Pretty Ever After (Chicago Nights Book 3)

by Tabatha Kiss

  The cab comes to stop by the curb.

  She presses her quivering lips together as she looks up at me, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I really thought you got it right this time,” she says.

  Melanie enters to cab and closes the door, shutting me out.

  Thirty-Six

  Robbie

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  How did I fuck this up?

  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

  “Watch it, jerk.”

  I pull back as a man’s elbow digs into my side. “Sorry, sorry,” I say, looking up and offering a half-hearted sympathy stare from my place on the sidewalk. Melanie’s taxi is long gone, but I’m still standing here like an idiot.

  The man sneers at me as he bolts past, his balding head reflecting the green neon sign above us for the corner market beneath my apartment. I glance through the windows, my eyes instantly focusing on the liquor aisle near the counter.

  Fuck.

  Just walk away, Rob.

  But I don’t. I stand still.

  I weigh the obvious pros and cons.

  Relapse is common. Most people fall off the wagon at least once. It doesn’t make them bad people, and it wouldn’t make me one, either, right? Roger’s fallen off twice, and he’s still a good guy.

  What’s one drink?

  It’s cold and warm and far too damn tempting. Seven months down the drain, but at least I’d stop feeling this way for one goddamn minute. No one would blame me.

  Melanie’s gone. What do I even have to lose at this point?

  I walk into the store. I head toward the whiskey at first, but the vodka catches my eye on the way there. If I’m only having one drink, then I want it to numb me down fast. Vodka’s best for that.

  I buy a bottle. Just one. Twenty-three dollars and some change.

  Seven months, I think to myself. Do I really want to throw that away?

  Sure, why not?

  Without Melanie, was it even worth trying to begin with?

  I walk back to my building. I feel a rush of excitement as I climb the stairs. It’s over. I worked hard, but now I get to stop. I get to take a break. I get to sit down on my couch and have a goddamn drink because I deserve one.

  I deserve to feel something other than this.

  I enter my apartment. I smile at the satisfying crinkle of the brown paper bag as I pull the bottle out and set it on the counter. I stare at it, craving satisfaction just beyond the bottle cap.

  It’s over.

  It’s finally over.

  I’m finally free.

  I reach out, ready and willing to grab it, twist the cap off, and drown myself… but a tremor shakes my stiff hand. I flex it twice. I take a breath. I count to five. Then, ten. Twenty. Thirty. My hand keeps shaking.

  Christ, what am I doing?

  I step away from the bottle. I stumble toward my couch and sit down, frantically searching for my phone in my pocket as I go. I swipe and scroll to find Roger’s contact. Each ring feels distant. Too distant for comfort, but I’m scared of what I might do if I hang up.

  “Hey, man,” Roger finally answers. “What’s up?”

  “Rog,” I say, my voice breaking. “I’m having a bad day.”

  There’s a short pause. “How bad?” he asks.

  “Bad.”

  “Are you at your apartment?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right,” he says. “Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”

  He hangs up. I drop my phone onto the coffee table and sit back, but it only makes me remember where I am. I’m on my couch, the place Melanie and I made love for the first time in months. She came here, freezing and snow-covered, her cheeks adorably flush. She kissed me. I kissed her back. We came together right here on this spot and — fucking hell — I could really use that drink.

  Come on, Roger.

  There’s a knock on the door, loud and urgent. He couldn’t possibly be here by now...

  “It’s open!” I shout, not caring who it is.

  The door opens. I turn to look, blinking in surprise at Roger. He stands there, clad in a skin-tight, black latex suit from neck-to-toe. The hood is off, revealing a head of dark, disheveled hair and a thick layer of sweat coated on his forehead.

  “So, what’s happening?” he asks.

  “I messed up, man,” I say.

  He glances around, instantly noticing the bottle on the counter. “I see that.” I say nothing as he steps toward it and picks it up. “The seal isn’t broken,” he says.

  “I didn’t drink it,” I say. “I just... bought it.”

  “Because you wanted to,” he says, not a question.

  “Yeah.”

  “All right.”

  He breaks the seal, easily twisting the cap off with his gloved palm. My chest lurches as he takes the bottle with him toward the sink and turns it upside down. He leaves the bottle sticking up out of the drain and comes back over to me.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Roger pushes the coffee table back a bit before sitting down on it. He faces me, our knees touching, purposefully invading my personal bubble. “You drink anything else?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Rob.”

  “I didn’t,” I say. “I swear.”

  He nods. “It’s all right. I believe you. Your eyes are clear, your breath is clean. You smell like a Disney prince, actually. It’s nice.”

  I chuckle. “Thanks.”

  He places his gloved hands on my knees. “I’m not going to ask you what happened, because I’m sure I already know,” he says. “And I’m not going to say I told you so, either, because that’s dirty and I don’t play that way. But what I am going to do is run across the hall, get dressed, and then you and I will order a bunch of greasy food and shoot the shit. You in?”

  “Yeah, I’m in.”

  “Spectacular.” He pats my thigh. “I should go check on Val before she runs out of oxygen.”

  I blink. “Yeah. Go do that.”

