by Megyn Ward
He gets as far as the pool table before Patrick grabs my hand and drag me upstairs.
Patrick leads me to the couch, sitting me down gently like I’m made of glass. I’m worked up, adrenaline pumping through my system, heart cannonballing against my rib-cage, pumping so fast and hard, it hurts. As soon as I’m seated, he sits on the coffee table across from me, so close our knees are touching.
Neither of us talk. We just sit there, watching each other. Finally, I find my voice. “Someone should check on Conner.”
“Con’s fine.” Patrick laughs, swiping a rough hand over his face. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I lie.
He knows I’m lying but doesn’t press the issue. “Look, about what you said this morning, about the video,” he says, gaze focused on my chin. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have watched it. But I want you to know that I didn’t go looking for it. I would never do something like that to you.” His mouth quirks a little, and he shakes his head. “I’ve done a lot of things over the last few days that would seem to argue the contrary but I... care about you. The last thing I would ever do is hurt you on purpose.”
Not I love you. I care about you. Because he said it once and that’s what I did.
I hurt him on purpose.
“And you don’t have to move out,” he tells me, pulling me back into the conversation.
“I—” I open my mouth, but he talks over me.
“I have a few vacant rental properties across town,” he says, finally dragging his gaze up to meet mine. “I’m going to move into one of them. You can have this place. As long as you want it.”
“What?” I shake my head. “No, I can’t do that.”
“It makes sense—the apartment building I’m looking at needs some renovation. I can live there while I’m working on it.”
“You love it here,” I say, my throat tight.
“I do, but it’s too far from the office for me.” He says it like it’s final. Already been decided. “Living here has been inconvenient for a while now.” Now he’s the one who’s lying. “Besides, this place is only a ten-minute drive to the gallery.” He smiles at me. “With the way you like to drag your feet in the morning, you need to be as close to work as possible.”
“Miranda fired me.”
“What?” My words wipe the smile off his face. “She fired you? She can’t—”
“She fired me because she loved my paintings. She wants to show them.” Pride swells in my chest. “She says I’m going to be too busy painting full-time to answer her phones and fetch her coffee.”
“Holy shit.” He gives me a smile. Not the cocky grin or snarky little half-smile he’s been addicted to lately. A real smile. Open and genuine. The kind he used to give me before I started this whole thing. “That’s the best news I’ve heard today,” he says, dropping a hand on my knee. As soon as he makes contact, he pulls back, and the smile fades around its edges. “Now you really have to stay.” He nods his head, looking around the living room. “You’ve done some of your best work here.”
Because you were here with me.
“I’m moving back home, Patrick,” I say it quick like I’m ripping off a bandage.
“What? Home?” His voice spikes and I hear it. Confusion. Disbelief. Anger. “Wher—this is your home.”
“Ohio,” I say quietly. “I’m moving home to Ohio.”
He drops his head and runs his hand over the back of it. “I thought you said Miranda wants you to paint full-time.”
“She does,” I say. “But she also fired me. Without a real job, without real money coming in, I can’t afford to live on my own. At least not right now.”
“You don’t have to live on your own. You can live here.” He says it slowly like he’s fighting to stay calm. Like he doesn’t get it. “You don’t have to pay rent. You don’t have to pay anything. Just—”
“I am not living off you like some—” Gold digger. I almost say it. “charity case.” Brushing my fingertips across my cheek, they come away wet. “Besides, stuff like what happened downstairs with that guy—it’s just going to keep happening. I... I think it’s best just to slink off and lick my wounds for a while.”
“Oh.” Patrick stiffens for a second before he drops his hand, giving me a nod. “Wounds. Right. Okay.” He thinks I’m talking about him. That he’s the reason I’m leaving. That he hurt me. Instead of telling him the truth, I let him believe it. It’s easier this way. “When?”
“Saturday morning,” I tell him.
He looks at me like he’s done the math and it doesn’t add up. “That’s two days from now.”
