by Anna Cruise
I should have ignored her. Pushed past her and found Griffin. Or, better yet, walked straight out of the bar and home. It was an easy walk back to the apartment and I knew he'd drive my truck home. And if he wasn't in any condition to drive, he'd leave it there and come back for it in the morning. He wasn't always the best decision maker but he wouldn't fuck around with my car.
But there was something in her voice, something in the way she said those other names, that compelled me to respond.
“Abby,” I said. “Her name is Abby.”
She nodded and her silver hoop earrings bounced. “Oh, right. She has the twin sister, right?”
It was my turn to nod.
“So, she's here with you, right?” Kayla looked past me, back toward the main room of the bar and scanned the crowd.
Walk away, I told myself.
“No.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “No?”
I shook my head.
“Thought you two were attached at the hip.”
“You thought wrong.”
She smiled, her bloodshot eyes leveled on mine. “Hmm.” She took a step closer, fingering the golden cross she wore. “You still together?”
“None of your business.” I took a step, trying to move past her in the dimly lit hall.
She leaned back, giving me room, and teetered on the wedge sandals she wore. She let out a little shriek and, on instinct, I shot out my arm to stop her from falling and she tumbled into me.
“Haven't been here in a while,” she murmured, her mouth next to my ear, her arms wrapped around my neck.
I righted her, getting her body away from mine, making sure her feet were firmly planted on the tile floor before stepping away.
“You aren't, are you?” she said, her mouth curving into a smile.
“I'm not what?”
“With her anymore.”
“Not having this conversation with you, Kayla.” My ex-girlfriend had been nothing but trouble when Abby and I had first started dating. After the run-in at the beach, she'd continued to complicate things between us. Not that it wasn't her standard mode of operation. Kayla had always been a fucking wreck, even when we'd dated.
She put her hand on my arm and squeezed. “I'm sorry,” she said.
It wasn't what I'd expected. The words weren't a surprise—Kayla could bullshit better than almost anyone I knew—but that was the thing. She didn't sound like she was mocking and she didn't sound insincere.
I didn't want it. I didn't want her sympathy, genuine or not.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
“What?”
Her gaze shifted from my eyes to my mouth. “Can I help?” Her nails dug into my forearm and she moved closer to me. “Maybe take your mind off of things for a little while?”
Before I could stop her, she fitted herself to me, her tits pressing into my chest and she kissed me. I didn't know if the alcohol I'd drank had me frozen in place or the fact that lips—unfamiliar lips—were on mine, moving against them, a tongue darting into my mouth. Her hands snaked around my neck and she pushed her hips into me, grinding against me.
I closed my eyes and pretended. Pretended it was Abby. Pretended it was her lips sucking on mine, pretended it was her ass I was grabbing, her crotch I was thrusting into. I moved my mouth to her ear, nipping her lobe with my teeth, and opened my eyes. Griffin was at the bar, his own eyes wide with shock. He shook his head no. Back and forth, over and over, making sure I saw him.
I dropped my hands and pushed her away. What the hell was I thinking?
She stared at me with half-lidded eyes. “What?” she asked, her chest heaving.
“Thought you might have outgrown throwing yourself at every guy you see.”
She smiled. “Didn't seem like you were protesting too much.” She reached for me again but I folded my arms across my chest and took a step back.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.”
She drew back, stung, as the realization that I was rejecting her settled in. “Fuck you, West.”
I smiled. “You wish.”
THIRTY
My head felt like someone had pounded it with a sledgehammer. I rubbed my eyes and groaned and turned over. And fell off the couch.
“Whoa. Sleeping Beauty awakes.” Griffin's voice was as loud as an announcer at an arena and my hands immediately shot up to cover my ears.
He laughed.
“What the fuck, man?” I winced at how loud my own voice sounded and dropped to a whisper. “What time is it?”
“Noon.”
I opened one eye. “Seriously?”
“Deadly.” He nodded his head toward the clock mounted on the wall. “See for yourself.”
I shifted on the carpet and turned my head in the general direction of the clock. My vision was cloudy and my brain was fuzzy but it looked like he was telling the truth.
“How the hell did that happen?” I muttered.
Griffin motioned to the coffee table. “Well, when you knock back half a bottle of Jack, crazy shit happens. Like passing out and losing track of time.”
I lifted my head just a little and saw the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table. “I didn't drink all that.”
“You sure as shit did.”
I closed my eyes again and dropped my head back to the carpet. “I don't remember.”
“Huh.” He sat down on the couch. “So you probably don't remember the twenty odd phone calls you made to your ex-girlfriend, either.”
My eyes flew open. “What?”
