What did I expect? That Weston was going to stay with me? That for the first time in his life, he’d commit to someone? As if I’m so special. I should have known better. It was stupid of me to think I meant something more to him. If I did, he’d be here now. He would have waited so we could talk. Work this out.
But he didn’t. He left. His absence sends a clear message: It’s over.
Maybe this is for the best. I can’t expect to build a life with someone who’s going to bail as soon as things get hard. Weston does this to everyone. He doesn’t just push people away, he shoves them as far as he possibly can.
The pillow I brought into his room from my bed is on the floor, just inside my bedroom door. I pick it up, but get a whiff of his scent on the pillowcase, and toss it into a corner. I’ll have to wash it before I can stand to use it again. I won’t be able to sleep if I can smell him. Maybe I’ll just throw it away.
I consider texting Mia, but I’m not ready to talk. Plus, it’s past midnight. After I left earlier, I canceled my plans with my brothers, telling them I wasn’t feeling well, and just drove around. I didn’t even want to come home, but I was running low on gas and didn’t want to risk running out late at night. Now I just need this day to be over.
I get ready for bed, trying to ignore the quiet. The house is so still. I’m used to the little noises another person makes. But the only sounds are my own.
Curled up in my own bed for the first time in a while, the dam finally breaks. I cry hard, sobbing into my pillow, the pain of this loss overwhelming. I cry until my throat hurts and the skin around my eyes burns. By the time I pass out, I’m exhausted, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Here,” Mia says, handing me a mug.
“What is this?” I smell the hot liquid. “Did you put something in it?”
“Bailey’s,” she says. “Figured you could use something a little stronger than just coffee.”
“Thanks.”
She shoos Fabio off the couch and sits down next to me. “What happened? It seemed like everything was going great between you two.”
“I know. He came home from work pissed off and somehow that turned into us having this huge fight,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t even know what we were fighting about. He was just angry, and the next thing I know, he’s telling me he’s moving out.”
“And he really left?”
“Yep,” I say. “I went for a drive to cool off, and when I got back, his stuff was gone. The furniture is still there, but he took everything else. His room was basically empty.”
“Holy shit,” she says. “That is bad.”
“Yeah, he said his house had been finished for a week and he should have left already. Actually, he asked me what I expected, and said he was never going to stay.”
“I’m sure he meant he was going to move back to his house,” she says. “Not that he was never going to stay with you.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think he meant me. Honestly, Mia, what did I expect? That I have the magical vagina that will make him want to stay, when he’s never wanted to stay with anyone, ever?”
“Well, I’m sure your vajayjay is fantastic,” she says, “but we both know you were more to him than that.”
“I don’t know that,” I say. “Not at all. I thought so, but maybe that was me seeing what I wanted to see. I wanted it to be real, so I let myself believe it was.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says. “I hate this.”
“I keep checking my phone, like an idiot,” I say. “But sometimes when he had trouble saying what he meant, he’d text me instead. That was easier for him. But I haven’t heard a word.”
“Are you going to text him?”
I shrug and take a sip of my drink. The flavor is so nice, and the warmth is relaxing. “I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid to. I can’t decide what would be worse—if he tells me to leave him alone, or doesn’t answer me at all.”
“Silence is the worst,” she says. “I was guilty of that with Alex, though. I feel bad about it now, but I didn’t talk to him for a couple days after he tried to apologize. It wasn’t that I wanted to hurt him or make him suffer. I just needed some time to get my head together. Maybe that’s what Weston is doing.”
“I suppose,” I say. “I just don’t want to start thinking like that and get my hopes up. The sooner I accept this is over, the sooner I’ll feel better. Or maybe that’s a delusion too.”
“I’m sorry you have to be in a wedding in the midst of this,” she says.
“No, don’t,” I say. “Actually, your wedding is going to be a bright spot. How can I not be happy when you’re marrying my brother? And hey, maybe I’ll meet a hot billionaire in Napa who will whisk me away to Tuscany for an ill-advised rebound fling. You’re the one who’s always saying those things can happen in real life.”
She laughs. “Yeah, but if you met the hot billionaire, would you really run off with him?”
I sigh and lean my head against the back of the couch. “No. It would still feel like cheating, even though Weston left me.”
“Uh-oh,” Mia says. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re in love with him,” she says.
I close my eyes against the sting of tears. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I am in love with him.”
She takes the mug from my hands and puts it on the coffee table, then puts her arm around me. I lean into her, letting the tears fall down my cheeks.
“Love sucks sometimes,” she says.
I nod. It doesn’t just suck. It hurts. A deep ache that permeates my entire body. I can’t remember the last time I felt so awful. But I guess that’s what happens when your heart gets ripped out. An injury like that doesn’t come without pain. And I know it’s going to leave a scar.
28
Weston
My house is dead quiet.
There used to be the faint hum of nearby traffic, the noise of the city drifting in through the windows. But my new double-paned windows with extra insulation block out almost every sound. Just like I wanted.
