by Lauren Helms
But I offer more truth, which is fucking hard, I like to keep my cards close to my chest. “No, I mean I haven’t told her about the job.” I suck down the rest of my soda.
“She’s your girlfriend, man.” He leans back in his seat, studying me. Then he shakes his head.
“I know,” I grumble as I pick up a barbecue chip from the bag. “She knows there’s a job offer, I just didn’t tell her anything about it.”
“Or that taking it would put even more miles between you.” He shakes his head in disbelief some more.
“Yeah.”
He leans forward. “Fuck, Ben, that’s a bad move. Take it from someone who was in a relationship that didn’t have honesty about career paths and goals. You gotta keep things open. Make decisions together.”
“We haven’t been a couple for long. It feels premature to talk about career changes, possible moves, and whatnot. She’s not going to move to Chicago or New York.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “She say that?”
“No. But I don’t want her to think she even has to consider it,” I growl.
Simon doesn’t back down. “What about California? There are a shit-ton of gaming companies that have made that state home. You could make the move there.”
“We both agreed to a long-distance relationship, Simon,” I mutter as I ball up the empty sandwich wrapper.
“So you aren’t interested in being together in the same town then.” It’s not a question. And honestly, this conversation has me pissed off.
“I really like Kelly, but our lives are extremely different. And I have to think about what’s best for myself right now.”
His eyes bulge. “Wow. Douchewaffle alert.”
“Yeah, I know.” I scrub my hand down my face. “I know.”
“Look. I’m not giving you career or relationship advice, but I’ll say this—don’t let a girl worth keeping around get away because you’re too much of a coward to admit she’s worth it. If you don’t want that job, then pass on it. Don’t force yourself into a situation you don’t like because you feel you’re out of options. You’re not. You have time and choices.”
“That sounds a lot like both relationship and career advice, Si,” I tell him.
He lifts a shoulder before pushing back in his chair. We gather our trash from the table, and I lean over to pick up a napkin off the floor as my phone falls out of my side pocket. It tumbles to the floor right as a group of people walk by.
I hear the crunch as my eyes slam shut.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Aw, shit,” someone grumbles. I straighten and look down at where my smashed phone is being scooped up by big, meaty hands.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I saw it right as it was too late.” The massive dude hands me my phone. The screen is shattered six ways from Sunday. I tap at the screen and nothing happens.
“Really, man. I’m sorry,” he offers. Pressing my lips tight, I just nod, not bothering to look at him. My lack of response must piss him off because he doesn’t shut up. “Maybe don’t leave your phone on the floor in a busy walkway next time.”
Whipping my head toward him, I glare daggers. I open my mouth to rip him a new one when Simon steps up.
“All right, advice noted.” He shoves me a little in the opposite direction of the beefy man and his friends. I glare at him for a second longer as I let Simon steer me away before I can say something shitty back.
“I’m sure you can find time to stop by an Apple store before we head home,” Simon says by my side.
I just stare down at my phone, pissed at my fucking luck.
14
Kelly
Leaning over the granite counter, I mindlessly tap the pen between my fingers on the application I’m supposed to be reviewing.
Another puppy finding its forever home. It’s bittersweet, sending these little furballs home. It’s so easy to become attached to them, but I’m always so happy when they finally find their forever family.
Normally, I don’t work weekends, but I had nothing better to do today, so I came in anyway. Off the clock. That should be a testament to how much I really enjoy my job—that I’m willing to work without pay. Letting out a sigh, I try to refocus my attention.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” a voice behind me sings. Looking over my shoulder, I give Aubrey a tired smile.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
She snorts. “I should ask you the same.”
“We had an abundance of applications come in the past couple of days. I wanted to go through them before Monday.” I tap the sheet I’m holding with the pen again.
“Okay, but you could do that at home. Instead, you’re here. In my shelter. Bringing down the vibe.” She leans her hip against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, and she’s giving me a look that says, Don’t argue, you know I’m right.
“You kicking me out?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
“Nope, but now I’m asking what’s up with you. You’ve been mopey, which is not your default setting.”
“Just having a bad week.” I scoop up the applications and stuff them in a file folder. I suppose I could watch some New Girl while I review these. I need a healthy dose of Nick Miller.
“Uh-huh,” is all she says as she follows me back toward the office.
“You wanna talk about it, cupcake?”
I smile at the nickname. “Not particularly.”
“Do you need to talk about it?” she counters.
I snag my purse off the desk in the back office and heave a sigh. “Probably.”
“All right. Lucky for you, I’m heading home, too. So you and I are gonna get some wine and order in some tacos.”
“Is it even two yet?” I question as she flips the light in the office off.
“Does it matter?” she quips.
“Where’s Chance tonight?”
“He’s helping his sister with some shelving. So if we play our cards right, he’ll bring home milkshakes after tacos.”
Hmmm. I chuckle. “So wine, tacos, and milkshakes are your answers to a bad week?”
“It’s what my girl loves, so, yeah. We can do shots instead of wine if you want.”
