Pieces of Eight (Mad Love Duet Book 2)

by Whitney Barbetti

  Good job ordering water, Mira! I couldn’t take it seriously, which was part of the problem. I needed to apply Dr. Brewer’s request to something I could actually feel good about.

  The only one who spoke was Andra, and she was speaking to the bartender exclusively. You would have thought it was her wedding, based on the way she made notes and asked important questions with extreme professionalism. I thought it was interesting that Six wasn’t giving any input for the alcohol choices and how many bartenders there would need to be.

  “If there are one hundred guests, how many bartenders should we have?”

  “At minimum, two. I’d suggest three, personally, to avoid congestion around the bar station.”

  Andra nodded and made a note. Six picked up his beer and drained it. I pulled an ice cube out of my glass and slid it around the bar top. Why had I followed them? A bar was no place for an alcoholic, especially when she happened to be around the one person who made her want to drink as of late.

  “What do you think, Mira?”

  “Hm?” I asked, just tuning into their conversation.

  Andra smiled at me. “What do you think we should stock the most of?”

  Why the hell was she asking me? “You can’t go wrong with whiskey.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” Six mumbled, not looking at me. “Beer. A light beer.”

  “Why beer?” Whiskey had always been Six’s drink.

  “Beer is a social drink. We want people to be social at our wedding.” He peeled the label off his beer but didn’t look at me.

  “Then what’s whiskey?”

  This time, he met my eyes. “A drink for loners.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re drinking beer and not being very sociable.”

  “Maybe it’s the company.”

  If he thought he was hurting me, he was wrong. “I think Andra is great company.”

  He whipped his head to look at me, his eyes narrowed in anger. “I wasn’t talking about Andra.”

  “Well then,” Andra said, picking up the paper and walking away. “I’m just going to be over here”—she motioned to a table far from the bar—“while you two learn how to be nice to one another.”

  Six glared at me and let go of his beer. “Why’d you come along? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “Andra invited me. It would have been rude to decline.”

  “Being rude was never a concern of yours before.”

  “Yeah, well, like you, I’ve changed.” I lifted my chin.

  “It doesn’t change who you are at your core. It doesn’t change what you’ve done.”

  I slid off my seat and moved three seats closer to him. I couldn’t talk to him for others to hear. He leaned away slightly, seemingly uncomfortable with my close proximity. “No, it doesn’t. I made a lot of mistakes. I regret things,” I swallowed and closed my eyes briefly, “and I’m trying to be better.”

  “Are you?” he asked with an eyebrow raised and his eyes hard. He didn’t believe me.

  “Yes.”

  “How so?”

  I didn’t think I needed to tell Six everything; I didn’t think it was any of his business. But I did anyway. “I’ve had the same job for almost three years. Until I ran into you again, I was stone cold fucking sober.” His lips quirked up a little at that. “I go to therapy.”

  Six reached out and grabbed my wrist. I shook in my skin, bones rattling. He flipped my wrist up and exposed the wrist with the semicolon over the scars. I stared at it a second before meeting his eyes.

  I couldn’t read his expression, but it’d softened from how he’d stared at me before. “Are you better?” I knew what he was asking.

  “I haven’t hurt myself with knives since the last time.”

  He didn’t ask when the last time was. I could tell from the way his eyes flinched that he knew.

  “Have you hurt yourself in other ways?”

  “I’ve been sober,” I reminded him. His warm hand was still gripping my wrist. My heart was out of control, battering against my ribs like a tennis ball. Back and forth.

  “I know you’ve been sober. I wasn’t talking about the drugs or the alcohol.” He dipped his head down a little, so we were at eye level. “Have you hurt yourself in other ways?”

  I let out a breath, searched his eyes. “I’m hurting myself right now.”

  He let go of my wrist like it my words had scorched his skin. “Then why come?”

  “Because I can’t help myself.” And in that moment, I knew it had nothing to do with my mental illness. It was Six. Just Six.

