And I certainly didn’t want to admit to Garrett—or anyone— that I couldn’t stomach the sight of Mitch and Sophie. I wanted to try to ignore the pain in the center of my chest that flared to life whenever I saw Mitch hug his girlfriend and kiss her mouth tenderly.
Seeing them forced me to face how monumentally I had screwed up. It made me face how I had thrown away my chance at a happily ever after.
All because I had been scared and too miserable to see what was right in front of my face.
Love.
So I didn’t want to think about how much I missed how our Fresh Prince of Bel Air binges—and yes we’d sing along to the theme song over and over again—or how every time Mitch put gas in his car he made sure to buy me a Baby Ruth candy bar just because they were my favorite.
And I certainly didn’t want to think about how in a room full of people he had always been my safe place. He never left my side and I hadn’t wanted him to.
Mitch’s arm was slung casually around my shoulders. I leaned into him, appreciating the warm solidity.
I was tired. My head hurt. I felt sick from the inside out. It had been less than a month since I had almost died and I still felt hollow and empty.
And I craved a drink so badly I thought I’d go insane.
“My parents are telling me I have to go to rehab,” I whispered, almost scared to raise my voice even though we were alone in my parents’ house.
We were cuddled up together on the couch, the TV on in the background, neither of us watching it even though our favorite show, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, was on. Mitch had been sitting with me for hours, neither of us really saying anything. There was just something about his quiet, strong presence that healed parts of me that had been broken for a long, long time.
“And what do you think about it?” Mitch asked, his hand slowly rubbing my arm. Up. Down. Up. Down.
I leaned my cheek against his chest, finding comfort in the rhythmic rise and fall. After everything I had done, after all the mistakes I had made, Mitch was still there, offering his support. I was pretty sure I didn’t deserve it, but he gave it anyway.
And he was the only one to really ask what I thought I needed to do. He wanted my opinion. It mattered to him.
I felt the tears on my face, but didn’t wipe them away. “I think I need to change,” I admitted, feeling defeated.
Mitch sat up and turned me around so that I faced him. I looked up into his handsome face and for a moment I was overwhelmed.
I had never taken the time to really, and I mean really, look at him before. I had been completely obsessed with Garrett and trying to make him love me that I totally ignored this beautiful man that had always been there.
His hair was dark brown and on the messy side. It was often in his eyes and he would toss his head to flip it back. He’d give me a shy smile that was so sweet it made my heart pitter-patter. His dark eyes were clear and intense and seemed to see me clearer than anyone ever had.
He really was beautiful. Inside and out.
“You don’t need to change, Gracie. But you need to learn to take care of yourself. To put yourself first. I can’t lose you. Not ever.” He gripped my hands between his. His face was flushed and his eyes flashed with emotion.
“I’ve hurt so many people,” I agonized, trying to turn my head.
Mitch grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. I wanted to close my eyes, to block him out. But I couldn’t. He made me want to listen. To hear everything he had to say.
“Yes, you have. But you’ve hurt yourself most of all. And that’s not okay. Because you deserve to be happy. I only ever want to see smiles on that beautiful face of yours,” he said softly, cupping the side of my neck and running his thumb along my jaw.
We were close. So close.
Too close.
Too much.
I pulled back suddenly and Mitch’s hand fell away. I moved a few inches, putting distance between us.
“Let’s watch some TV. I need something mindless,” I said, forcing a smile that I didn’t feel.
Mitch didn’t say anything else, but he stayed. He always stayed. He was always there.
“There’s nothing else going on. Stop being such a conspiracy theorist,” I teased.
“Yeah, well I for one will be glad to see you. None of these bitches can play Minecraft like you can. They’re weak, G. Weak I tell you!” Garrett complained and I grinned.
“Well, when you put it like that, how can I resist? I can’t have you dealing with subpar gaming on your own. Though I planned to go to my mom’s for dinner.”
“Did you just say you were going to ditch us for your mom?” Garrett sounded horrified and I found myself laughing so hard there were tears rolling down my cheeks.
Several people gave me strange looks as they passed by me to go into the deli. I must have looked a sight, cackling like a hyena in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Well you know how much I love to hang out with my mom,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Whatever. That’s up there with the old, I have to wash my hair excuse. But seriously, we all miss you,” he said.
We all miss you.
“All of you?” I found myself asking before I could stop myself.
There was a moment of silence. Just long enough to make me feel stupid.
What was wrong with me? Why had I asked that? Way to make things even more awkward.
“Yeah, G. All of us,” Garrett said finally and my heart hammered in my chest.
Neither of us mentioned him by name. We didn’t need to. The implication was there.
I wondered how much Garrett knew.
“Get ready for an epic takedown, though. Because I’m not taking any prisoners just because you’re a chick,” he warned.
“I’d expect nothing less,” I told Garrett, glad he wasn’t mentioned by name. I may have lost the nerve I had gained to finally face him again after so many months of avoidance.
“Good. I’ll see you on Saturday then.”
