by RC Boldt
“You lied to me.” She doesn’t yell, the eerily quiet statement hanging there in the silence of the room as Cara suddenly looks uncomfortable, an unexpected bystander in all of this.
Stepping forward, I start, “Mags, please—”
“Don’t.” She stops me with a hand. “Don’t call me that.” The pain etching her features makes me feel gutted. “You lied to me. How could you?” Her voice rises gradually.
“I’m sorry, Mag—”
“You’re sorry?” Her tone is rising, incredulous. “You’re sorry?” She tosses her hands in the air. “You apologize for breaking a dish or spilling something on the couch. You can’t just apologize for lying to me for over a year!”
Walking over to the large windows of the living room, she lets out a harsh, humorless laugh before spinning to face me again. “You must think I’m the biggest idiot.”
“No, I—”
“Were you ever gay?” Her words lash out at me, dripping with accusation and pain.
“No, but—”
“So you weren’t ever in a relationship with Jack?”
Damn it. My throat tightens, and I have to force my answer past my lips, so ripe with regret. “No.”
Pain etches her features. “I let you in my life. In my bed! And it was all a lie?!”
Fuck. My entire body is rigid with a mixture of anger, disappointment, and regret, but it’s the anger that floods my tone. “I tried to tell you so many damn times, Mags! But you cut me off and wouldn’t let me!”
Shaking my head, I take in harsh, ragged breaths. Defeated. “I love you. I just never knew how to tell—”
Her head rears back as if I’ve slapped her before her expression completely closes off. “You need to leave. Now. I don’t want to hear your voice or see your face.” Her lips press thin; eyes sparkling with unshed tears before speaking through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to see you. Ever again.”
Maggie darts over to grab her coat from the chair, along with her purse and keys, rushing out the door and closing it behind her with a loud thunk.
With finality.
Fuck. I’ve lost her.
Hell, I don’t know that I ever had her to begin with.
Cara clears her throat, making me realize I’d forgotten her presence. Her smile is filled with pity. Stepping toward me, she sets her glass of what looks to be a mimosa on the counter.
“Guess you’re going to need help packing, huh?”
* * *
I’m living on Jack’s couch in his small one bedroom loft. Just living the dream.
The first night, I got stinking, sloppy-ass drunk. And continued throughout the weekend. Because not only am I heartbroken, but I’m royally pissed off at myself for screwing things up.
I’ve single-handedly managed to make the woman of my dreams hate me.
“You do realize it’s Sunday night, right?” Jack plops down next to me on the oversized leather couch.
“Yep.”
“You plan to nurse your broken heart forever or what?”
“What are my other options?” I snarl.
He stares at me as if I’m dense. “Uh, getting your shit together and winning her back?” There’s a beat of silence. “You can’t really be this clueless, can you?”
Flipping him the bird, I refuse to look away from ESPN. Not that I care who’s playing or which team’s winning. “She told me she never wants to see me again. Ever. Pretty sure that’s as clear as it gets.”
“And you’re just going to let it go? Dude,” he shakes his head, “I thought that a chick who’s supposedly ‘the one’ was worth the fight.”
Pulling a throw pillow—yeah, Jack actually has fucking throw pillows—from beside me on the couch, I press it over my face, muffling my groan of frustration.
“Whenever you’re done trying to suffocate yourself, buddy, I’ll be sitting here. Still.”
Abruptly dropping the pillow on my lap, it bounces off and onto the floor as I cut him a look. “Can’t you leave me the hell alone?”
Leaning down to pick up the pillow, he replaces it on the couch. “Why? So you can wallow in self-pity? In the mess of your own doing?”
“Wow. Keep it up. You’re making me feel much better already.”
He shakes his head at me. “Dude. Seriously. You’re giving up without a fight. That’s it?” He makes a scoffing sound. “That’s not the Ryland James I know—knew. He’s never been a quitter.”
“She hates me,” I mutter. “I hate me. What more is there?”