  As Andra finalized the contract with the bartender, Six asked me questions. Gone was the hostility. Gone was the tension.

  “Why the bakery?”

  “I like creating stuff.” I shrugged because it really was that simple. “And since I was always up that early anyway, it seemed to make sense.

  Six lifted a hand to the bartender, ordering another beer. That gesture spoke louder than if he’d said himself, “I want to listen to what you have to say.” When the waiter placed the fresh bottle on a napkin, Six turned to me again. “And you’re still training people to fight?”

  I thought of the tattoo on my chest. “Yes. I teach at a little studio by the Dry Run, a couple times a week.”

  “And you paint still?”

  “Yes. The showing,” I reminded him.

  “That’s right. When is that?”

  Nope. He wasn’t invited. I had to change the subject immediately. I raised my hand for the bartender and asked for pretzels. “You still do PI work?” It was weird to be sitting next to Six, talking calmly about our lives three years after breaking up as if there was nothing fundamentally wrong about our lives being separate, no longer intertwined.

  He nodded but didn’t speak as the bartender put the bowl in front of me.

  I shifted gears, not wanting to lose him so quickly. Whatever reasons he had for not wanting to talk about work, I wasn’t going to delve into right now. “And Andra’s here visiting?”

  We both turned our heads to look at her. She was on the phone and smiling, but when she saw our gaze she held up one finger. I was running out of time with Six. I started to feel anxiety.

  “She’s here until after the wedding.” His jaw clenched immediately after saying the word. But he wasn’t trying to hurt me. It was like Andra’s presence had prompted some kind of cease fire.

  She moved around us, asking the barman for a water and returned to her phone call. “It’s strange, to know that she’s yours.”

  He followed my gaze. “She was an adult before I found out. I don’t think that makes her mine.”

  “You were the one who took care of her after her mom died. You were the one who protected her. That’s more than a lot of children can say for their parents who were there from day one.”

  He looked back at me. “Sometimes, it’s hard to believe the same Mira who hurt herself because she was angry I was leaving her could say something like that.”

  “The same Mira who said those things was sick. You helped me figure things out, Six. But I was so co-dependent on you that it wasn’t healthy, for either of us.” I’d put him through more than most people would put up with and still, miraculously, he’d stayed. “You were my crutch for ten years, but I had to learn to walk without it too.”

  “Is that why you forced me to leave you?”

  “I forced you to leave me because I was sick. Because I didn’t think I could carry your hurt along with mine.”

  “But, what, now you can?”

  Andra passed us and we were quiet for the moment. “When you said those things to me in the alleyway, last week, the Mira of three years ago would’ve walked away.”

  “She did walk away.”

  I swallowed. “Yes. She did. But three years without you has given me a lot of room to grow, without you.”

  “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you at all anymore. It’s like I catch glimpses, but mostly I’m looking at you as a stranger.”


  “But I’m not.” How could I prove it to him? Moreover, why did I feel the need to? Was it because he was looking at me with the things I’d longed for, with interest and acceptance? Or was it because we were having our first civilized conversation in years? “I’ve been fighting all this time, since I didn’t fight for you in that hospital room.” I tugged on my collar, revealing just the ‘t’ at the end of ‘fight.’ “You asked me to fight and that’s what I have done.”

  He couldn’t seem to look at me. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to climb inside of him and get a feel for his thoughts.

  “It’s okay,” I said, placing my hand on his forearm. I felt a small shock from our touch but didn’t remove my hand. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “Are you?” He peeled the label on his beer.

  “Am I glad you’re happy, or am I happy?”

  “Both.” I felt the muscles of his forearm under my hand bunch.

  It was a complicated thing to answer. I was glad Six was happy. But I wasn’t happy that I wasn’t the reason. So I answered the only way I could, with Six, because he’d see through whatever lie I said. “Yes. And, for selfish reasons, no.”