“Miranda is sending someone to pack and transport the paintings to the gallery.” I say it like I’m reading it all off a cue card. Like none of it is real. “I want to be here to supervise but after that...”
His mouth quirks again. It’s an expression I’ve come to recognize. It’s bitterness. “There’s no reason for you to stay.”
I look away, so I don’t have to see it. The hurt. The resignation. The same way he looked at me this morning when I told him it was over between us. “I’ll stay with Tess until it’s time for me to go.”
“No.” The word comes out, hard and fast and he stops himself, taking a deep slow breath. “You don’t have to do that. This is your home—you shouldn’t have to do that... because of me.” He swipes another hand over his face before standing. “I’ll keep my distance. Hands to myself,” he says, lifting them to shoulder height, palms out, fingers spread wide. “Best behavior. Just... stay here. Okay?”
I don’t want him to keep his distance. I don’t want him to keep his hands to himself. I want him to kiss me. Tell me he loves me. Ask me to stay. Not just for tonight or tomorrow. I want him to ask me to stay forever. But I know he won’t. Patrick’s a fast learner. He reached for me once and it stung. He won’t do it again.
I look up at him and nod my head. “Okay.”
He takes a step back, away from me. “I’m gonna go downstairs and help Declan prep for tonight.” He smiles at me, but he has the dazed look of a survivor, like someone who’s just watched a tornado rip their house from its foundation or been pulled from a raging fire.
That’s what I am. Something to be survived.
It’s what I do. Destroy everything good I touch.
Seventeen
Patrick
I shouldn’t have done it. Insist that she stay here instead of with Tess. It would’ve been easier on us both if she did. All I know is when she said she was moving home, I felt like someone reached into my chest and popped my lungs like a pair of balloons. I couldn’t breathe. The thought of her leaving... I panicked. Said the only thing I could think of to buy myself another day with her.
I need more time.
Not to convince her to stay or to be with me. I know I can’t do that. I’m the reason she’s leaving. I know that... I just need to wake up one more morning, knowing she’s here. That she hasn’t left me yet. Not yet. That there’s still a chance, even if I’ve been too chicken shit to take it.
I spent the night steeped in booze. Thursday is Ladies’ Night at Gilroy’s—there is no shortage of single women and do a shot with me! is their battle cry. I lost count at eight.
I remember stumbling up the stairs around 3 AM. Standing in the kitchen, I toss back a fistful of Ibuprofen and a couple of bottles of water, staring at the crack of light leaking from beneath Cari’s door. She’s awake.
Don’t make this any weirder or harder than it already is.
Like that’s even possible.
She doesn’t want you.
I deserve to know why.
You promised, asshole.
Yeah, I promised.
“Fuck.” I mutter it, passing her room to pinball my way down the hall to my own. Kicking my door shut with a resounding clap, I lock it before face-planting in my bed.
Regardless of my late night, I keep to my schedule. I get up at 5 AM and go for a run, thanking god for what Uncle Paddy calls our
Irish Constitution. When I come home, I shower. I dress for work. I eat a bowl of cereal while I wait for the coffee to finish brewing. Her door is still shut, and it takes everything I’ve got to leave it that way. I want to open it, just to make sure she’s still here. I want to, but I don’t because I promised I wouldn’t. I promised to leave her alone. To not make this any weirder or harder than it already is. She’s leaving, and I’m going to let her. Spying her car keys, tossed on the counter, next to the toaster, I palm them. Stuff them in my pocket.
I check my phone between bites, scrolling through texts. The first one is from Declan, reminding me that we’re meeting with the insurance adjuster on-site at 9 AM. The rest are from Sara.
Sara: Please let me explain.
Sara: I need to talk to you.
Sara: Please, Patrick. Just
answer your phone.
Sara: I’m sorry.
Nothing she didn’t say to me when I chased her out the door after the meeting with her father.
“Why?” I said. Even though I knew, I wanted to hear her say it. “What did Cari ever do to you?”
For a second, she looked like she was going to deny it. Act like she didn’t know what I was talking about. Then her face hardened. Her gaze shifted like she couldn’t look me in the eye. “You know what she did.”
“It’s not her fault I’m in love with her,” I told her. “That’s on me. You want to punish someone, it should’ve been me.”
She reaches for my arm. “I love you,” she says it like it should mean something. Like I should feel the same way.
“We were together for five weeks, Sara,” I say, pulling myself free. “I don’t think you love me, I just think no one has ever told you no before.”
“She’s not good enough for you.” She turns ugly. Desperate. “Did you see that video? She—”
“Yeah, I saw it.” I nod my head, rubbing my hand across my mouth because thinking about it makes me a little sick. “And on her worst day, Cari is still the best person I know. A thousand times better than you could even hope to be.”
“Patrick—” She reaches for me again, and I push her hand away.
“You know what really pisses me off?” I tell her stepping in close enough to have her shrink back a little. I’ve never hit a woman in my life. Never wanted to. Until now. “Sunday, when James and his little minion showed up at the game—you had no idea who he was. That means you sought him out. That means this wasn’t a situation that got away from you. You weren’t duped or coerced. You knew who he was, how he treated Cari, and you went looking for him. And like an idiot, I defended you.” I’m the one who pointed her in his direction. I feel my lips peel away from my teeth in an expression that has her shrinking back even further. “Don’t ever come back here, Sara. You’re not welcome anymore.”
I delete her texts before rinsing my bowl and putting it in the dishwasher. When I turn around, Cari’s standing in her bedroom doorway, watching me. She’s wearing the robe I gave her, the sleeves baggy and skimming her knuckles, its lapels pulled tight across her chest. All I can think about is how little more than 24-hours ago, I was pulling it off her. Reaching past its folds to touch the warm skin underneath.
“Morning,” I say, my voice is horse so I clear my throat and try again. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“No.” She shakes her head, threading the robe’s belt between her fingers. “The guy Miranda is sending for the paintings will be here in an hour.”
“Oh,” I say, nodding my head while I dig my stainless-steel to-go cup out of the cabinet above the coffee pot. I haven’t used it in months, but I need to get out of here.
“Late night?” She smiles, trying to keep things normal. Make them the way they were before.
“Ladies’ Night always is,” I say, forcing myself to smile. Keep it light. Make it easy. “So, I was thinking... maybe we can get everyone together tonight.” I pour coffee into my cup, focusing on the task at hand in an effort to keep myself grounded. “We can close for the night. Hang out down stairs. Have some drinks. Stick Declan in the kitchen. Listen to some music.” I fit the lid on my cup and risk a look in her direction. “A private send-off. What do you think?”
“You can’t close Gilroy’s on a Friday night.” She looks at me like I’m crazy.
“It’s my bar,” I remind her. “I can do whatever I want.”
She chews on her bottom lip, her hands still fidgeting with the belt around her waist. She looks like she’s looking for a way out, so I give it to her.
“Look,” I say as casually as I can. “If you have other plans, it’s cool. It’s your last night in Boston—you should do whatever you want to do.” I cross the kitchen, moving toward her.
“I thought maybe I’d just order pizza and clear out the DVR,” she says, moving out of the doorway so I can pass through it. “You know, a quiet night in.”
“Okay,” I say, passing through the living room on my way to the front door. “Well, if you get bored, come downstairs and join us for a drink or two.”
“I thought maybe you’d want to hang out, just the two of us,” she says. “You know, like... before.”
Before.
That stops me in my tracks, and I turn to see that she’s followed me into the living room, standing close enough to touch. I want to grab her and shake her. Yell at her. Ask her what the hell she’s doing. When she’s going to get tired of playing with me.
But then I remember I’m the one who asked her to stay. I’m the one who needed more time.
“How about both,” I say, pulling the door open to step onto the landing. “You can torture me with reality television for a few hours and then we can go downstairs and give everyone a chance to say goodbye.”
The smile on her face wobbles a bit, but she holds onto it. “It’s a date.”
When I get to the garage, it’s barely 7 AM. Even though Con doesn’t officially open until 9, Tess has the bay doors up and music blaring so loud she doesn’t hear me come in. Half of her body is under the hood of a ’57 Chevy, disappeared so far into its belly, the toes of her boots kick against the ground for purchase. Her cat, Shadrach, is curled up, sleeping in a sunny spot on the dash board.
Rather than compete with the noise, I pick up the remote and mute the speaker system Con wired throughout the garage. As soon as the music is gone, Tess’s head pops up.
“Hey asshole, I was—” As soon as she sees me, she goes quiet. “Oh. Thought you were Con.” She never did have trouble telling us apart. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of answering her, I study the truck she’s working on. “I can’t believe Conner makes you work on this.”
She raises an eyebrow at me while she uses a worn bandana to wipe grease off her hands. “He’s not making me do anything,” she says. “Restoring it was my idea.”
“Why would you do that?” This is Declan’s truck. At least it used to be.
“Because it’s a good truck.” She tucks the bandana into the back pocket of her coveralls. “And a lot of good things happened in it.”
“A lot of bad too.”
“You’re almost as bad as Con these days.” Tess laughs, but I can hear it. I hit a nerve.
Reaching through the open window, I scratch Shadrach behind her ear. She’s got to be nearly ten by now. “You bring your cat to work?”
“Sometimes.” She narrows her eyes at me for a second before shrugging. “Con’s not here.”
“Not looking for Conner,” I say, digging my hand into my pocket to pull out a set of car keys. “I need you to tune it up. New brakes. Tires. Whatever it needs to make a long-distance trip. Whatever it costs. I’ll cover it.”
She takes the keys from me and looks at Cari’s car parked outside. “What’s going on?”
“Cari’s leaving,” I say, bumping my fist against the window frame of the truck before I back away. “She’s moving home.”
This time when she narrows her eyes at me, they stay that way. “This is her home.”
“That’s what I said.” I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s either laugh or scream. “Look, I’ve gotta go. Don’t let her know I brought her car here. You know how she—”
“Tell her, Patrick,” she says, lunging forward to catch my arm, the keys in her hand digging into my elbow. “For fuck’s sake, quit being a pussy and just tell her already.”
“I did, Tess.” I take her by the wrist and pull myself free. “I told her I love her and it didn’t matter—it wasn’t enough. She’s leaving.”
She stares at me for a second, like she’s waiting for me to shout, gotcha! When I don’t, she’s the one who shouts. “Shit!”
I give her wrist a squeeze, telling her I’m sorry, before letting her go. “I’m closing the bar early tonight. Come by around eleven or so—you can help clear out the riffraff.” I grin at her. “I know it’s your favorite.”
“It is,” she says, her chin wobbling around the words for a second before she launches herself at me. “This is my fault.” Her face is smashed against my chest, arms around my waist. “I’m sorry, Cap’n—I should’ve minded my own damn business. Left shit between you two alone.”
I grip her by her arms and push her back. “Do you blame that stupid cat for what happened between you and Declan?”
Tess looks at me, stunned for a second before she understands what I’m saying to her. If not for Shadrach, there probably never would’ve been a Declan and Tess. “No,” she says, wiping tears off her face. “And Shadrach’s not stupid. She’s awesome.”
“So are you.” On impulse, I lean in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before I head out. “See you tonight,” I say over my shoulder. “Bring the cat.”
Eighteen
Cari
It’s a date.
As soon as I said it, I wanted to throw myself out the window. I hadn’t planned any of it. When he suggested a group send off, I’d opened my mouth to agree. Instead, I cornered him into hanging out, just the two of us.