  He stands up quickly. “Back in two shakes.”

  As the door closes behind him, that crushing loneliness returns. It’s not as smothering now that the temptation is gone. I glance over my shoulder at the sink. The butt of the empty bottle sticks up out of the drain. I exhale with relief.

  Seven months. I nearly threw it all away in one moment of weakness. Luckily, all it takes is one moment of strength to turn it all around. And then another one. And another one.

  I thought, eventually, one of those moments would lead to me winning Melanie back, but maybe that was the problem. It was never about winning in the first place. I made it a competition, and I lost.

  But I’m not out yet.

  I’ll take a few days to regroup. I’ll give her a few days to calm down.

  Then I’m getting my wife back again.

  Thirty-Seven

  Melanie

  “It was Robbie?” Nora asks.

  I sit back on the couch in Lance’s living room. “Yep,” I say, hugging a throw pillow. “The whole time. The roses. The late-night messages.” I sigh. “He lied to me. Surprise, surprise.”

  Nora shakes her head in disbelief beside me. Trix sits on the armchair next to us with Layla the dalmatian curled up at her feet.

  “I thought it was weird when you said it was Roger,” Nora says. “It didn’t seem like something he’d do...”

  “Hey, you know...” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I thought that, too. My gut told me it wasn’t him, but I let myself get caught up in Robbie. Again.” I scoff at myself and lean forward to hold my head in my hands. “Can’t believe I’m so stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid,” Trix says. “You’re in love.”

  “Same thing.” I sigh as I sit up. “Whatever, it’s over anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” Nora asks.

  “I mean it’s over,” I say. “I’m done. I broke up with him.”

  She deflates. “Already?” she asks.

  “And I’m not goin
g back. This time, he went too far.”

  “Well...” Trix cants her head. “You did kind of say that before.”

  “I know what I said before. Last time, Robbie had a problem. He had a disease that impaired his judgment. That’s not the case this time. He made this decision sober. He knew how this would hurt me, but he did it anyway. That’s not okay.”

  “I’m not saying it’s okay, Melanie, but you have to admit that you didn’t give him much choice.”

  “I gave him every choice,” I argue. “And, so what? Are we all suddenly supposed to allow all of our old lovers another chance, no matter how much they fucked up just because they want one?” I ask. “If Marcus knocked on the door, would you welcome him with open legs?”

  She furrows her brow. “That’s not what I mean. I’m just saying, Robbie didn’t do this to hurt you. He said he just wanted to see you happy again. That doesn’t sound devious to me.”

  I pause. “When did he say that?”

  Trix inhales sharply and holds it. “I mean, obviously he wants to make you happy. He’s always wanted that.”

  I study her face. She looks at me, but her sharp eyes can barely maintain eye contact with mine. “Trix, did you know about this?” I ask her.

  Nora shifts on her cushion, curious for the answer.

  Trix hesitates before exhaling hard. “Okay, yeah,” she says. “Fine. I knew.”

  My heart clenches, hurt and betrayed.

  “Wait, you knew Robbie was the secret admirer?” Nora asks.

  Trix sighs. “He told me.”

  “When?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, like...” She pauses. “Two months ago?”

  My jaw drops. “You knew about this for two months and you didn’t tell me?!”

  “He made me promise not to.” She winces. “He used Omerta on me.”

  “You thought it was okay to keep this from me because he used a secret mafia handshake? You’re my friend, Trix!”

  “I’m his friend, too, okay? And I made him swear that he’d come clean to you someday! And he did, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, well.” I shrug my shoulders. “I guess that makes it all okay.”

  She scoffs. “Come on, Melanie. This isn’t that big of a deal.”

  “Right...” Nora says, desperate to keep the peace. “Sure, Robbie was a little flawed in his methods, but—”

  I push off the couch as a lump forms in my throat. “So, all those times I talked about the admirer, you two were just laughing behind my back?!”

  “No!” Nora says. “Mel, that’s not true.”

  “Has all of this just been some big joke to you guys?”

  “No!”

  “Yes,” Trix says, glaring at me. “I think it is a joke how you constantly throw your hands up, saying you’re done with Robbie, but you always go back to him. Always. Every single time. Doesn’t matter what he did or how much you whine about it, you crawl right on back because you know that no one else will put up with you the way he does. So, yes, actually, I do think this is a joke. Everyone does.”

  Nora’s mouth sags. “Trix...”

  I grab my things off the couch and walk away, too hurt to look at her anymore.

  “Melanie, wait,” Nora says as she stands.

  “No, it’s fine,” I say by the door. “She’s right. I’m the problem. No one wants to put up with me. Not him. Not you guys. Suddenly, leaving Chicago doesn’t feel so difficult anymore.” I look down, shaking my head as I open the door. “Bye. Sorry I interrupted your dinner.”

  I walk out, ignoring Nora’s pleas as I slam the door.

  Thirty-Eight

  Robbie

  “Hey, guys,” I say to my aquarium.

  The goldfish swim around, catching food and playing with bubbles.

  “Looks like fun.”

