.
I toss and turn forever. Eventually, my thoughts slow. I drift into an uneasy sleep.
I dream about her.
I wake up wishing she was here.
Fuck, this isn't how it's supposed to go.
I'm supposed to hate her more than I want her.
It should be like one of those angry breakup songs. How could you do this? How could you lie to me? I don't need shit from you anymore.
It is…
But there's this other verse.
Come back. Explain. I miss you. I need you. I'm pretty sure I love you.
I get up. Piss. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Make coffee. It's good shit. French roast.
But it makes me think of her.
Everything I do as I get ready makes me think of her.
I check the time on my cell. It's early enough for this.
And there's her text.
Two words.
I'm sorry.
I don't want to believe it.
But I do.
* * *
The cold water numbs my hands and feet.
It wakes up my tired brain.
It sends all my thoughts right back to Iris.
I paddle past the break point. Watch waves form and crash on the sand. Wait for the right set.
Turn my board. Catch a wave. Hop to my feet.
It's an amazing ride.
But I barely feel it.
I barely manage to balance.
My head isn't in the game.
It's on Iris.
The way she smiled as she propped herself up on her surfboard.
The way she looked at me like I could take all her pain away.
All that shaking in her shoulders as she tried to tell me.
The way it stopped when I promised it didn't matter.
I spend the entire morning at the beach. I catch wave after wave. I manage to clear my head enough to balance.
But I still drive home thinking of her.
I still shower thinking of her.
I still get dressed wanting to wrap my arms around her.
* * *
I muster up the enthusiasm to high-five my customer on his way out the door. He sat through a huge piece of ink. It's a badass design. The kind of thing that usually excites me. That usually demands every bit of my attention.
It helped. It did.
Iris stayed in the back of my mind.
But now that my distraction is gone, my brain is flashing a neon sign. Iris in capital letters.
I force a smile as the guy walks away. It fades as soon as I turn into the shop. We're past our usual closing time. Except for Ryan and Leighton whispering over something at the counter, the place is empty.
They look cozy. Strangely cozy given Ryan's usual attitude toward conversation.
His misery finally makes sense to me.
It's like I'm missing a limb.
But it's worse. Because it's like the limb told me to go fuck myself and removed itself from my body.
All right, that doesn't make any sense.
I'm not an idiot. I get that this is my doing as much as hers. But that knowledge doesn't help with the ache in my gut or the pounding in my head.
I need a drink.
Or twelve.
How can I be pissed at her for using when I'm willing to let whiskey wash all this away?
The logic does nothing to soothe me. Or warm the ice around my heart. Or get the I hate her and the I need her halves of my brain to make up.
She should have told me. We both know that.
But then it shouldn't have mattered. Not this much. I meant it. I did want her exactly as she is. I did believe the past was the past.
But what if it wasn't the past?
What if she's still using? Or thinking about using?
Fuck. She could be high right now.
She could be as desperate to get out of her head as I am.
Ryan turns to me and nods. He motions to his suite. Let's talk.
Uh…
I'm not sure Ryan has ever wanted to talk to me.
Lecture me, yeah.
Deliver news, sure.
Go over some business shit, of course.
But conversation about something other than work?
No. I'm getting ahead of myself. It might be about work. Maybe he's finally going to stop vetoing all potential new hires as not serious enough.
He moves to his suite. Shoots me a get the fuck over here now look.
All right. I take the bait. It can't be worse than the thoughts going around my head.
I join him.
He shakes his head, sending his wavy hair all over the place. "You're an asshole."
"That it?"
"You flung your girl's dirty laundry all over the room."
"She's not my girl anymore." I lean against the divider wall. "What's it to you?"
He shrugs.
"That's it?" Seriously, what the fuck?
"Yeah."
"What? Am I stealing your thing?"
"Fuck no. You don't wear misery like I do."