He nodded as he popped something into his mouth. A donut hole. My stomach rolled as the smell of fried dough hit. “Yep. Came home from Emerald City and found you passed out on the couch. Phone on your forehead.” He ate another donut hole, chewing loudly. “Grabbed the phone to see what the fuck you'd been up to. Twenty-two calls to Abby, dude.”
As soon as he said it, it came back to me. Walking home from the bar, pissed at myself for kissing Kayla. It hadn't been my fault—she'd thrown herself at me—but it didn't matter. For half a minute, I'd kissed her back. And even though Abby had broken up with me, it had still felt wrong, like I was cheating on her.
Which was ridiculous. Because she'd pulled the plug on us. Called it quits and hadn't bothered to get in touch with me for three days straight.
I'd gone home and grabbed the bottle of Jack. Took swig after swig and stewed. We'd spent a year together and she'd broken up with me over the phone. After we'd spent a week on vacation together. Not just the two of us, but with her family. After we'd decided to move to Tucson together. I hadn't pressured her to make the decision; she'd done it on her own.
And then we'd come back to San Diego and she'd disappeared with Tana. Two days later and we were done. Finished.
The hard liquor coupled with the beer made me bold. Angry. I wanted answers. So I'd picked up the phone and called her. It didn't matter that it was one o'clock in the morning.
She hadn't answered. Not one single time. But I'd left her messages.
“I take it you didn't get ahold of her?” Griffin asked.
I just grunted.
“Please tell me you didn't leave a message.” When I didn't say anything he groaned. “Seriously? How many?”
I cradled my head in my hands. “I dunno. I can't remember. And stop talking so loud. My fucking head is pounding.”
He groaned again. “I bet you left her a message every time you called. You did, didn't you?” He sighed. “I knew I should have followed you home. Just put your ass in bed.”
I wished he had, too. Even in the condition I was in, with my brain barely functioning, I knew it had been a stupid thing to do. Calling her. Leaving messages. It made me look like a raving lunatic. A pussy-whipped, raving lunatic.
He stood up, brushing crumbs from his board shorts. “Get up.”
I burrowed into the carpet.
His foot came down on my back. “Up. Or I'm picking your ass up off the floor.”
“Fuck
off.”
He leaned down and I rolled away, every muscle in my body protesting at the sudden movement. His hand gripped my shoulder. “Up.”
Before I could say anything, he lifted me to my feet and hauled me down the hall. I shoved at him but he held me tight, shoving me towards the bathroom.
“You need a shower,” he said. “You smell like shit and you need to wake the fuck up.”
“What for?”
He propped me against the sink and I tried to steady myself but my head felt like it was about to explode. He turned the water on and the spray sounded like a jet engine.
“One, so you don't stink up the place,” he told me. “And two, so you can sober up and go and take care of this once and for all.”
I eyed him warily. “Take care of what?”
He yanked my shorts down and shoved me into a stream of cold water. “Abby.”
THIRTY ONE
An hour later, I was standing on the sidewalk in front of Abby's house. I'd taken the shower with Griffin watching over me. After vomiting up the entire contents of my stomach and downing four ibuprofen, I'd started to feel slightly more human. I got dressed, managed to swallow—and keep down—a half glass of orange juice and was able to talk myself into believing that Griffin was right. I did need to talk to Abby. Not over the phone and not through voicemails. In person.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at the front door of the house. My pulse raced a little and I wondered if being there was such a good idea after all. She could have picked up the phone last night if she'd wanted to talk to me. She could have come by any time during the previous three days if she'd wanted to see me.
And she hadn't.
I shook my head. Of course she hadn't. She'd broken up with me. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking. I wasn't there to make amends or to try to talk her into changing her mind. It was all still too new, too raw. The only thing I wanted from her at that moment was the reason why. Why things had changed, why she'd changed her mind about us.
And I was pretty sure the only way I was gonna get that was in person.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my sunglasses. It was now or never.
I took a step forward, then moved quickly, making my way to the door before I could change my mind. I rapped hard on the wood exterior, my knuckles stinging. The sound of footsteps approached and the butterflies stirred as the door opened.
“West.” Mr. Sellers greeted me cooly.
I lifted my sunglasses and moved them to the top of my head. “Mr. Sellers.”
“What can I do for you?” He didn't ask me to call him Doug.
I kicked a little at the door threshold. “I was wondering if Abby was home.”
“She is.” He made no move to step aside, tightening his grip on the door handle instead.
“Can I see her?”
He frowned. “Now's not really a good time—”
“I don't think there's ever going to be a good time.” I pointed out. When he didn't respond, I started again. “Look, I don't know if you know—”
“I know.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.” I hesitated, my fingers closing in on the keys in my pocket, the jagged edges pressing into my skin. “Five minutes. Three, even. I just have a question I need to ask. That's it.”
He studied me, his eyebrows drawn together. “I don't know if it's a good idea.”