“Do you love her?”
My head snaps to face him, and I’m wearing an incredulous look on my face. He merely stares back and calmly asks again, “Do you love her?”
“Yeah, I love her,” I answer with a sigh, looking away.
“She loves you, too, you know.”
That piercing ache in my chest flares up, becoming more painful at Jack’s words.
“She just needs to work through everything. Needs to miss you. Then,” he nudges me with his arm, “you’ll need to remind her how much you love her. Not as a roommate, who’s supposedly gay, but as a man who loves her inside and out.”
I remain sitting there, still as a statue. Staring sightlessly at the television, I’m silent for a long moment.
“That was pretty deep. You sure you’re not the one who’s gay?” I quip, the corner of my mouth tipping up slightly.
“Don’t make me kick your sorry ass.” He rises from the couch. “Now, get the hell off my couch and shower. We’ve got some brainstorming to do.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Maggie
“You have to eat something, Maggie.” Sarah’s exasperated with me and with good reason. I’ve been living on dry cereal for days now.
Or has it been weeks? Who knows? More importantly, who cares? At least, I’m hauling my butt to work, right? That’s the important part. I’m being an adult where it counts.
“I’m eating this because I no longer have a roommate. Which means I’m responsible for the entire rent.” Shoving a handful of O’s in my mouth, I crunch loudly. “A-gain.”
Grabbing the box of cereal from its perch beside me on the couch, Sarah shakes her head.
“Seriously, Maggie.”
Oh, no. The hand’s on the hip. I repeat, Sarah has her hand on her hip. The sass is evident in her next words. “How did you not figure out Ry wasn’t gay?”
I stare at her incredulously. “You mean you knew the entire time?” Deflating, I slump my shoulders as I mutter, “Was I the only one who didn’t know?”
“Probably.” My head snaps up at Sarah’s quick response. “I was finally going to say something that day in the coffee shop, but you ran out so fast, like you were trying to beat a Kenyan in the next Olympics.”
There’s a pause, and then her voice is softer, gentler. “Look, Maggie. The only reason I didn’t tell you earlier is because, after Jack had confirmed things for me, I knew Ry wasn’t doing any of this to hurt you. I could tell he loved you, and I figured I’d let it play out.”
I can’t do this. Can’t hear this. It just hurts too much. Standing abruptly, I blurt out, “I’m going to watch the tearful homecomings with all the military members surprising their families.”
Reaching for my laptop, Sarah grabs it, tugging it from my grip. “That’s totally not a cry for help,” she mutters. “No. I can’t let you sink to that level.”
“But is it even a level? Could rock bottom even be considered a level?” I tip my head to the side in thought.
“That’s it,” Sarah abruptly announces. “Get up. We’re going out.”
“No.” No way do I want to go out. I get that it’s Friday night but no. Just no. I’m off work and want to wallow with my O’s cereal. We’re happy together. Just the two of us. Maggie and O’s. M and O. MO.
Hey, that’s kind of cute.
Sarah snaps her fingers in front of my face, drawing me from my weird inner conversation. “If I have to shove you in the shower, I will. N
ow, go.” She points her index finger in the direction of the hallway, eyes narrowed dangerously.
We stare at each other before I finally give in with a loud huff of breath. “Fine. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I announce petulantly, storming off down the hall for my bedroom and adjoining bathroom.
After I’ve scrubbed myself clean—and attempted to figuratively scrub myself clean, yet again, of he-who-shall-not-be-named—I emerge from my steam-filled bathroom to find Sarah sprawled on my bed, scrolling through her Facebook newsfeed on her cell phone.
“About time,” she announces on an exhale. “If I had to read another person’s annoying post about them taking time off from Facebook only to post something two hours later, I was going to scream.” Sliding to her feet, she pulls something from my closet and hands it to me.
“Put this on.”
I push her hand back. “I’m not wearing that.” She’s chosen a pair of black stretchy tights and a form-fitting red sweater that falls to mid-thigh.