Fair enough. It's natural on Ryan. Like he was born with a frown. Hell, I barely remember him with a smile. He was never the happiest guy in the world, but when he was around Penny…
"You love her, huh?"
"Why do you care?"
"Fuck, Dean was right. You're stupid."
"How the fuck do you know about that?"
"He's my brother." He taps his head in the duh motion. "You do realize you're my friend?"
"Yeah. And?" We're not exactly buddy-buddy. We rarely speak. Don't get me wrong. I like Ryan. I want the best for him. But I'm not expecting an invite to be his groomsman… in some parallel universe where he's interested in love.
"Believe it or not, I don't want to see the entire world miserable."
"You've been sulking over your ex cheating for a year."
"And?"
"It's been a few days."
"You like being miserable?"
"Do you?"
"That's not the point."
"Yeah, it is." I'm done with this conversation. I can be a miserable asshole if I want. If anyone understands that, it should be Ryan. "What? You get free rein to hate the world but I don't?"
"I don't sulk."
"Yeah, you do."
He shakes his head stupid kids. "It's not that she cheated."
"What is it?"
"She's gone. Yeah, I hate her for sleeping with that asshole. But, no matter how much I hate her, there's a gaping hole in my chest the size of her."
"You'd take her back?"
"I don't know. Doesn't matter. She's still with him."
"You really keep tabs?" The pounding in my head lessons. Fuck, it's nice thinking about someone else's problems. About anything that isn't how much I hate Iris. And how much I want her.
Fuck, this doesn't make any sense.
She wipes a tear from her eye. "I should have told you. I know that. But you'd have left."
"No." My voice rises. It's too fucking loud. I'm causing a scene.
But it's my birthday.
I can cause a fucking scene if I want.
"Yeah, you would have. That doesn't make it right, but… I… I guess I wanted to believe you." She struggles through her words. "To believe it was possible you might love me anyway."
My eyes find hers.
Those same beautiful blue eyes.
Filled with that same hurt. Usually, I'm desperate to destroy it.
But now?
Fuck, my head hurts.
Iris takes a step backward. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
I try to find words, but they're too ugly. Too raw.
What the fuck can I say?
I did mean it, that the past didn't matter.
It didn't.
But it does.
I'm a fucking liar.
As bad as she is.
No, worse.
But that doesn't change shit.
I still can't stomach this.
I still—
I swallow the last drop of my drink. It still fails to offer clarity.
I don't know much. But I do know this. "You should go."
Her heart breaks. Fuck, I can see it all over her face.
I still hate her pain.
But I still can't do this.
This still doesn't make any sense.
Her eyes go to the floor.
Without a word, she turns, and moves to the door.
It swings shut behind her.
Everyone looks at me.
Fuck that. I refill my drink.
Dean steps forward. He tries to grab the cup. Knocks it over instead. "You're not going after her?"
I shake my head.
I don't see how it can be anything else.
I don't…
This doesn't make any sense.
"What the fuck, Walker? You're crazy about her." He scratches his head. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You heard everything. You know the answer."
"She's an addict. So what?" Something fills his eyes. Guilt.
"You knew?"
"Suspected."
"So that lecture about friends helping each other. That was bullshit?"
"You're being a fucking idiot."
"Fuck you." Fuck the entire world. Is there anyone I can trust not to keep shit from me?
"You're gonna regret this tomorrow."
"No. I'm gonna regret being sober tomorrow."
Someone steps forward. "I'll talk to her." That's Leighton. She sounds worried.
But it's a blur.
It's all a blur.
It's all bullshit.
It's all a fucked-up mess.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Iris
A tattoo shop in Venice Beach is a terrible idea.
There's nowhere to park.
I keep taking the bus here. Because Walker keeps driving me home. But now…
Where the hell is the bus stop anyway?
I pull my cell from my purse. Unlock the screen. A drop falls on it.
A tear.
I blink and another catches on my lashes.
Fuck.
This is bad.
This is so bad.
No… it's worse than bad.
