by Amy Daws
“You won’t be saying good when I fucking sue you!” Green Shirt bellows from the ground on his knees.
But his words don’t even register in my mind as I slide my gaze to the left and see Mercedes standing there with her hands over her wide open mouth. Obvious tears have sprouted in her eyes.
Are those for this douchebag?
She looks up at me and drops her hands, her chin quivering uncontrollably, and she croaks my name. “Miles.”
She moves out to touch me, and I yank back from her and shake off Sam’s grip. I pin her with a serious stare. “Don’t talk to me.”
“Miles!” she exclaims with a shout. “I need to explain.”
“Explain this?” I roar, pointing down at her idiot of an ex weeping into a cocktail napkin. “Explain why I punched a guy for a girl whose name I don’t even know?”
A sob bubbles up her throat, and I can’t even look at her anymore. I turn, powering my way through the crowd of people who have all pressed in around us. I pass Lynsey near the bar, and she looks at me like a whipped puppy, but thankfully says nothing.
As I make my way through the doorway toward the stairs, my mind begins racing. You think you fucking know someone. You think maybe you’ve been wrong all along, and there are good people out there who can be honest and up front with you. Real.
But then you find out you were wrong , so fucking wrong that you have the bloody knuckles to prove it.
I pause in the stairwell and send my bloodied fist flying into the concrete wall. It does zero damage to the wall, but it takes the sting off the pain in my chest, and that’s better than nothing.
“Goddamnit,” I growl, shaking my hand, my knuckles cracking painfully into each other as I stretch my fingers out.
“Miles, wait,” Mercedes voice echoes in the dark stairwell, illuminated only by a sconce on the wall.
I’m tempted to ignore her and keep going, but I catch sight of her fumbling down the stairs in a pair of tall wedge sandals. She looks like she could fall at any second, so I stop just to get her to stop chasing me.
“What, Mercedes?” I growl, my hand clutching the metal railing so hard, it aches. “Or is it Katie?”
She stops two steps above me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her blue eyes are sad when she croaks, “It’s Kate. I was going to tell you.”
“When?” I ask, my voice ragged now that my adrenaline has slowed and I’m staring up at the woman I’ve bared my soul to these past several weeks. I look straight into her eyes and add, “After I fell in love with you?”
She sucks in a sharp, shaky breath and replies hurriedly, “I’m still the same person, Miles. I’m as much Mercedes as I am Kate. Mercedes is still my name, it’s just used on my books.”
“It’s your pen name?” I ask, and she nods her confirmation. “Then why fucking lie about it?”
“I don’t know!” she replies with a flick of her hands. “Because with my ex, I got used to hiding that part of me. But with you, I didn’t have to do that, not ever. Kate Smith is who I am when I’m not telling people about what I do. One of our first nights together, you told your sister about me. That’s something I’ve never experienced before, Miles.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “If I’m so open and accepting, then why hide your real name? You had so many chances to tell me. Do you know what an idiot I feel like for calling you Mercedes all this time? Every time we slept together. I feel like a fucking joke to you!”
“You’re not a joke, I am!” She steps down one step so she’s eye level with me and reaches her hands out to grab my face. “I liked you so much. All this time I liked you as more than a friend with benefits. I’m the joke because I thought I could be cool and casual Mercedes with no strings attached, but that was the biggest lie of all. I’m plain old boring Kate Smith, and I’m totally fucking falling for you, Miles.”
Her words have me yanking my face out of her embrace and dropping backward a few steps. I don’t care if she’s falling for me. I mean, look what happened tonight. She’s worse than Jocelyn. She’s going to rake me over the coals, and after going through all that shit for a second time, there will be nothing left of me.
I turn and look away from her emotional, tortured face. “I told you I don’t want drama, Kate. My ex did that to me over and over, and I’m done with that shit.” I look back and point up at the door at the top of the stairs. “I’ve never punched another guy in my life, and I just fucking broke that dick’s nose.”
“I’m sorry!” she exclaims, grabbing the railing and squeezing so hard her arm begins to tremble. “But I’m not perfect. I’m going to have drama in my life. And you can’t give me a zero-tolerance policy for drama because of your freaking baggage!”
I shake my head, refusing to hear any more. My mind is full up of bullshit tonight, and I can’t take another second. “I’m out, Kate, Mercedes, whoever you are. You can keep your drama and your lies. Keep living your life as your author name, your real name, with your boyfriend or ex-boyfriend. Gay, not gay. Whatever.”
“Miles, please—”
“No, I’m done.” I point at the area of space between us like it represents everything that’s happened since the moment she ran into me in the alley of Tire Depot. My tone is deep and final when I add, “This…is officially the end of our story.”
And then I turn my back and walk down the stairs away from the girl I thought I fucking knew but was, in fact, writing fiction the whole damn time.
You know that point in a romance novel where the girl bares her heart to the guy, and he tells her that he’s loved her since the first moment he laid eyes on her?
That’s not how my story with Miles went.