I walk across the brand-new walnut floors. Look at the freshly painted walls, the custom cabinetry. Everything is exactly what I asked for. The designer I hired incorporated everything I wanted, creating a space that’s precisely to my tastes.
I sit down in one of the huge windows; the windowsills are wide enough to almost be bench seats. The view is incredible. I bought this place for the view, knowing the house was going to need to be gutted and redone almost from the studs. This was what I paid for—the lights of the Seattle skyline twinkling in the darkness. I’m near the top of Queen Anne hill, the city stretched out beneath me.
That should make me happy. My house is perfect. Despite what it cost to remodel this place from floor to ceiling, I probably tripled the value. With a view like this, it will always be worth a shit ton of money. And it’s perfect. Pristine. Quiet. Mine.
But it smells like paint. It’s a sterile smell, reminding me no one has lived here in months. Kendra’s house smelled like dried lavender and wood polish. It smelled cozy and lived in. It smelled like her.
And the silence—something that I used to value so highly—is distracting, rather than soothing. Closing my eyes, I try to soak it in. I love silence. It means no one is around to get in my space—no one to piss me off. But here, there’s no sound of Kendra’s fingers clicking on her keyboard. No water dripping through the coffee maker late at night, providing the caffeine she needs to stay awake and finish her work.
This is fucking stupid. I spend a few months living with her, and suddenly nothing is good enough? This house is everything I need it to be. And I’m going to sit here, pouting over the fact that I’m alone?
Well, that’s one thing that’s easy to change.
I get dressed to go out for the first time since before my accident, and consider where I should go tonight. I haven’t been anywhere recently, so none of my usual spots have the problem of ove
rexposure. The Terrace might be the best choice. It’s classy, but still a hotspot for women looking for the same thing I am. I could try somewhere a little trashier—more chance of a sure thing—but I’m not in the mood for shitty watered-down drinks and groups of douchebags who think getting drunk off their asses on tequila shots is the way to party.
The bar is almost too crowded for my taste, but I go in anyway. There’s no shortage of women. Some are with guys—boyfriends or dates. Others are in groups of friends, their eyes scanning the crowd. The lights are low, but it’s easy to tell the ones who are here to stick with their friends, and the ones open to hooking up. I can see it in their body language—the way they angle themselves outward, like an invitation to the right man.
I order a drink and take up a position at the far end of the bar, where I can see most of the room. There’s a blonde standing at one of the tall tables, her fingers resting lightly on her martini glass. Her short black dress clings to her curves, the neckline plunging low. Boobs look real—getting a big lift from her bra. Her friends are talking, but she’s not paying attention. Her gaze is moving around the room, her posture relaxed, like she’s bored.
Easy prey.
She meets my eyes, but I look away. Normally I’d hold her gaze for a long moment, then pretend I didn’t see her. But as soon as we make eye contact, I feel sick to my stomach.
I take a sip of my drink, trying to pull myself together. This is fine. I’m going back to my life, and what else would I be doing on a Saturday night? Watching Netflix with Kendra? What was so great about that?
The blonde is looking at me again; I can see her from the corner of my eye. If she’s the aggressive type, she’ll probably come over here. What am I going to say to her if she does? Isn’t that why I’m here? I could fill my bed with her tonight. Blow off steam by fucking her brains out. That’s what I always did. Take out my stress on her body, make her scream, then send her home.
No complications. No feelings.
God, all these fucking feelings. She is walking over to me, and I’m hit in the chest with a shit ton of guilt. It almost makes me double over. What am I doing here? How could I do this to Kendra?
But Kendra and I are over. I left, moved out. We haven’t talked. And I don’t think we will. If she wanted to text me, she would have by now, wouldn’t she? I haven’t tried to contact her, but what the fuck do I say? I ruined everything. There’s no going back now.
“Hi,” the blonde says, sidling up next to me, and leaning her elbow on the bar. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“No.” Suddenly my throat feels so dry. I take another sip. “No, I’m not waiting for anyone.”
“Mind if I join you, then?”
“Sure.”
She holds out her hand. “Mindy.”
“Weston.” I take her hand and shake it gently.
“Nice to meet you, Weston.” She tilts her head a little. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Fine. Sorry. Been a long week.”
She nods. “Then we have something in common. Want to talk about it?”
Fuck no. “I walked out on my girlfriend.” Wait, what did I just say? Am I on pain meds again?
“Oh,” she says. “Wow. I’m sorry to hear that. Was it serious?”
“Yes. I don’t know.”
“You seem pretty confused,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She runs her finger along the rim of her glass for a moment, seeming to consider. “Look, I’ve been there. My last relationship ended with spectacular drama. It took me a while to get over it. But do you want to know what helped?”
“Sure.”
“Having lots of meaningless sex with a guy I didn’t give two shits about,” she says.
“That’s… not what I was expecting,” I say.
She laughs. “Sorry, my friends always tell me I’m way too forward. I can’t help it.”
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“I don’t think so,” she says. “It serves me well. A lot of men can’t handle it, but what do I want with a guy who’s intimidated by me? It weeds out the weak.”