It's over.
That look in his eyes…
He hates me.
He hates me and there's nothing I can do about it.
"Hey." Heels click on the pavement. "Shit." They stumble. "These stupid shoes are too loose." Leighton catches herself. She takes a shaky step forward. Forces her raspberry lips into a smile.
"I appreciate whatever this is, but—"
"You want to take the bus?"
"How did you…"
She motions to the bus stop to my left.
Oh. Duh. I'm way too out of it. "I'll be fine."
She pulls her keys from her purse. "I'm leaving. This is my last offer."
"I…" I press my lips together. "Did you hear everything?"
"Enough."
"You think I'm a liar too?"
"It's none of my business."
"You really believe that?"
She presses her lips to one side. "Depends on the day." She motions to the street to our right and nods follow me.
I don't want to take the bus.
And she isn't looking at me like I'm the scum of the Earth.
I follow her down the side street. We walk in silence for a few blocks.
She hits her key fob and an old silver sedan's lights turn on. "Go ahead." She motions to the passenger side door.
"Thanks." I open it. Slide into the car. Click my seatbelt.
She gets in, slides the key into the ignition, looks to me. "You, um… You live in Brentwood, right?"
"Yeah. It's easiest to take eleventh to Wilshire."
She nods sure, turns the key, puts the car in drive.
Music flows through the speakers. Something familiar. It was popular when I was in high school. Well, Leighton looks about my age, maybe a little younger, so I guess it was popular when we were in high school.
I lean back in my seat. Smooth my dress. Press my heels together.
She's quiet as she pulls onto eleventh.
I watch the sun sink into the horizon. The pink sky is beautiful. But it doesn't stick.
"Can I ask you something?" My voice is soft. Unsteady.
She nods. "Shoot."
"Do you think Walker will forgive me?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah."
"No."
My stomach drops. She's right. I know that. But hearing another person say it…
Fuck.
She turns onto Wilshire.
"You think I'm an asshole?" I ask.
"Did he really lay on that 'the past doesn't matter' shit?"
"Yeah."
"Then no. You're not an asshole. You made a mistake. Everyone does."
"Will he ever see it that way?"
"I hope so." Her fingers tap the dash. "But I really don't know."
Chapter Thirty-Six
Walker
"Either you're an idiot or you have a deep appreciation for irony." Brendon hoists my arm onto his shoulder.
"He's an idiot." Dean grabs the other.
Fucking assholes.
I don't need their help.
I can get wasted and stumble home on my own just fine.
Dean drags me up the steps to my apartment.
"Fuck you." I try to pull my arms to my sides, but there's two of them and one of me. It isn't happening.
Fuck this.
Fuck the entire universe.
"Didn't work the first time." Dean motions to the door. "Hand me your keys or I'm digging through your pocket."
"You're holding my arm." I grit my teeth.
"You're being a child." He shoots Brendon a look and releases my right arm.
"Thanks." I flip him off, dig into my pockets, take out my keys. The pewter Millennium Falcon, the one Iris bought me, mocks me.
I can see her soft lips pressing into a smile. I can hear her nervous giggle. Do you like it? Tell me you like it.
Was she high?
Thinking about getting high?
Did she mean a single fucking thing she said?
Dean grabs the key. Slides it into the lock and kicks the door open.
"I can walk." I plant both feet on the ground.
They share a look. Can he?
I use their distraction to pull my arm free. Stomp into my apartment.
All right, I stumble.
I'm drunk, yeah, but not drunk enough.
I won't be drunk enough until the entire fucking world is a blur.
I can't think about this. I need it far away. I need to forget every time Iris ever smiled.
I need to forget how badly I want her.
How much I meant it when I said the past is the past.
I did. I really fucking did. I was sure there was nothing ugly in her past. I was sure there was nothing like this.
I…
My head pounds.
My heart aches.
Brendon fills a glass of water and hands it to me.
I drink. Even though they're both assholes.