  Good job being honest, Mira!

  His jaw was firm, his eyes searching back and forth with mine. “At least you’re honest.”

  I let go of him.

  “Ready?” Andra asked, interrupting us.

  Six left the chair and walked out the door. I followed behind Andra, watching her fold the paper in half twice, neatly.

  “It’ll be a nice place for a wedding,” I said, not knowing what else to say to her to fill the silence. “It was nice of you to come all the way here to help him plan it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  We walked out into the sun, out of the shadowed bar, and I turned to Andra. “Because, I’m just … grateful that he has people in his life who love him.”

  “Is that why you’re here? Because you still love him?” Her expression was cool—but not unfriendly. Six was several paces ahead of us.

  “I’m here because you asked me to be here.”

  “You could’ve easily said no. You owe me nothing.”

  She had me there. “Yes, then. I still love him. I can’t imagine it ever leaving me. But none of that matters; because my name isn’t Victoria, and I’m not wearing his ring, and he doesn’t love me, not anymore.”

  She pursed her bubble-gum pink lips, looking between me and Six, who was yards away now. “You’re wrong about that.”

  21

  When I returned home, Brooke was sitting on the couch, petting Griffin. Poor Griffin. With all the upheaval of my life the last few days, I’d practically ignored her existence.

  Brooke turned, her hair in a high bun as she leaned her head on the couch cushion behind her. “You’re home,” she said. “Good.”

  Something about the way she said that did, in fact, not sound good. “Uh… what’s going on?”

  She bounced off the couch, coming at me faster than I had prepared. I raised my arms in defense but she stopped a full foot away. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought you were going to hit me or something, with the way you moved toward me.” I still wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t hit me.

  “Oh, don’t be silly.”

  Silly. One of AJ’s favorite words. It was like he was allergic to all the best ones: fuck, damn, shit, cock, prick, and—for as weak as it was—pissed. He was only fluent in preschool swear words.

  “What are you doing?” She held out her arms to me, like she was practicing her jazz hands.

  “Oh, come on!” She stopped her weird moves and thrusted her hand under my eyes. The diamond caught the light and nearly blinded me. Pulling my head back, I asked, “What’s that?”

  “An engagement ring.”

  “Oh, shit. Uh, congrats!” That didn’t sound very excited, I realized in hindsight, but Brooke was still beaming.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  If you liked colorless stones, yes, I supposed it was beautiful. “Yes,” I said, because that was a simpler answer and the one she deserved. “So, he finally popped the question.”

  “Yes.” Her cheeks were stained bright pink and her eyes were that glowy kind of wet. “I can’t believe it still. After we met his folks, we came back here and I stayed at his place a few nights. Middle of the night, I woke up to him crouched on the floor holding this ring.

  I guessed, to some people, that would’ve been romantic. But my first instinct would’ve been to beat the shit out of the intruder in my bedroom because otherwise, there’d be no reason for the man you loved to be creepily kneeling by your side of the bed. “So romantic,” I told her, and then it hit me. “Everybody I know is getting married.”

  “Everybody?” she asked.

  “Well, for my circle of friends, yes—practically everybody. You. Six.” And that was it. Two people. But for someone who ran in tiny circles, it was a lot.

  “Wait. Six?”

  The top of my stack of lies crumbled at our feet. “Uh, yes.” Shit.

  “He’s back?”

  He never left. “I ran into him a couple weeks ago.”

  Brooke frowned. “You never mentioned it.”

  “Yeah, that was kind of on purpose.”

  “No wonder you’ve been acting weird lately.”

  “I’m always weird,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, but you’ve been different. Distracted. I feel like I’ve barely spoken to you at all in the last couple weeks.”

  I had so much to tell her, but I wasn’t in the mood, not after the kind of day I’d had. “It’s a long story,” I said. “And besides, I should probably start apartment hunting, right?”

  “What?”

  “You’re engaged. The next steps are moving in together, or getting married and then moving in together. Right?”