“Maybe milkshakes and tacos, then wine later,” I offer. Not sure I can handle wine before milkshakes.
“Anything you want, boo.” She wraps her arm around me and squeezes me tight.
Thirty minutes later, we sit at the picnic table near the beach with tacos and milkshakes.
“All right, spill it.” She wraps up a shrimp taco.
“Ben and I… Well, I think we’re over,” I say sadly, looking down at my fish taco. It’s one of my favorite things ever, and I can’t even enjoy it. My appetite is suddenly nonexistent.
“What? Really?” Aubrey sets down her own taco.
“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t heard from him in a week. So…”
Her eyes bulge. “He’s not dead, is he?” She slaps her hand over her mouth. “Shit.”
“I mean, I don’t think so. He’s at a convention. I peeked at his Twitter feed. He’s been tweeting.”
“Have your texts and calls gone unanswered?” she asks quietly.
“Pretty much. My last text went unanswered. I called yesterday, too. Nothing.” I finally take a bite. I chew slowly, thinking about this hole I’ve found myself in.
She reaches over and places her hand on my arm. “You didn’t say much about your trip to Chicago, but that’s when I noticed the sadness. Did something happen in Chicago?”
I scrunch my face and recall that weekend two weeks ago. What a freaking roller coaster ride that trip was. “The visit started out amazing. He was engaged and extremely happy to see me.”
She waggles her eyebrow. “Like, really happy?”
I snort. “Yeah, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. But on the second day, he got a phone call about a job, and things went downhill from there.”
“A job? Is he in the market?”
“Ye
ah, he’s going to retire from the team soon. He’s been thinking about his next step for a while.” I wave that off and continue to tell her about the weekend. “Anyway, he was withdrawn and snippy. He didn’t want to tell me about the call or the job when I asked. By the time he dropped me off at the airport, it was like he couldn’t get away from me quick enough. He said he had a lot of shit to figure out, whatever that means. That he needed space to figure it out.”
“I don’t think you could give him any more space,” she mutters.
“I know, right? But he hugged me and said he was sorry and told me to text when I got home.” I shrugged.
“Okay.” She says slowly. “So are things still rocky?”
“Well, we still text every day, but the calls have become few and far between. There have been times where we text throughout the whole day, but in the past week, our communication has been nothing more than a random text here and there.”
She curses under her breath, but I don’t miss the string of nasty words.
“All right. What’s going through your head right now?” She chews on her lip.
“I’m thinking that I was falling really freaking hard for him. So much so I was considering what would happen if I moved to Chicago at some point.” Aubrey’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as I continue. “But now… now I’m thinking I might have just set a record of the shortest relationship I’ve ever had.” I place my cheek into my palm, my elbow leaning on the rough wood table.
She sighs. “Oh, Kelly.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight back the tears.
“You think you two are through without even officially ending it?” Her voice is soft, laced with concern.
I just nod, my eyes still closed. She sighs, but it’s quiet for a few beats.
“Well, I think it’s bullshit,” she seethes.
My eyes pop open and take her in. She looks downright pissed. “I liked the guy. I really did. I saw the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you. This connection between you runs deep, even if it’s young. But long-distance relationships are hard. You gotta fight for what you want.”
“But what if what I want isn’t worth fighting for?” A tear springs free. “What if I don’t want a long-distance relationship? I knew it was a bad idea, I just didn’t want to lose him so quickly. But it’s not what I want. I want Ben, but not if he doesn’t want me. And honestly, after the way he’s acted over the past two weeks, I think he’s made his intentions clear.”
She shakes her head, opens her mouth, then shuts it. I gaze off at the ocean, wishing I could be out there without a care in the world.
“Then I think you need to be the one to end it. No more of this “I think it’s over” crap. Call him, text him, email him—hell, fly out there and end it face to face. He doesn’t deserve your tears. But you deserve to put this behind you and move on.”
I never take my eyes off the horizon, but I nod in acknowledgment. I know she’s right. I deserve more. Better. She lets me wallow for a bit longer, then we head home. She pours us wine and then we pop in my favorite movie, Pitch Perfect.
We drink wine before switching to shots. I know, I know. Wine before liquor, never sicker. But when you’re heartbroken, you make stupid decisions.
The room is spinning as I tumble into my bed. I shove one foot over the side of the bed and plant it firmly on the ground. I take deep breaths in and out as I start to calm the storm that’s sure to be a gnarly hangover. Suddenly, I contemplate calling Ben. I think it through for all of about five seconds before I’m slapping around on my bed for my discarded phone. I can’t open my eyes to pull up his number, so I say, “Siri, callllll Ven.” But my words are slurred so my British male Siri replies, “Did you mean Ben from your contacts?”
“Yessss,” I gripe.
“Calling Ben,” he replies.
Ring after ring, there’s no answer. His voicemail starts rolling, and while I shouldn’t leave a message, I think about what I should say. The beep sounds and I say nothing. I’m at a loss for words and then I hear an automated voice say, “Goodbye.” And the line goes dead.
Silently, I curse him for breaking my heart just like I expected he would.