There. I set the glass on the counter. The damn thing only makes me think of her.
Her lips on mine.
Her thighs wrapped around me.
Her groans in my ears.
She's all over this room.
And my bedroom.
And the shop.
Even the fucking ocean—the one place where shit always makes sense—makes me think of her.
"We should hide his wallet," Dean says. "So he can't go out again."
Brendon shakes his head. "He won't."
"Go fuck yourself." I press my hand against the wall. The room is spinning. But it's not from too much whiskey. It's my world tilting on its axis.
I know all the signs.
They were there.
It was obvious. How cagey Iris got about Bree. How she kept alluding to some secret I'd never forgive. How she looked at me when I tore her clothes off—like it might be the last time.
But I didn't see it.
I didn't have a fucking clue.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Iris
I wake up with a familiar headache. An I've been crying all night, my body is deprived of sleep, salt, and water headache.
Coffee and sugar only make it worse.
I'm a zombie at school. I absorb nothing in my classes. I fumble over walking undergrads through experiments. I stare at the results without a clue as to what they mean.
Work is the only thing that makes sense to me.
And even that is fuzzy.
* * *
A long walk helps. The pounding fades to a dull ache. My thoughts settle. The world comes into focus.
I manage to sleep. To get up on time. Shower. Eat breakfast. Drink coffee. Pretend to pay attention at school.
I even make it to the gym. And manage to read a little.
But, all day, I think of him.
He might hate me.
He might never want to see me again.
But then he might not.
He might forgive me.
He might still care about me.
I wait until I'm home. Until I'm fed and showered and ready for bed.
And I text him.
Iris: I'm sorry.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Walker
My phone buzzes against the end table.
Fuck. I thought I turned that off.
Who the hell is texting at this hour?
I squeeze my eyes shut. Rub my temples. My head is still aching. It's been aching nonstop for days. Ever since I saw Iris's heartbreak written all over her face.
I did that.
But she—
Fuck.
This still doesn't make any sense.
I pull my arms over my head. Let out a heavy exhale.
That must be her.
Whatever it is, I'm not ready to hear it.
I'm not ready to piece this together.
My cell's notification light blinks. It mocks me with its brightness.
I turn over. Pull the blanket over my head. Block out every bit of light in the room.
It doesn't help.
My head keeps pounding.
My thoughts stay on her.
All the sincerity in her blue eyes.
How much of it was real? Was she high when she was with me? Did she sneak off to the bathroom to swallow a handful of pills?
I don't know what to believe.
I toss and turn forever. Eventually, my thoughts slow. I drift into an uneasy sleep.
I dream about her.
I wake up wishing she was here.
Fuck, this isn't how it's supposed to go.
I'm supposed to hate her more than I want her.
It should be like one of those angry breakup songs. How could you do this? How could you lie to me? I don't need shit from you anymore.
It is…
But there's this other verse.
Come back. Explain. I miss you. I need you. I'm pretty sure I love you.
I get up. Piss. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Make coffee. It's good shit. French roast.
But it makes me think of her.
Everything I do as I get ready makes me think of her.
I check the time on my cell. It's early enough for this.
And there's her text.
Two words.
I'm sorry.
I don't want to believe it.
But I do.
* * *
The cold water numbs my hands and feet.
It wakes up my tired brain.
It sends all my thoughts right back to Iris.
I paddle past the break point. Watch waves form and crash on the sand. Wait for the right set.
Turn my board. Catch a wave. Hop to my feet.
It's an amazing ride.
But I barely feel it.
I barely manage to balance.
My head isn't in the game.
It's on Iris.
The way she smiled as she propped herself up on her surfboard.
The way she looked at me like I could take all her pain away.
All that shaking in her shoulders as she tried to tell me.
The way it stopped when I promised it didn't matter.
I spend the entire morning at the beach. I catch wave after wave. I manage to clear my head enough to balance.
