His phone chimed and he stopped rubbing my neck to answer it.
Icy reality came crashing down around me all over again. No matter how many times he rubbed my neck, it wouldn’t change the fact that I wasn’t a priority in his life. He continually chose work over me. Every. Single. Time.
He chose his phone over me.
He chose his sleep over me.
I was in the dreaded fourth place that the Bee Best podcast had talked about.
Well, not anymore.
“Fletcher, I’m not going to the beach with you.” The words practically scratched my throat on the way out.
“Oh, did something come up for you too?” he asked absentmindedly as he frantically typed away on his phone. It was then that I noticed that he tilted it away from me, as though he were afraid I’d read the screen.
“No. I said I’m not going to the beach with you.”
That caught his attention. He set the phone on his thigh and angled his body toward me. “Okay, I know last time I dropped you in the water. I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.”
“It’s not that. That was actually one of my favorite days I spent with you.”
“Then what is it?” He shrugged his shoulders. His eyes kept darting to the phone laying face down on his lap.
“I’m breaking up with you.”
His phone slid off his lap and fell to the floor with a thump as he turned toward me so quickly. “What?”
I whispered, “I’m pretty sure you heard me.”
“No! Why? Whatever it is, we can work through it!”
I shook my head. “I don’t think we can.”
“What is it? Why?”
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to sit still, even though I wanted to run from the room. I hated confrontation, and this was it at its worst. “You don’t value me. You don’t care about me the way I do about you. We are just in two different places in our lives, and I’m not sure that we’ll ever be in sync.”
He grabbed his phone off the ground and slammed it down on the coffee table. “Is this about dinner the other night?”
“Partly. That was just the final straw.”
“I can explain about that!” he exclaimed.
I flattened my palms against my jeans to keep from fidgeting. My heart beat rapidly as I tried to stop the pounding in my ears. “All right. Then please explain.”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
My left thumb started tapping. “I’m waiting.”
“I-I-I can’t tell you now, but I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”
I stopped tapping. “That’s great, Fletcher. I hope you can explain everything to yourself when I’m gone because that’s the only option right now.”
I stood up, picked up my phone and purse, then turned to go.
He stood there staring down at me. “No, we can’t be done. Why? I need at least one good reason why.”
“You’re literally the world’s worst boyfriend and I’ve put up with it as long as I can.” I tucked my phone into the side pocket of my purse.
“What did I do?”
I ticked off numbers with my fingers. “You ignore me, stand me up on dates, expect me to take care of everything for you, but then you’re never there for me when I need you!”
“That’s not true!” He took a step closer and I stepped back. I was always a terrible fighter once he got his hands on me. He’d start rubbing my shoulders, and I’d forget every reason why I was mad at him.
“I’m done, Fletch. If you don’t want to be a part of my life, that’s fine, but I’d rather get started living my own life without you in it.”
Almost like magic, his demeanor switched from wanting to plead to keep me around, to getting angry. I didn’t like the shift I was witnessing, especially when it was him going on the defensive.
“I’m sorry I can’t live up to your expectations!” he said sarcastically.
I shook my head sadly and moved around him toward the door. “I didn’t have any expectations for you. I only wanted you to be there. Only wanted a place in your life. But you haven’t changed.”
“I’ll change! If that’s what you need, I’ll change for you,” he called as I grabbed the doorknob.
“I’ve tried to be patient and understanding, but you only use me. You only spend time with me when it’s convenient for you, and even then, you’re constantly glued to your work phone, as though you always prefer work over me. And I don’t understand how your job takes up so much of your time!”
“That is not true!” he snapped. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be than with you. Work is just unfortunately busy right now. It will get better, I promise!”
“You say that, but the last couple months you haven’t shown me that. I’m really sorry, Fletcher, but I think it’s time we both went our separate ways.”
“No—I want to be there for you Saidy. I—” A phone ringing shrilly interrupted his promises. With a muttered curse he picked up the phone and answered.
“Hello. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there in five. Bye.”
That was my chance for escape, to prove to him that what I said a moment ago was completely true. Let him think on that as he watches me walk out the door. Before he even hung up the phone, I stepped outside and closed the door before he could say anything else to me. Obviously, he was back to dealing with a work emergency that couldn’t possibly be handled without him.
Which meant that I was off to purge my house and my heart of Fletcher.
When I got home from Fletcher’s, I carried in the box I’d had to pick up from the post office at lunch time. My mailman still did not deliver my packages. I thought something would change when I chased him down and scared the life out of him.
But it hadn’t. I was still left tracking down my packages like a world-class treasure hunter.
Numbly, I pulled out a pair of travel scissors from my purse and began opening the box resting on my entryway table. Pulling the bubble wrap out, I gasped as I stared at a trophy.
A glistening, golden trophy with the words “World’s Worst Boyfriend” etched into it.
I’d forgotten entering him into the contest meant I’d actually won something. Pulling the trophy out, I set it on the table with a loud thunk. Wow, it was a sturdy little sucker.