“I’ll be there with bells on,” I said.
“Bells really aren’t necessary. Just your badass self,” Garrett chuckled.
“I only know how to bring the badass. No worries there,” I replied.
“Later, G,” Garrett said.
“Later, G,” I repeated, hanging up.
“I’m so wet. My panties are drenched, baby. It’s dripping down my thighs. I’m imagining your tongue between my legs and I’m gripping your hair, holding you there. My legs are over your shoulders, my head is thrown back and I’m touching myself—”
“Shit, Viv! Can you take that conversation into your room!” I shouted, throwing a piece of junk mail at my roommate. I had just come into the apartment to find my roommate sprawled out on the couch, her hand down her pants, her back arched up off the cushions.
Vivian pulled her hand from her underwear and scowled at me, as if I were the one in the wrong. Because it was totally acceptable to finger yourself in full view of whoever happened to walk in the front door.
“Hold on a sec, Cole.” She glared at me. “You’re not supposed to be home for another hour,” she accused.
“Well pardon me for coming back before I was supposed to,” I muttered, dropping my purse onto the coffee table. Vivian sat up and re-covered her boobs, which had been on prominent display. I picked up a note from Maysie. Apparently she had gone to Barton’s for dinner and asked me to meet her there. I had a feeling she felt it best to make herself scarce once Viv got on the phone with Cole.
“Don’t get that judgy tone with me. I’ve had to listen to plenty of your antics through our very thin bedroom walls,” Vivian remarked testily.
I wanted to tell Vivian that her point was completely moot given that there had been zero antics in my bed for quite a while. But I could tell she was getting itchy to resume her…uh…activities.
“We’ve talked about having phone sex in the communal space, Vivian. Don’t act like this is something new. I don’t like wal
king in from a long day to find you masturbating on the throw pillows,” I snapped.
I was in a bad mood. A really bad mood. I had planned to go out to a big country estate out of town that my editor wanted me to cover for my monthly column on unusual gardens. I was supposed to interview the homeowner, take a few snaps and be done with it. It wasn’t supposed to be an all day event.
But I ended up with a flat tire. Then I realized that I no longer had AAA. Then my phone died. So I had to hike five miles to the closest gas station so I could call my dad to change my tire.
When he got there, he lectured me for being irresponsible. For being unable to take care of myself. For apparently being an over all shitty human being. He then went on to tell me that if I was going to need his assistance for “every tiny thing,” that I might as well move back home, as they wanted me to.
Changing the tire took ten minutes. The scolding lasted over an hour.
I ended up having to call the estate owner and rescheduling, which was last minute, and she wasn’t pleased.
I was going to miss my deadline and I had had to endure my father’s belittling criticisms. So I was absolutely not in the mood to fight with Viv over where and when she was allowed to diddle the skittle.
I felt frazzled. My head was pounding and if I was honest with myself, all I wanted was a stiff drink.
There were times that I craved alcohol so badly that I could almost taste it on my tongue. I missed the buzz I’d get after two or three drinks. The loss of inhibitions. Those brief moments when I could drop the Gracie act and be the “real me.” Or the version of me that was less encumbered with bullshit.
Drunk Gracie had been a lot of fun. Sure, by the end of the night I was a mess but there were usually a few hours where I was the life of the party.
And I liked the escape. I enjoyed letting loose.
That’s how it all started.
At first it had seemed like normal college shenanigans. Getting wasted was a rite of passage. You hadn’t really had the true college experience until you had danced on a bar top and then prayed to the porcelain god until morning.
But what started as a weekend here and there became every night. Then sometimes during the afternoon. A cocktail around lunchtime to get me through evening classes. Boundaries became blurred and I forgot what willpower was.
I didn’t know how to stop. I wouldn’t stop. Even when Vivian went to my parents and told them about my drinking and they threatened to pull me out of school, I refused to listen.
I was a wreck, plain and simple. But no one was going to tell me that I needed to stop. I was fine. I had it all under control. Until my body made the decision for me.
Waking up in a hospital room with my very pissed off parents hovering over me had been a nasty wake up call.
But it was one I had needed.
Therapy and rehab helped me to identify my problems. They gave me the harsh label of alcoholic. But it didn’t take away the desire. The need.
And yes, it made me unbelievably cranky.
“Look, you just interrupted one hell of an orgasm, so don’t come in here giving me a load of shit,” Vivian growled, buttoning her pants. She put the phone back to her ear, turning her back on me. “Sorry, baby. Now where were we?” Her voice faded as she walked down the hall and into her room, thankfully closing the door behind her.
I sighed, going into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I should be used to Vivian’s lack of boundaries by now. I had been living with her in some capacity since I was a sophomore in college. She was the woman who thought nothing of pulling her boobs out at Mardi Gras or letting her boyfriend give her a pelvic exam in public.
It had always been a source of good-natured ribbing. We all laughed about it because it was “just Viv.” But it used to more bearable because I had someone to endure it with.
“She’s so loud!” I whined, lying back on the bed, propping my feet up on the wall that separated my bedroom from Vivian’s.