“Please, Mr. Sellers.” I swallowed. “ I know things are different now but I'm pretty sure you were on my side last week. With baseball, with having me along on your vacation. I don't know what went wrong and I swear I'm not here to make things hard on Abby or to try and make her change her mind. I just wanna know why. That's all.”
His expression paled a little but he nodded. “I know.” He studied me for a moment, his eyes filled with something I couldn't quite place. Finally, he expelled a breath I didn't realize he'd been holding. “Wait here.”
He closed the door part way and his footsteps padded down the hallway. I rocked on my heels, my pulse quickening.
The door opened wide again and my breath caught in my throat. Abby was there. Dressed in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, her hair pulled back, her face free of make-up, she looked more beautiful than I'd ever seen her. Beautiful and broken and sad.
“Hey.” I tried to offer a smile but my lips wouldn't curve, not even a little.
She didn't look at me, just kept her eyes glued to the step I was standing on. “Hi.”
“I'm sorry about last night,” I said. “Blowing up your phone like that. Totally wasn't cool.”
“It's okay.”
I fingered the keys in my pocket, my thumb nail digging into the ridges again. I hated that we were standing there like two fucking strangers, two people who didn't know each other and who didn't mean shit to one another. I'd spent the better part of a year with her. Talking with her, laughing with her. Kissing her, tasting her, making love to her.
She was mine, dammit. She wasn't a stranger.
She was mine.
She was looking at me. Her blue eyes burned into mine, her expression just as unreadable as her dad's had been only a few minutes earlier. “What do you want, West?”
“I...” I faltered and cleared my throat and tried again. “I just wanna know why.”
“Why what?”
She wasn't making it easy. I was torn between wanting to throttle her, I was so pissed, and wanting to kiss her, I was so filled with needing and wanting her.
“Why you broke up with me.”
She took a deep breath and looked away. “I already told you. I needed a break.”
“Just like that?” I shook my head. “One day, we're fine, getting ready to move to Arizona and then the next—boom, done?”
She didn't answer right away, just stared at my left shoulder, like she was looking at something on the street behind me.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “That's pretty much it.”
“Look at me.” Her gaze didn't falter and I said it again. “Look. At. Me.”
Her eyes lifted, meeting mine. They were bright with unshed tears.
“Tell me what's wrong,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and reached for her but she took a step back.
“Nothing is wrong,” she said but I heard it in her voice. She wasn't telling me the truth.
“Bullshit,” I said. “Why are you lying to me?”
“You can think whatever you want.” Her tone was defiant. Angry.
“Fine.” I shoved my hand back into my pocket and found the keys again. The metal poked into my skin and I pressed harder, welcoming the pain. “Then tell me this.”
“Look, I gotta go.” She took a step back, her hand on the doorknob.
“One more question,” I said quickly. “One more and then I'll go. I promise.”
She started to close the door but then stopped and sighed. “One.”
“Do you still love me?”
The question hung in the air and I watched her reaction, the way her eyes flared, the way her mouth opened as she started to respond, then closed, her lips drawn tight. I watched her take a deep breath, watched how the unshed tears pooled in her eyes.
She looked at me just as a tear escaped, snaking its way down her cheek. “No.”
The door closed and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Because I knew one thing.
She'd just lied to me. Again.
THIRTY TWO
“What are you doing here?”
“Can't anyone just greet me with a simple hello?” I complained.
Tana stared at me.
“I need to talk to you,” I said. I was on another doorstep, facing another person who didn't look too crazy about talking to me. “And before you go and start asking me what the hell I'm doing or telling me to leave you the hell alone, I really wish you'd just hear me out.”
She smiled. “Actually, I wasn't gonna say any of those things.” She opened the door wider an
d gestured toward me. “I was going to invite you in. It's a million degrees outside and my mom is gonna kill me if I let any more of this goddamn heat in the house.”
I was too stunned to say anything as I followed her inside. Tana's house was less than a mile from Abby's, on the north side of PB, close to La Jolla. A Spanish-style one-story with stucco walls and terra cotta roofing, it was one of the smaller houses on their block. I'd been with Abby to pick her up on more than one occasion but I'd never stepped foot inside.
She led me through the entry, past a living room stuffed with leather furniture and potted plants, and into the kitchen. There were bowls and utensils spread out on the island along with a bag of flour and a carton of eggs.
“Sorry,” she said. “You caught me in the middle of baking something.” She grabbed the eggs and shoved them back in the stainless steel refrigerator. She folded down the bag of flour and then plopped onto one of the bar stools parked next to the island. “Okay. Talk.”
“Uh, I was hoping you could tell me what was going on.”
“Don't just stand there,” she told me. “This is weird enough, having you here in my house without Abby. I don't need you just standing there, staring at me.”