A small card lay on top of a magazine and book. I pulled them out. It was a $500 gift card to Target, the Bee Best magazine, and a relationship guide called Me First. How appropriate.
Well, I was looking forward to using at least one of those things. I didn’t know what to do with the giant trophy or the relationship guide, though. The last thing I wanted was to jump back into something with some random person.
I added the packaging to my recycle bin under my sink and turned to stare at the World’s Worst Boyfriend trophy that sparkled across the room.
I knew exactly what I should do to begin having some closure. I should purge my house of everything Fletcher-related. But instead, I turned on my electric fireplace, sat down in my chair and began looking at pictures of the two of us.
There was the night we went on our first date and we stood awkwardly close together trying to take a selfie. He’d kissed me before we even made it to dinner.
Then there was the time we went ice skating and I had to hold his hand to help steady him. The next picture of us was at a paintball range. I’d absolutely hated it, but Fletcher had been laughing like a little boy. I might have let him think I’d absolutely loved it too. (I didn’t.) We’d been back five times since we’d been dating, and even made some new friends from it. Milo and Andrea had been another couple we’d been teamed up with, so I guess at least some good things came from playing paintball.
Next was a picture of Fletcher and my grandmother at her bridge night. No one was allowed to interrupt, except Fletcher. I’d started wielding him like a secret weapon after I discovered that. He was happy to do it for me too. It was one of those sweet, endearing things I loved about him.
&nb
sp; Something I wouldn’t get to enjoy anymore.
I’m not sure how long I sat there sobbing my eyes out looking at our pictures. Long enough to let my mascara run down my cheeks, that was for sure.
I stood up on shaky legs and locked the front door.
I’d worry about purging my house from Fletcher tomorrow. It was getting late anyway. Right now, I just wanted to be hopelessly sad—in my comfy bed.
I walked into the laundry room to double check that the back door was locked. A wave of something vile hit me when I walked into the laundry room…
An appalling, disgusting smell assaulted my nose.
Whatever the smell was, it wasn’t from my clothes. I was completely caught up on laundry and even at its dirtiest it never smelled that bad. Usually, the strongest my clothes smelled was when I’d been painting.
This was a different smell. Rank. I wondered if a mouse died under my house. Nothing could stink quite as much as a mouse. Buying an old craftsman home had been a dream of mine. Unfortunately, I hadn’t even thought about the number of critters and rodents I would have to deal with.
I searched every corner of the laundry room. I couldn’t find anything that would be causing that smell.
But when I drew closer to the hamper, I realized the smell was coming from inside.
“What the—” I opened the lid and looked down. And gagged.
Fletcher had dropped a bag of clothes in the hamper. It smelled like death. Apparently, he’d done more than just stop by to check and see if I was home earlier. He’d had an ulterior motive.
Nasty laundry.
Without another thought, I scooped up the bag and tossed the entire thing in the washer, then I poured a bunch of deodorizing laundry detergent in and switched the water temp to hot, hot hot.
All the hot.
Anything to kill that horrendous smell.
I grabbed the hamper and set it outside on my back porch, then I searched my cleaning supply cupboard to find a pine tree-scented candle. I set it on the shelf and lit it, hoping it—mixed with the bleach smell—would erase the horridness from the laundry room.
Any sadness I’d felt about breaking up with Fletcher was smashed to smithereens the moment I spied his filthy laundry. Shattered like a brittle piece of pottery.
With my newfound energy, it made it easier to do what I’d originally set out to do.
I gathered all of Fletcher’s random personal belongings he had stashed around my house. Sweatshirts hung on the coat rack at the back door. Spare keys in my junk drawer. His favorite travel mug.
His spare charger cords. It all went into the same bag.
After collecting everything, I went into my room and looked at my floating shelf lined with baseball caps. Gifts from Fletcher. He loved his hats and was always wearing one. When I first bought him a SF hat, I was worried he’d think it was too cheesy, too clingy that I was using a San Francisco hat to represent our initials. Instead of making fun of me for my sentimentality, he’d scooped me off my feet and kissed me until I couldn’t remember my own name. Ever since then, he’d been buying us matching SF hats.
I shoved all the San Francisco hats into another bag. I didn’t need to see our SF initials on a hat all the time. It was too painful.
Staring at the haul, I was ninety-five percent sure I’d made the right decision to dump him.
I think.
But I couldn’t keep doing this. I deserved better. And if he was only staying with me out of convenience, then he deserved better too. I wasn’t so lonely and desperate that I needed to stay with someone who didn’t want me.
It was the right decision. I knew it. I just needed to convince myself the rest of the five percent. But it didn’t change the fact that while I was cleansing my home of all things Fletcher, I was crying enough to make my eyes look like puffy red beacons.
I carried the bag of hats to the front door, setting them next to the bag of miscellaneous stuff. If Fletcher wanted the hats, he could have them.