In fact, my story with Miles went from an epic love story to a tragic women’s fiction. Because what do you call a love story with no happy ending?
Fucking pathetic, that’s what.
There are two black moments to my story with Miles Hudson. And if I thought black moment number one—when he rejected me outside of Walrus Saloon—was bad, it’s nothing compared to black moment number two.
Make a note to never write another fight scene outside a bar in any book ever again.
I stare at the blinking cursor in my manuscript and will my fingers to begin typing. I shift uncomfortably in the beach chair on the back patio of Lynsey’s townhouse, just trying to find a sweet spot that’ll help things start clicking into place.
It’s useless.
I’ve tried every spot in Lynsey’s home to find my writing mojo again, and nothing is flowing. Nothing. And the fact that I can see Dryston’s stupid face upstairs in the window of the bedroom that I once had my mojo in makes me vibrate with rage.
I ended up giving Dryston the townhouse so he’d stop threatening legal action against Miles for punching him in the nose. It was a no-brainer because Miles would never have punched Dryston if it wasn’t for me. But now I’ve spent the past two weeks struggling to find my vibe while living with Lynsey. As far as roommates go, she’s great. But she doesn’t inspire me the way Miles did. Not even close.
Hell, I even went with Lynsey to the hospital cafeteria one day to try to find a new vibe. When that didn’t work, I tried hanging out at the bakery by Dean’s office.
Nothing worked.
Because I already found the place that I vibed in.
Tire Depot.
But I burned that bridge. Miles hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts, and that’s all there is to it.
In my mind, I am having a Rita Hayworth moment. She was a stunning, old Hollywood actress who said men would go to bed with Gilda, the beautiful icon, and wake up to the reality, a lot less glamorous version of the dream.
Mercedes Lee Loveletter is Gilda. Kate Smith is reality.
I wasn’t brave enough to find out if Miles would accept less than Gilda, and now I’ve ruined my chances of ever knowing for sure.
I slam my laptop closed and let out a mighty growl just as Lynsey and Dean come striding out onto th
e back patio with drinks in hand.
Dean smiles down at me as he hands me a margarita. “Drink up, it’ll help.”
I take the glass from his hand and watch Lynsey stride over to her tiki bar to set an enormous full pitcher of margaritas down. She looks at me excitedly and says, “We’re brainstorming!”
“Plotting,” Dean corrects with a wink and takes the beach chair beside me.
Lynsey flops down on the other one, so now I’m sandwiched between my friends with drinks in hand, a far improvement to my state only a few minutes ago.
“You guys are right,” I reply and take a sip. “Maybe a new book idea is just what I need to get my mojo back. Something about a pilot or a series that features British soccer-playing brothers, perhaps! You guys know I love a British accent.”
“Kate,” Dean cuts me off.
“Sorry,” I cringe. “It’d be football if they’re British.”
He rolls his eyes. “We’re not plotting a new book series. We’re plotting how you can get Miles back.”
I deflate instantly and take a sip. “That ship has sailed, my friends. Miles made that perfectly clear.”
“Oh, stop,” Lynsey chastises. “He was upset. Guys don’t like to be made a fool of, and you made him feel like an idiot. He’ll get over it.”
“He’s not returning any of my calls,” I correct. “It’s been two weeks.”
“That’s because you haven’t made your grand gesture yet,” she says, pulling her sunglasses down off her head and over her eyes as she sits back.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Kate!” Lynsey exclaims, hitting the side of her chair in frustration. She flails her hands out to gesture while she continues, “You write this shit, now you need to live it. You need to make a grand gesture that shows your hero you care in a deeply personal way that makes it clear that while you know you fucked up royally, you still know him. You know him and care about him, and the grandness of this gesture will prove that.”
“Wow, that was a mouthful,” I quip and take another drink.
“She’s right, Kate,” Dean interjects, and I look over and see the seriousness in his eyes. “You know he cares about you, so just talking to him isn’t going to be enough. You have to make it big.”
I bite down on a chunk of ice for a moment while pondering this. “In erotica, the grand gestures are usually like a power flip. Like, oh, okay, I’ll let you put a horsetail butt plug in me just this once.”
Lynsey and Dean erupt into laughter, and I frown back at them, stating, “I’m serious.”
They roll their eyes, and Dean says, “Think more romantic, less farm animal.”
I remain silent for a few minutes as I scroll through everything about Miles that I love. Then I think about everything he loves, and my eyes alight when I recall the night we shared in his grandpa’s truck.
“His grandpa has this old truck that he’s dying to fix up. But he’s dumping all his money into house renovations, so he’s holding off on it for now. He said the carburetor needed replacing.”
Dean’s eyes brighten at this revelation. “You just had seven months’ worth of rent open up.”
“You think this is a good idea?” I ask, chewing on my thumbnail nervously. “Can you just buy a carburetor for a car? Wouldn’t he have to like…I don’t know…repair it or something?”
“That’s what Google is for!” