Evan stretched his long legs out in front of him. She thinks I fucked a prostitute the day after I left her apartment, so, yeah, that’s about right. Sighing, he leaned back into the worn leather couch. “You left out the part about her being a liar. And not someone I met in the last few weeks. She had an agenda.”
“So did you.”
“And what the hell was that?”
“You wanted to fuck her.”
“Jesus, you get right to the point, don’t you?”
“Well, that’s what you do. Isn’t it?”
I thought it was until I became obsessed with a leggy fucking blonde. Evan glared at the man whose eyes he swore fucking twinkled. “Even if it is, what therapist talks like you do? I’m positive they don’t teach you that in Patient-Client Relations 101.”
“I’ve always been a firm believer in no bullshit. I told you that the day you walked in and tried to lie to me. We aren’t going to make any progress if you don’t trust me and I don’t trust you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re just—”
“Yes, Evan?”
Evan waved him off. “Nothing. I guess I’m still trying to process the fact that Reagan is that little girl from so long ago. A whole fucking life ago. It’s… I don’t know,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “It’s disconcerting. She knew me before.”
“And that bothers you.”
“Fuck yes, it bothers me. I was ten years old the last time I saw her. Innocent. And now I’m…this.”
“You’re awfully hard on yourself. I wonder if you’re upset over what you’re saying or over Reagan thinking bad of you.”
And there it was. The truth he didn’t want to admit. Reagan accusing him of being with anyone hours after he’d been with her had infuriated him. Which was ridiculous, because he knew what he was. The demons he’d been trying to fight. Why would she assume anything but the worst? But with that anger came embarrassment and shame. He hated that she’d seen him on that corner. Hated that she’d seen him with Layla. But how the fuck could he ever convince her otherwise? And why would he even want to?
“She’s a liar,” he said.
“And you’re a sex addict. Fantastic pairing.”
“You’re not helping. What am I paying you for?”
“To listen. To talk you through your feelings and help you understand them.”
“It could never work with Reagan,” Evan said. His eyes were on the ceiling, trailing the long, jagged crack that ran from one end to the other. As many times as he’d been there, in the impeccable home and office of Dr. Glover, he’d never noticed another flaw. That crack drove him crazy, to the point that he wanted to grab a caulk gun and a ladder and fix the damn thing.
“You know why I leave that there, don’t you?” Dr. Glover asked. When Evan’s eyes met his, he continued, “It’s metaphorical. You see a nice house, a nice facade. Everything seems perfect and in place. But if you look closer, you’ll find that everything has a flaw, Evan. Every person, every relationship, every job. So perhaps it’s not the flaws we should be focusing on, but the beauty of it all. In Reagan’s case, and I can only assume, of course, but I don’t think she was looking at your flaws when she accepted a dinner invitation from you. I believe she was remembering the boy she knew all those years ago. Which brings me to my next question. You said it could never work with Reagan. What can’t work with her? Work? Sex? A friendship? Or a relationship? Because until you know that, all you are going to see when you look at a crack in the ceiling is a crack in the ceiling.”
Evan stared at his therapist, speechless. He couldn’t remember the doctor ever having said so much in one sitting, let alone in the two or so minutes it had taken him to lay that all out on the table.
“Are you ready to admit that Reagan lying to you is not the biggest issue here?”
Evan clasped his hands in his lap for something else to do besides pull his hair out in sheer frustration over those words. “You know it’s not.”
When Dr. Glover merely nodded, Evan blew out a breath. “I wish I’d never gone to cut ties with Layla that night.”
“Then why did you?”
“Fuck.” He looked around the room. “Why don’t you have any alcohol for these deep discussions?”
“Evan.”
“Fine. There was something about her—”
“Layla?”
“Yes. Something familiar.”
“What did she look like?”
“She was, I don’t know, medium height…probably around five seven-ish, but she wore these skyscraper heels and tiny little—”
“Evan. Focus, please. What about her looks? Her hair? Eye color, that kind of thing.”
Evan drew his legs in and planted his feet flat as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“She had dark eyes, and—”
“Like Reagan, correct?”
“Lots of people have dark eyes.”
“But so does Reagan.”
“Right.”
Dr. Glover nodded and then gestured with his finger for Evan to continue.
“Where was I?”
“Layla had dark eyes and…?”
“She had curls. They were long and trailed down over her shoulders—”
“What color?”
“Huh?”
“What color were the curls?”
Evan frowned at him, and then a light bulb went off, and he started to shake his head adamantly. “No.”
“No what?”
“I know what you’re fucking thinking.”
Dr. Glover flicked back through the notebook in his hands and ran his pen down the page. Then he hummed and looked at him. “Your ex-girlfriend, Michele. She had dark, wavy hair and…dark eyes. Just like—”
“Don’t. Even. Say. It. Reagan had blond hair when I met her, so that has nothing to do with it.”