I could hear her moans and groans as clearly as though she was next to me. She and Cole were in the middle of a two day sexathon. He and the guys were home for a few weeks in between shows and I hadn’t seen much of either my roommate or her boyfriend since he had arrived.
“I can hear her! She really does have one hell of a set of lungs,” Mitch said, his voice through the phone doing nothing to drown out the noises coming from the next room.
There was a crash and the wall beneath my feet shook. Then Cole began shouting profanities in between grunts.
“I know that battle cry well. I think it might be time for you to make your exit, G. Things are about to get ugly,” Mitch laughed.
“Christ, the neighbors are going to call the police thinking someone is being murdered.”
“Come over here. You can hang out with me until they’re done,” Mitch suggested.
“What if they don’t stop?” I asked just as the wall shook again from another crash. What were they doing in there?
Scratch that. I really didn’t want to know.
“Then you’ll just have to stay here forever,” Mitch suggested.
“You’ll get sick of me. And I’m a bed hog,” I warned good-naturedly, feeling strangely uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. Sometimes Mitch could say things that felt…different.
We were friends. The best of friends. Why would I feel weird with him?
I was being ridiculous.
“I’m okay with that, Gracie. You can take up all the room and I’ll be happy just because you’re here. Everything I have is yours, you know that,” he said softly, a strange note in his voice.
I chuckled nervously needing to diffuse the tension. Why was there tension?
“Does that include the Chunky Monkey that I know you keep in the freezer?” I joked.
Mitch cleared his throat. “There are limits, G. Don’t push your luck.”
I was relieved that the moment was over.
We were just Mitch and Gracie again.
Mitch and Gracie.
Best buddies.
“But given your obvious emotional stress, I may make an exception,” he added.
I grabbed my keys and my purse. “I’m on my way. Have the spoons ready.”
Eventually Chunky Monkey became our code word. Whether I needed a quick rescue from the Cole and Vivian sex show or I just wanted to talk, I’d text Mitch the words Chunky Monkey and he’d either call or show up at my door.
No questions.
He was just there.
Then we’d spend the evening watching movies or playing video games. Or if he was on the road, he’d drop whatever he was doing and talk to me for hours about anything and everything.
After I had given up alcohol, Mitch Abrams had been the only escape I had needed. When the urge to get drunk consumed me, I had his sweet voice on the other end of the phone to remind me I could get through it.
My heart ached. I missed Mitch. Sometimes so much that it was like a physical pain. As if on cue Vivian’s moans filled the apartment and I rolled my eyes.
Without thinking I pulled out my phone and typed out a quick text.
I could really use some Chunky Monkey right about now.
I hit send before I could talk myself out of it.
And then I spent the next twenty minutes staring at the dark screen willing it to light up with an incoming message.
But it never came.
My phone remained silent.
Just as I knew it would.
I expected it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a knife right through the center of my chest.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come. And you know how I hate to eat chicken wings and breadsticks by myself,” Maysie chided as I sat down across from her in the booth. She looked a little better than she had when she had first come into town. Her complexion wasn’t as sallow and the dark circles were almost gone.
“You look better,” I observed.
Maysie made a face. �
�I didn’t realize I looked bad.”
I swatted her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you were looking really tired.”
Maysie wiped her fingers on her napkin and took a drink of water. “I’ve just felt really worn down. I caught a stomach bug a couple of weeks ago. It was brutal. It’s taking me a while to get over it.”
“You really need to take care of yourself,” I scolded.
Maysie rolled her eyes. “You sound like Jordan.”
“Well Jordan’s right. This time. Though I’m surprised he handled you leaving him. How can he function without you?” I asked, only slightly teasing.
“He’s a big boy. He’ll be just fine. Besides it’s only until Friday,” Maysie remarked dismissively but she lit up at the mention of her fiancé’s name.
Jordan and Maysie really did have something special. They were so incredibly lucky. And on some level, I could admit that I was a little jealous of it.
Okay, a lot jealous.
Not that I wasn’t super happy that Maysie had found a love like that, I just selfishly wanted it for myself.
I could have had it. If I hadn’t callously thrown it away.
Nope. Self-flagellation was not on the menu this evening. Stop it, Gracie!
“Still sitting in the same booth, huh? Don’t feel like shaking things up and sitting at a high top this time?” I joked, getting rid of any remnants of negativity.
“No way. This booth has history,” she explained.
I knew better than to even suggest we sit somewhere else. Maysie always sat at this particular booth by the bar. Something about it being the same booth she was sitting in with Riley when she first met Jordan. My friend was overly sentimental and I loved her for it.
I reached over and picked up a breadstick and took a bite. I tried not to think about calories or how I shouldn’t eat this sort of thing.
My stomach protested and my brain screamed for me to stop eating. Yet another battle in the ongoing war inside my head.
In defiance, I picked up a chicken wing and ate it quickly, dropping the meat-free bone onto the plate.
Desperate Chances Page 4