  I take yet another deep breath, still trying to shake off last night. I haven’t had a night that bad since my first month sober. Both times, I held a bottle in my hand. I was ready to throw it all away. Both times, the pain of losing Melanie was still fresh and raw.

  But I’m not out yet.

  This, too, shall pass.

  A fish pauses near the front and twitches around as if he’s looking for something.

  I smile. “Yeah, I miss her, too, buddy,” I say.

  My door opens. I turn to check, scoffing at Trix as she strolls inside.

  “I should really lock that more often,” I muse.

  She closes the door behind her and plops her back against it. “So, I fucked up,” she says.

  I smile. “Did your father’s nemesis knock you up again?”

  “Ha-ha,” she says, sighing. “Melanie found out about the secret admirer.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say. “She’s pissed, but don’t worry about it. She’ll come around.”

  She pushes off the door. “I’m not so sure this time, Rob.”

  “I am. If I know Melanie like I know Melanie, then all she needs is a few days to cool off.”

  “Gonna take more than a few days…”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because...” Her shoulders drop. “I accidentally told her I knew about it.”

  I pause. “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did you do that? I purposefully kept your name out of the conversation.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” she says, edging on panic. “It just slipped out while I was trying to defend you.”

  “You defended me?”

  “Yes! Of course.”

  I swoon. “Aww.”

  “Rob.” Trix stares harder. “This is serious.”

  “Okay, so...” I abandon my fish. “What happened? What did she say?”

  “She stormed out on us,” she says. “I’ve never seen her so upset before, and that includes that time you punched that priest.”

  “Never gonna live it down,” I mutter to myself.

  “I tried calling her all night, but she never answered. I’m going over there now, but I thought that maybe we could talk to her together. I don’t know. I just feel sick — sicker than usual lately.”

  I nod, letting it sink in. One of my favorite talents is my ability to know what Melanie Rose is thinking at all times. It’s exceedingly easy to figure out when she’s only pissed off at me. Now that she’s mad at her friends, there’s no way for me to know exactly what she’s thinking right now. My gut twists with a feeling of helplessness.

  Not my favorite emotion.

  “All right,” I say, deciding. “You’re right. We should go apologize now.”

  “If she’ll even talk to us,” she says, her voice weak.

  I pause beside her. “She’ll talk,” I say as I put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know.”

  “But how do you know?”

  I swallow the lie. I have no fucking clue.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  Trix and I climb the stairs, making our way up to Melanie’s condo in silence. As we reach the third floor, we pass by two men carrying a couch. A very familiar couch.

  Melanie’s couch.

  I quicken my pace down the hall, my stomach twisting as I see another man walking out of her condo pushing a dolly stacked with boxes.

  “Shit,” Trix says behind me.

  I barge into the condo. “Melanie?”

  My stomach drops. It’s almost empty. The furniture is gone. The aforementioned couch, her chairs, the TV. Her writing desk, along with her adorable stacks of clutter and used notebooks. The area rug is rolled and stacked against the wall. The kitchen counters are free of appliances, cleaned and wiped down.

  Fucking everything.

  Two more men come out of her bedroom down the hall, each carrying boxes.

  Movers. They’re movers.

  I march toward the bedroom. “Melanie!” I shout, my voice echoing way more than it should.

  Trix reaches for my arm as I pass her. “Rob...”

  I kee
p walking. I sidle past a man with a clipboard in the hall and enter the bedroom, my heart breaking when I see it’s just as bare as the rest of it. No bed. No dresser. Clothes and pillows and just fucking everything.

  Gone.

  She left.

  She left?

  Fucking bullshit.

  “Hey,” I say to the man in the hall with the clipboard. “Where’s the woman who lives here?”

  “I just put boxes on the truck, pal,” he says, not looking up.

  “And where is the truck going?”

  He shrugs.

  I bite down hard.

  “Rob,” Trix chirps from behind me. “We should probably go...”

  “No,” I say, reaching into my pocket for my phone.

  “I think she made up her mind.”

  “No, she wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t just...”

  “Leave without telling anyone she was going?”

  I turn around to face Trix. Her head tilts. Her big eyes glisten with unfallen tears.

  “We should go,” she says.

  No.

  Not fucking yet.

  I call Melanie’s phone. I came here to talk to my wife, and goddammit, I will talk to my wife.

  “Hey, you’ve reached Melanie—”

  I hang up. I call again.

  “Hey, you’ve—”

  I hang up. I call again.

  “Hey, yo—”

  I hang up. I call again.

  “Robbie,” Trix says. “Stop.”

  “Hey—”

  I hang up. I swipe open my contact book this time.

  Trix eases forward. “Who are you calling now?” she asks.

  “There’s no way she’s gone overnight,” I say, finding Drew’s number. “She’s still in Chicago somewhere — and I know exactly where she is.”

  “How?”

  I bring the phone to my ear. “Because she has nowhere else to go.”

  After three rings, Drew answers.

  “Hello?” he asks.

  “Hey, Drew. It’s Robbie,” I say. “Is your sister home?”

  There’s a short pause. “No?”

  “Drew.”

  “I’m not supposed to say anything,” he whispers.