I texted him a picture of the bags, telling him they had to go. If he didn’t pick them up soon, I’d be giving them away.
He texted back.
Fletcher: You can’t get rid of our hats. I’ll pick them up when I come get my laundry. And then we’re going to talk. I wasn’t the only one with faults in our relationship.
Is he serious? Yeah, I definitely made the right decision.
I didn’t bother messaging him back.
Chapter Seven
Fletcher
“You really do look like you live in your mother’s basement. You look disgusting.”
I lifted my head from where I was resting it on my desk. “No, don’t stop there. Tell me how beautiful my eyes are.”
I sat in my duplex, trying to focus enough to compile all the data and information I’d pulled from Sullivan’s servers in the last twenty-four hours.
My undercover partner, West Turner, stood in the doorway to the bedroom I’d turned into an office. He was working a different angle undercover and could usually be found hanging out at The Bar. A local bar known for being the place that criminal or underworld deals were made.
“You need to stop sneaking into people’s houses. You’re going to get shot someday.”
He strode in and flopped down in the chair across from the desk. I still wasn’t sure if his tattoos were permanent or just part of his undercover disguise. He was working the back end of the investigation. Finding out specific delivery routes and fixers. Anything that was being hired out, he was looking into. And he was perfect for it. He looked like the guy who was going to probably kill you for no more than fifty bucks.
Basically, he was perfect for the role he was playing.
“You been up all night?”
I nodded. “I’ve almost got it.”
He rubbed a hand against his chin. “I hate to say it, but you’re better at this than I thought you’d be.”
“I’m sure your girlfriends love your complimentary attitude.” I shot back. I didn’t actually know if he had a girlfriend, which was a testament to his close-lipped approach to undercover work.
I reopened the computer and saw that the encrypted file had sent.
Now it was in the hands of our superiors, and they could decide how soon to act on that information. Logging hard evidence against a black-market broker was surprisingly difficult. But it would be over soon.
Only a few more weeks of undercover work, and then I could come clean to Saidy.
Oh, wait. Saidy had broken up with me. There would be no coming clean with Saidy.
She’d given up on us. She’d given up on me.
I’d given her no choice in the matter, though.
I guess that’s what I got when I tried to date the most amazing girl when I was neck deep in an undercover sting.
How did I come clean to my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—that everything she knew about me was a lie? But, hey, girl, I know you’re the one for me?
Yeah, I can picture how that proposal would be. She’d probably break her favorite tea mug right over my head.
The issue was, I had never lost interest in her like she claimed. In fact, I’d only grown more interested, and more determined to wrap up this case so I could spend more time with her. I was ready to be done lying. And the closer we got to the end of this investigation, the more time it required from me.
In the beginning, the only job I had was to get Sullivan to trust me.
That hadn’t taken long. West liked to tell me I didn’t have a threatening demeanor. It was his way of kindly telling me I sucked as a cop.
It was okay, though, I could live with West’s insults as long as we completed this thing and I never had to do undercover work again. Never. Ever.
Did I need to add another ‘never’ to that statement? I wasn’t sure.
I’d transferred to the Riverly station to apply for a detective position—not to do undercover work. Unfortunately, the condition to getting that position was that I went undercover on the Su
llivan Keene case.
They needed a fresh face and had promised me it was the only time I’d have to do it.
Ironically, I’d applied for the detective position after a failed undercover job when I’d been working in Burnside.
“I have a lead on the driver,” West said, bringing my attention back to the present. I opened up the video surveillance of Sullivan’s place.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“He wants a point man when he makes the delivery. I plan on being that guy.”
I opened a bank statement and began writing down the numbers. We had to find where Sullivan was routing the money if we wanted to find out who was behind this. Sullivan was a glorified broker. He wasn’t the be-all and end-all of our investigation, but he was an excellent hub of knowledge.
“Why don’t you go to the bar and do what you do best then? Go get yourself hired as a point man.”
“And here I thought you’d offer to make me a cup of tea and chat.” He stood up, the whole chair creaking beneath his weight. We were nearly the same height, but West was a brick. He had me beat by sixty pounds, and it wasn’t all fat.
“Oh, one more thing. Jenkins told me he met your girlfriend. Wants to know her number.”
I glanced up sharply and realized he wasn’t joking based on the deadly serious look on his face. “Tell Jenkins to stay the hell away from her.”
“You know that’ll only make him more interested. He doesn’t trust you.”
I sighed. “Then tell him the truth. I’ve moved on and she’s not in my life any longer.”
West nodded, then turned to go. He stopped before he made it through the door frame. “Wait, the truth? You’re not dating that girl anymore?”
I pulled open the frame of Sullivan’s office. He was sitting at his desk talking on the phone.
“Yeah, the truth. Saidy broke up with me.”
“Wow. I did not see that coming.”
“I know.” I still couldn’t believe it myself.
World's Worst Boyfriend: A Romantic Comedy Adventure (Fake It Book 3) Page 6