I do not want to wear that. That’s something I’d wear if I felt sexy or wanted to look sexy for someone else. And clearly, neither applies right now.
She shoves it back at me. “You are.” With the expression she currently has, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, I imagine this is exactly how she has to be with difficult patients at the hospital.
Our standoff slash stare down lasts barely thirty seconds because I realize a losing battle when I see one.
“Ugh, fine.” I grab the clothing from her and return to the bathroom to dress, drying my hair and attempting to use the magical thing called makeup to make me look more lively than I feel.
Once I pass muster with Sarah and she “signs off” on my beautification attempts, we head down the hall to leave. As I walk past the closed door to Ry’s old room, I get that suffocating feeling. I haven’t been able to go in there since that day I kicked him out. Jack had come over for a bunch of things, but I haven’t been able to set foot in there to see what he’s left behind—if anything.
I still haven’t cashed his rent check. He’d sent it with Jack with a message, saying since he’d moved out with three weeks of the month remaining, he’d wanted to pay me in full “for all the inconvenience.”
I think I quite honestly saw red when Jack quoted Ry that morning. You know how people always use that expression, but most of us are like, huh? Well, I actually understood that saying that particular morning. I’m also pretty certain I had steam coming out of my ears, as well.
As Sarah and I walk along South Broadway to make our way to the Tavern, she links her arm through mine in that way women often do. It’s pretty chilly, yes, but more than that, she does it because she loves me and knows I’m having a ridiculously tough time with everything.
“Things are going to be all right, Maggie.” My head whips around to peer at her. “I just know it.”
I return my attention to the busy sidewalk. “I wish I was as sure.”
Slipping inside the Tavern, we immediately loosen the buttons on our coats, and I follow Sarah’s lead as she steers us toward the bar for a drink. We manage to find a small spot to slide into, and Sarah snags the attention of one of the bartenders just as I feel the weight of someone’s eyes on me.
Tense, my eyes dart around the bar area, and that’s when I see him. My vision clouds at the sight of Jack giving me a brief nod; he’s still talking to Ry who’s sitting beside him at the bar, staring morosely into his beer glass.
I can’t do this. I can’t be here. I just … can’t.
Turning to tell Sarah I have to leave, she grabs my arms. “Just because you both happen to be at the same bar doesn’t mean anything.” Her gaze is hopeful. “You and I can still have fun.”
“Fun,” I mutter with zero enthusiasm before attempting more inflection in my tone. “Yay.” And I promptly receive a shove in return.
Drinks in hand, she leads me over to a small table against the wall nearby where an obviously competitive game of darts is taking place, and I know we’ll be waiting a bit for our turn. I find myself hoping Ry doesn’t notice I’m here, yet simultaneously wanting him to notice my presence.
If that’s not screwy, then I don’t know what is.
Sliding onto the seats at our table, I’ve just scooted my chair in closer to the table when a shadow falls over us.
Jack.
“Hello, there, lovely ladies. Fancy meeting you here.” He blasts us with his pearly white smile.
“Yeah, super fancy meeting us here.” Sarah’s dry response has me peering over at her. Because that sounded an awful lot like …
“You planned this,” I accuse, tossing up my hands. “What the heck?” Turning a sharp glare on Jack, I ask, “Did he put you up to this?”
He holds up both hands in defense. “It was all me, I swear. He’s been so damn depressed for the past few weeks.” Letting his hands drop to his sides, he shrugs. “I wanted to see if maybe we could get the two of you together to talk it out.”
“We?” My eyes volley back and forth between Sarah and Jack. Since when were the two of them a “we”?
She tries to shrug it off, eyes not meeting mine. “Figured it couldn’t hurt if you two could meet and resolve your differences.”
“Differences?” I stare at her in disbelief. “He lied about being gay!” A few heads turn as my voice gains strength and volume.
Scooping up my purse, I stand. “I’ll walk back home.”