The doctor’s eyes shifted to the clock that hung on the wall behind him, and then he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Okay, well, I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t want to discuss it, because your hour is up.”
Evan’s mouth fell open, his jaw moving as he tried to get the words out. “Wait…what? You’re just going to send me away after you drop that bomb in my lap?”
Dr. Glover stood from the chair and placed his notepad on the large desk in the corner of the room. “Well, you’re the one who said there was nothing to it. So, we’ll make sure to move on next time we see one another.”
“But—”
“Have a nice day, Evan.”
Evan pushed off his knees and stood. “You have a real sadistic streak.”
“All good therapists do.”
Maybe that’s why I like you. You never hold back from giving me a good whipping when needed. Ass.
Shaking his head, Evan said his goodbyes and walked out the front door. A cold wind slapped him in the face as he stepped outside, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep lungful of the bitter fall air. When he opened them again, his gaze fell across the street, at the spot Reagan had been standing one of the last times he’d been there. She’d been trying to hide, casually taking pictures of the East River. His heart had leapt when he’d seen her, dressed casually in yoga pants and with a camera slung around her neck. That day had been light and easy and had led to an even more eventful evening at the speed-dating event he’d tricked her into attending.
That seemed like a lifetime ago.
There is nothing light and easy about where we are now, he thought as he made his way down the stairs and onto the path that led to the train.
And just where the fuck do we go from here? He didn’t have one good goddamn idea.
* * *
REAGAN SAT SLUMPED over the bar top in her apartment, legs swinging off the stool, and slid the empty shot glass back and forth between her hands. A bottle of vodka sat half empty in front of her, and she debated whether it was wise to pour another shot.
Ah, fuck it.
She reached fo
r the bottle and tipped another ounce into the glass. After shooting it, she cringed and grabbed a handful of peanut M&M’s to cut the taste of hairspray to a minimum. Seriously. That shit tasted like Aqua Net.
It wasn’t her thing to sit alone in her apartment and drink her feelings, but there was no way she was leaving her sanctuary. Knowing her luck, she’d run into Evan, since even in a city as large as the Big Apple, she still somehow managed to cross paths with him wherever she went. And I’d just end up dumping my drink on him anyway, which would be a waste of perfectly good alcohol, she thought as she popped another M&M.
The jingle of a key unlocking the front door had her sitting upright and alert, and then ever so slowly she leaned to the left to finger the top of the baseball bat she had standing against the wall behind the bar. She gripped the counter with her right hand so she wouldn’t fall flat on her ass, and as the knob of her front door turned, she sucked in an anxious breath. She kept her eyes trained on the door as it was pushed open, and before she could think better of it, she got her fingers around the metal handle of the bat, hauled it up, and shouted at the top of her lungs, “I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it, motherfucker!”
So what if it was a bat and not a gun? They didn’t know that. Well, not yet, anyway.
She slipped off the stool and raised the bat high by her ear and, for a split second, thought, Smart move, Reagan—what if they have a gun? And as that realization hit, she threw the bat to the ground and dropped to her stomach behind the bar.
“I don’t have any money—”
“Well, that’s a fucking lie right there. You have an apartment in New York City.”
Recognizing her brother’s voice instantly, she pushed up to her knees and then bounced up onto her feet. “Troy? What are you doing here?”
Her brother pulled the key from the lock, strolled inside, and shut the door behind him. “Apparently risking my life if you have a gun on you, Pistol Annie.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she blew a piece of hair that had fallen over her face out of the way. “I don’t really have a gun. I have a bat. I was trying to be scary.”
“To who? Your friendly neighborhood burglar that has a key to your apartment?”
“You do know I gave you that key for emergencies only, right?” She flopped back on the stool and gestured around the apartment. “Do you see an emergency anywhere?”
Troy looked at her and then at the spread of glasses, drinks, and food that lined the bar top. “Any reason you’re three sheets to the wind at”—he glanced at his watch—“three o’clock in the afternoon?”
“Five o’clock somewhere.” Reagan poured another shot and held it out to him.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me if you think I’m shooting vodka. Who does that, J?”
“Well, it was all that was in my freezer. It’s not like I do this on the regular.”
“What, you were all out of mouthwash? I’m sure that would’ve been a better alternative if you wanted to get wasted.”
“Who says I didn’t start there?” When he raised an eyebrow at her, she sighed. “Did Bill send you?”
Troy tossed his keys on the foyer table and took a seat next to her at the bar. “Can’t I just pay my little sis a visit when the mood strikes?”
“No.”
“Maybe I came because I missed Manhattan.”
“You hate the city.”
“Okay, maybe I had a little bird mention I should take a drive and come see you.”
“Little bird? Or maybe a big Bill bird?”
“Maybe that, yeah.” He ruffled her hair, and she smacked his hand away. “I like the brown, J. It’s more you.”
Groaning, she put her head in her hands. “It just made things worse.”
“Made what worse?”
“My whole life,” she wailed.
“Uh…aren’t you being a tad dramatic? If you hate it, change it back.”
She slapped her hands on the counter. “It’s not about the hair. It’s about—”
“So help me, if you say Evan—”
“Fucking Evan,” she said, reaching for her glass again, but Troy grabbed it before she could.
“What did I tell you?”
“Oh, don’t fucking say it. Don’t rub it in. If that’s why you came, do me a favor and march your wise old ass back to suburbia.”
Troy twirled the shot glass between his fingers and took a moment to look around her small apartment. Reagan followed his gaze, and when hers landed on the overstuffed trash bag in the corner by her bed, she winced.
“Did you miss garbage day?”
Of course he didn’t miss that bad reminder. “No. It’s on Friday, for your information.”
“Hmm…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What?” he asked, turning back to face her.
“The hmm?”
He shrugged and then flicked a finger over one of her brown curls. “The drinking, the hair, the waterworks I feel coming any second now, and the garbage bag neatly tied in the corner of your room. Yep, this has all the true signs of a classic boy meltdown, Jennifer-style.”
“Excuse me, I don’t have boy meltdowns. I am an adult. I have mandowns. Manmelts. Shit. You know what I mean.”
“And on that note, I’m raiding your fridge for some real food.” Troy pushed off the stool and came back a few seconds later with slices of turkey, cheese, and bread.
“You still like it without mayo?” he asked, and she nodded before folding her arms on the bar and resting her chin on top of them. She watched him as he made them both sandwiches, extra turkey, and then warmed them in the microwave for ten seconds.
“You remember how I like them,” she said after taking a big bite.
“We only ate them like this every day after school. What do you think older brothers are for?”
Reagan wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sure rescuing sisters from alcohol poisoning isn’t in the manual.”
“Nah, you’re not stupid. But I expect a full explanation when you finish that sandwich.”
She nodded and took another bite, both of them chewing in silence as the minutes passed. Finally, she pushed the plate away and laced her fingers together.
“I fucked up, Troy.” She sighed and then started to twist the ring on her middle finger. “I thought I could handle this—”
“Handle what? Evan?”
She tilted her head to face him and nodded. “Evan, working with him, Bill…everything. But all I ended up doing was hurting them. Both of them.”
Troy reached over and placed his palm on her back, rubbing it in a soothing way as he said softly, “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Oh, it’s true, all right. I lied to Evan from the second I saw him again. I lied to you, when I said I could handle all of this. And the thing I hate the most, the thing I can’t stand, is that I lied to my fucking self. I never do that. I’m always…I don’t know, smarter than that.”
Troy opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t give him a chance.
“You don’t have to say I told you so. I already know. And that’s why I’m so goddamned pissed off. I’m not one of those women who falls head over heels for some guy and does all this stupid shit. But here I am, drinking nasty-ass vodka, and for the first time since he walked back into my life, I don’t have any idea what to do next.”
“Well,” her brother said gently, almost as if talking to a wild animal, “maybe you need to ask yourself what you want to happen next.”
“I don’t know what I want to happen. That’s the whole problem.”
“You know what? I’d like to catch up with my old buddy.”
Reagan’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.”
Troy stood and took her empty plate, placing it in the sink before turning back to face her. “What’s his address, J?”
“I’m not giving it to you.”
Troy crossed his arms over his chest a
nd raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t, Bill will.”
Reagan pursed her lips and glared at him. “Low blow, brother.”
“I do what I must.”
She sighed, but walked over to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a notepad and pen. After scribbling down Evan’s address, she tore off the piece of paper and shoved it into his outstretched palm. As he closed his fingers around the written address, Reagan left hers there and looked up into her brother’s eyes.
“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
He scrunched his face in thought before giving her a wink. “Not too much, I promise.”
“Troy…”
“You worry too much,” he said, and shoved the paper in his pocket. Snatching the bottle of vodka off the bar, he shook his head and emptied the contents down the sink.
“Speaking of worrying too much,” Reagan said, “so do you.”
Troy picked up the keys he’d dumped on the foyer table and said over his shoulder, “See, that’s because we’re so much alike. So just think to yourself, if this situation was reversed, what would you do?”
As he opened the door and stepped outside, Reagan shouted at the top of her lungs, “That’s exactly what’s worrying me.”
But it was too late. The door had slammed shut, and Troy was gone, leaving her to cross her fucking fingers and hope Evan made it out of that encounter alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“OH GOD, RIGHT there.”
A loud thump sounded from the other side of the wall where Evan sat reclined on his couch. And then another. Glancing at the clock, he noted that his neighbors had been at it for over twenty minutes now. He’d never heard them before, but for the past few days, it was as if they’d picked up where his sex life had stopped.
“Harder, fuck!”
“Jesus,” he muttered, turning up the volume on the television and then tossing the remote beside him. It should’ve alarmed him that his dick wasn’t even hard because, normally, he’d get off on hearing a couple fucking. But his mind was elsewhere.
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