I don’t leave a message, but I lie there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how I got here. Fine, if he won’t answer, I’ll text him. I open my eyes, worried about the room spinning again, but nothing moves so I place the phone up in my face and type. Slowly, though—the keyboard is blurry.
Me: I can’t do this anymore.
Me: We’re done.
Minutes, I think—maybe longer—go by before I pry open one eye to see if he responded. Disappointment and fury seethe through me. There’s no answer. I don’t know why I expected him to break his silence now. Anger fuses through my bones, wrapping its way around my heart and nearly strangling me. I text Ben one final time.
Me: You’re a fucking asshole.
I’m too mad and too drunk to cry. I did enough of that this afternoon when I told my best friend everything. So, no, I don’t cry. But waves of nausea roll through me. Shooting up in bed, I push myself off the bed and stumble through the room and into the small bathroom. Leaning over the toilet, I start praying to the porcelain god that I will never, ever drink again.
Tears roll down my cheeks—it’s just par for the course when I get sick. They aren’t tears for Ben.
No.
Fuck Ben Ford and his stupid face.
And fuck you, fate, for putting him in my path so many times.
“Universe, go fuck yourself,” I growl, gritting my teeth before another coil of acid comes roaring up my throat.
At some point, I make it back to my bed. Late twenties is far too old to be spending the night next to the toilet. Eventually, I roll out of my bed and walk, eyes closed, through my tiny apartment. My hands out in front of me, I fumble around as I walk to the kitchen to find Advil and pour a glass of water. After shooting down the meds, I slowly make my way to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and swish around some mouthwash. I know I reek, and I plan on a shower as soon as the medicine starts working.
I face plant into the couch and groan as I realize it’s way too bright in here. I contemplate moving back to my room when there’s a knock at the door.
“Go away,” I mumble.
The knock comes again, and I grumble into the couch.
“Kelly, you dead in there?” I recognize Chance’s voice and groan as I draw myself up. As I go, I grab the sunglasses that sit on the coffee table, shoving them on before I unlock the door.
Squinting and covering my face, I hiss as if I’m a vampire seeing the sun. Shit, I feel like I’m dying, that’s for sure.
Chance’s deep chuckle doesn’t help. “Shit, Kelly. You’ve seen better days, my friend.”
I leave the door open and walk back to the couch, smashing my face into the cushion. I hear him chuckle again and then the door quietly shuts. After seeing the sun, the room isn’t nearly as bright as I thought.
“What do you want?” I groan.
“I figured since Aubrey just crawled into bed after spending half the night in the bathroom, you probably would be in a similar situation. My suspicions weren’t wrong. You need a shower, kid. You stink.”
“I’m not dead. And I’ll shower as soon as the medicine I just took kicks in.”
“You’re grumbly. And it’s fun.” And he’s a jerk. His voice is light, but he’s not speaking very loud so at least he’s a considerate jerk.
“What do you want?” I whine again.
“I brought coffee.” My ears perk up at his words. It’s like lifting a hundred pounds, but I manage to lift my head off the couch.
“Really?”
“Yup. But ya gotta sit up to drink it.”
I do just as he suggests. It takes effort, but I do it. He hands me the coffee, and that’s when I see he has a yellow-wrapped breakfast sandwich for me.
“I didn’t know your preference, but Aubrey loves the sausage biscuits, so I got y
ou one, too.” He hands it over. The iconic greasy breakfast sandwich smell hits my nose, and I nearly sigh with content.
“Egg and cheese, too?” I whimper as I unwrap it.
“Only the best for my hungover wife and her best friend.” He takes a seat in the one recliner next to the couch as I take a bite.
Through a moan, I tell him, “Thank you.” He lets me get a few more bites in before talking again.
He clears his throat. “So. Last night. You were really feeling the booze.”
“Bad week.” A take a sip of coffee.
“Yeah, I heard.”
I make eye contact with him as I chew, and I can tell he wants to say more. “Spit it out.” I don’t care if I still have food in my mouth.
“Aubrey and I don’t like seeing you like this. Do you need me to help with anything?” Sometimes I forget he’s from Australia, his accent only coming out occasionally.
My face softens. He’s such a good man. “Thank you,” I tell him. My phone pings at my side, and I pull it out of the hoodie pocket, totally forgetting I shoved it in there as I was rolling out of bed.
Aubrey: Are you alive? I sent Chance to save you if you are indeed dead.
Snorting, I type back.
Me: Not dead anymore. The sandwich and coffee were a good call.
“Is that my wife?” he asks as I look down at my phone. I tell him yeah as I leave her text thread and see my most recent texts.
Oh, shit. The last words I texted last night are all I see.
“What’s wrong, Kelly?” Chance’s voice is laced with concern.
“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,” I mutter and tears fill my eyes, my vision blurring.
“Kelly,” he growls. I read aloud the last three messages I sent Ben. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the couch.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he bites out.
“Apparently, in my drunken state, I texted Ben.” I cover my eyes, remembering I still have sunglasses on. I yank them off and wipe my eyes.