But I still drive home thinking of her.
I still shower thinking of her.
I still get dressed wanting to wrap my arms around her.
* * *
I muster up the enthusiasm to high-five my customer on his way out the door. He sat through a huge piece of ink. It's a badass design. The kind of thing that usually excites me. That usually demands every bit of my attention.
It helped. It did.
Iris stayed in the back of my mind.
But now that my distraction is gone, my brain is flashing a neon sign. Iris in capital letters.
I force a smile as the guy walks away. It fades as soon as I turn into the shop. We're past our usual closing time. Except for Ryan and Leighton whispering over something at the counter, the place is empty.
They look cozy. Strangely cozy given Ryan's usual attitude toward conversation.
His misery finally makes sense to me.
It's like I'm missing a limb.
But it's worse. Because it's like the limb told me to go fuck myself and removed itself from my body.
All right, that doesn't make any sense.
I'm not an idiot. I get that this is my doing as much as hers. But that knowledge doesn't help with the ache in my gut or the pounding in my head.
I need a drink.
Or twelve.
How can I be pissed at her for using when I'm willing to let whiskey wash all this away?
The logic does nothing to soothe me. Or warm the ice around my heart. Or get the I hate her and the I need her halves of my brain to make up.
She should have told me. We both know that.
But then it shouldn't have mattered. Not this much. I meant it. I did want her exactly as she is. I did believe the past was the past.
But what if it wasn't the past?
What if she's still using? Or thinking about using?
Fuck. She could be high right now.
She could be as desperate to get out of her head as I am.
Ryan turns to me and nods. He motions to his suite. Let's talk.
Uh…
I'm not sure Ryan has ever wanted to talk to me.
Lecture me, yeah.
Deliver news, sure.
Go over some business shit, of course.
But conversation about something other than work?
No. I'm getting ahead of myself. It might be about work. Maybe he's finally going to stop vetoing all potential new hires as not serious enough.
He moves to his suite. Shoots me a get the fuck over here now look.
All right. I take the bait. It can't be worse than the thoughts going around my head.
I join him.
He shakes his head, sending his wavy hair all over the place. "You're an asshole."
"That it?"
"You flung your girl's dirty laundry all over the room."
"She's not my girl anymore." I lean against the divider wall. "What's it to you?"
He shrugs.
"That's it?" Seriously, what the fuck?
"Yeah."
"What? Am I stealing your thing?"
"Fuck no. You don't wear misery like I do."
Fair enough. It's natural on Ryan. Like he was born with a frown. Hell, I barely remember him with a smile. He was never the happiest guy in the world, but when he was around Penny…
"You love her, huh?"
"Why do you care?"
"Fuck, Dean was right. You're stupid."
"How the fuck do you know about that?"
"He's my brother." He taps his head in the duh motion. "You do realize you're my friend?"
"Yeah. And?" We're not exactly buddy-buddy. We rarely speak. Don't get me wrong. I like Ryan. I want the best for him. But I'm not expecting an invite to be his groomsman… in some parallel universe where he's interested in love.
"Believe it or not, I don't want to see the entire world miserable."
"You've been sulking over your ex cheating for a year."
"And?"
"It's been a few days."
"You like being miserable?"
"Do you?"
"That's not the point."
"Yeah, it is." I'm done with this conversation. I can be a miserable asshole if I want. If anyone understands that, it should be Ryan. "What? You get free rein to hate the world but I don't?"
"I don't sulk."
"Yeah, you do."
He shakes his head stupid kids. "It's not that she cheated."
"What is it?"
"She's gone. Yeah, I hate her for sleeping with that asshole. But, no matter how much I hate her, there's a gaping hole in my chest the size of her."
"You'd take her back?"
"I don't know. Doesn't matter. She's still with him."
"You really keep tabs?" The pounding in my head lessons. Fuck, it's nice thinking about someone else's problems. About anything that isn't how much I hate Iris. And how much I want her.