  “Well, I suppose so.”

  And I didn’t want to be underfoot, an audience member to their kind of love all the time. Plus, it’d been three years. I was a big girl, I could spread my wings and land somewhere else. “I won’t move far away,” I promised. “But, I think it’s time.”

  I could feel it shifting within me; the new season of Mira.

  “You don’t have to rush it,” Brooke said. She was eyeing me like she wanted to dissect what was going on. She wouldn’t find much, not when everything I was feeling was too hard to reflect in any discernible emotion across my face. “I am sure he won’t want to move in for a few months, at least.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “But I’d rather leave before my presence becomes smothering.”

  “Jesus, Mira. Calm down. No one said that.” Realizing her voice was loud, she lowered it when she said, “No one is kicking you out.”

  I knew that. But I also knew that Brooke and Norah were moving into their new season, too. And I was compelled to give them space for it. “I know. But I’m thirty-six. It’s about time I get my own big girl place, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t want to agree with you.” She worried her ring as she looked at me carefully. The way she’d look at Norah sometimes. “But if you feel it’s best, I’m not going to stop you.”

  I sat on the couch and Griffin moseyed her way over to me. “You gave me a home when I didn’t have one,” I told her. “But it’s long past time for me to make my own. A place that isn’t Brooke’s; a place that’s Mira’s.” I scratched Griffin’s head, flopped her ears around. “Besides, I gave you shelter for, what, six months? And you gave me shelter for three years.”

  “Both times you helped me.”

  “And you helped me, both times. We’re even. Well, except for the fact that I mooched for an additional thirty months.” Damn, when I put it in those numbers it sounded even more pathetic. “Jacob can help me find something,” I said. “It’ll be fun. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in my own place.”

  “Is it totally selfish of me to say that I don’t want you to leave?”
/>   I absorbed that sentiment, hoping it stuck. “You don’t even know what selfish is like, Brooke. Maybe one day, I’ll tell you.” Griffin walk-limped over to her. “Besides, we both know that it’s Griffin you’ll miss.”

  She smiled at me. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  Victoria came to the bakery four days before my showing. I’d managed to avoid her and Six for the last week and wasn’t planning on breaking that anytime soon. I ducked behind a column in the restaurant and then lowered to a chair at a table, giving the death glare to the employees who looked at me, confused.

  Brooke came out from the back and looked at me sideways. “What are you doing, Mira?”

  That’s what I got for not divulging certain things to my roommate. I turned, locking eyes with the blonde goddess again.

  “Mira!” she greeted, all smiles and sunshine.

  “Hey, Vicky,” I said with slightly less enthusiasm. Marco wasn’t here, so I had to play nice. “Wanna try the flavors of your three tiers?”

  “Oh.” She waged some internal war for a minute before nodding. “Well. I don’t want to be unable to fit into my wedding dress.”

  You gorged on a half dozen cupcakes a week ago, so I don’t see how three right now will make or break your stupid gown. “One bite won’t hurt.”

  She rocked back and forth for a minute before she finally agreed. I grabbed three cupcakes from the fridge and put them on a plate. I poured her a glass of tap water.

  “Do you have Watersprings?”

  “Come again?”

  “It’s a bottled water.”

  Oh. “No, we have tap water.” I pushed the glass closer to her, feeling her rankling on my nerves. “San Francisco has some of the cleanest water in the country.”

  She smiled tightly. “I guess I’m just used to the bottle.”

  “Yeah, well plastic water bottles kill birds and shit. This stuff won’t kill you.” I wasn’t being very patient with her, but I’d spent a long night in the bakery trying to tell myself all the good things I was doing. After the fifth, Good job putting that bread in the oven, Mira! Way to go! I wanted to gouge my brain with a dozen cocktail forks.

  Victoria bristled a little but took a bite of the cupcake, anyway. “Oh, this is so good!” she exclaimed.