Holy shit. This woman is something else. I’m used to being the aggressor, so I’m not exactly sure how to respond to her. “I imagine it does.”
“You don’t strike me as weak, though,” she says. “Hurt, maybe. I can see that. What happened with your girlfriend?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I got mad. Said some stupid shit. Told her I was leaving.”
“And you did?”
“Yep. Moved out.”
“Ouch,” she says. “Sounds like you guys had quite the blow up. I’m guessing it was a long time coming, though. These things don’t usually just pop up out of nowhere.”
“I guess.”
“The thing is,” she continues, “if you really wanted to be with her, you wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of moving out, would you? That’s a lot of effort over something small.”
“No, that’s not… It wasn’t a long time coming, actually. We were great. It wasn’t even her fault.”
“So, you’re just an asshole, then?”
“Yes,” I say, emphatic. “I’m an enormous asshole.”
“Hmm.” She taps a manicured finger against her lips. “Well, fortunately for both of us, I don’t really care. You can be a grade A dick, and it doesn’t make much difference to me.”
“Excuse me?”
She smiles, her pink lips parting. “How long were you with this girl? Are you that out of practice? I’m trying to pick you up.”
I don’t answer and she laughs, running a finger down my chest.
“You’re absolutely charming, do you know that?” she says. “I don’t usually go for the sad and wounded thing, but on you it’s irresistible. I wonder if you’re doing it on purpose and the whole I walked out on my girlfriend bit is part of the act. If it is, well done. I bet it works like a charm. But like I said, I don’t care. You look good enough to eat and that’s all I’m looking for tonight.”
“Are you always this aggressive?” I ask.
“Does it turn you off?” she asks, but she doesn’t wait for my answer. “No, I’m not. Sometimes I make men chase me pretty hard. But there is something about you. I don’t know what it is. Maybe I want to see if I can fuck that sad look out of your eyes.”
She moves in closer and licks her lips. “We both know how this works. We’re supposed to exchange some witty banter. Have a drink together. Move somewhere more private. Do some more talking. Get increasingly flirtatious. Make out a little. Then you suggest we go to your place, or ask about going to mine.” She runs her fingers up and down my chest. “But I’m so bored of all that. So I was thinking, maybe we can skip all the nonsense. You want to get lucky tonight? I’m your girl.”
She is not my girl.
I step back, suddenly filled with revulsion. Not for her—Mindy is an attractive woman looking for a night of great sex. No judgment from me. I’m horrified at myself for being here. For thinking this was what I wanted.
Sure, I could take Mindy home and spend the night fucking her. A few months ago, that’s exactly what I would have done, and I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
But I’m not the same guy I was then. I know Kendra didn’t deserve what I said about her trying to change me. She wasn’t trying to. But she did change me. She got into the core of who I am and left her mark there, and I’ll never be the same.
I shake my head slowly, feeling bewildered. “Sorry. I have to go.”
Without waiting for Mindy’s response, I turn and walk out the front door. I don’t feel any better. If anything, I feel a lot fucking worse. The ache of missing Kendra is overwhelming, and I feel like shit for what I was planning to do tonight.
I go back to my silent house and fall on the couch. Resting my hand on my chest, it’s almost surprising to feel my heart still beating. Shouldn’t the space inside my ribs be empty? Feels that way, like there’s a huge ga
ping hole. A vast chasm that’s swallowing up my life, leaving me with nothing.
29
Kendra
My hotel room is lovely. Big king-sized bed with crisp white linens and tons of pillows. Sliding glass door leading to a little balcony with a table and two chairs. Gorgeous view of the resort gardens.
I hang up my bridesmaid dress in the closet and put away a few more of my things, trying to focus on what is nice about the room. I can sit outside in the morning and enjoy the view over a cup of coffee. That will be great. Fresh air and quiet. Tomorrow night will be the rehearsal dinner in the restaurant downstairs, and I hear the food is wonderful. In between, I’ll have time to lounge by the pool or take a walk. Maybe read a book.
Should be perfect, right?
Except all I can think about is how I was supposed to be here with Weston. And I’m alone.
It’s been almost a week and I haven’t heard a word. At first, I thought he just needed a little time to cool down. I kept expecting him to text me any minute. Maybe not an apology right away. But at least an opening. An I want to talk message. Something that would open the lines of communication between us again.
But nope. Nothing.
At first Mia encouraged me to text him. She argued that since I left the house first, maybe he saw that as me doing the leaving, and he was waiting for me to make the first move. I almost did, several times. And maybe I should have. But in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to hit send. I was so afraid of what he’d say—or not say. If I texted him and got no response, it would be even worse than the silence I’m dealing with now.
After a few days, though, even Mia changed her mind. I think she’s more angry at him than I am, now.
I kick off my shoes and flop down on the bed. It’s comfortable at least. But so big. I don’t need all this space to myself.
My phone dings and my heart leaps into my throat. It’s probably Mia. I texted her when I got to the resort to see if she needed help with anything. But my hand still trembles as I pull my phone out of my purse.
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