“But Mag—” Sarah’s protest is lost as I rush out of the bar, stopping only once I step onto the sidewalk. Luckily, my apartment is only a few blocks away, and all of it is through areas with high foot traffic, so it’s safe, well-lit, and well-traveled.
Trying to regain some composure, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Before I can turn and head up the sidewalk, I hear a voice behind me.
“I’m sorry.”
My entire body stiffens at the sound of his voice, the deep timbre. My eyes fall closed because it hurts—it physically hurts—to hear his voice. God, I miss him so much, it’s killing me. But he lied to me. I’ve already experienced what it’s like to be in a relationship with one liar and look where that got me. I can’t do it again.
“Are you sorry you got caught? Or sorry you lied to me?” I pose my questions without turning around because I can’t bear to look at him, knowing I’m too weak and would end up hurling myself into his arms. Just because I miss how he holds me.
“Both.” I jerk at his admission before he continues. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I am. I just thought, at the time, that it was the only way to be near you. And I’m sorry I got caught the way I did. That was shitty, and I was planning to tell you—really, I was. I’d wanted to tell you for a while. I just …” He trails off for a moment. “I’m sorry you had to learn it from someone else.”
Giving a curt nod, I blow out a breath in a long whoosh. “Well. Thanks. Have a good ni—”
“I didn’t lie about loving you.”
My sharp intake of breath is loud, even amidst the usual downtown Friday evening noise. My hand flies to the center of my chest, so certain that I’ll find an open wound there; it hurts that bad.
“I have for a while now. I just … I just never knew how to tell you.”
“I have to go.” My words come out rushed, and I find myself nearly sprinting in my heels in my haste to get away from him.
It isn’t until I’m inside the elevator on the ride up to my floor that I finally breathe easier.
But that pain in my chest—in my heart—feels like it hurts more now than ever.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Ry
When a woman almost breaks the speed of light trying to get away from you, it’s a good sign that things didn’t go well. Which is what could be said of the talk Maggie and I just had.
Hell, I don’t even know if it could even be classified as a talk.
The door to the bar opens, and someone walks up to stand beside me as I continue staring off in the dire
ction Maggie ran off.
“It went well, huh?” Sarah asks.
“Totally.”
“Yeah, I sense that from the fact that I can barely make her out in the distance.” Sarah reaches an arm out, using her thumb and forefinger, squinting. “She’s about the size of a small beetle now.”
I let out a short laugh. “You’re crazy; you know that, right?”
She smiles. “Yep.” Turning her gaze back to the sidewalk where we’re no longer able to see Maggie in the distance, she lets out a long, sad sigh. “You have your work cut out for you, buddy.”
“Yeah.”
I feel the weight of her eyes on me. “But you’re not giving up?”
I take a moment to answer. “No.”
She links her arm through mine, giving it a light tug. “Then we need to get back in there with your boyfriend and hash out a grand plan.”
My lips curve up slightly at her insistence. It’s then that it hits me.
Maggie never said she didn’t love me back. And that can only mean one thing.
I still have a chance.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Maggie
The first delivery arrives barely five minutes after I sit down at my desk at work on Monday morning.
“Maggie?” One of the new interns, Jess, stands at my door with an envelope in her hand. “This just arrived for you.”
Accepting it from her with thanks, she leaves, and I’m left sitting with a mysterious envelope in my possession. It only has my first and last name typed on the outside. Cautiously, I use my letter opener to slide it open. When I pull out the contents, I freeze, my entire body rigid with shock.
He’d kept it.
Staring down at the small, wrinkled napkin in my hand, I recall immediately when this took place. We had gone out for our first outing as roommates to have a drink and bond. Our conversation had turned to what quality we wanted in the other person we were in a relationship with. I had written it on the bar napkin, and he had proclaimed loudly, “If it is written, then so it should be!” in a bellowing voice. I had laughed then, as the other bar patrons had shaken their heads, clearly thinking Ry had been overserved.
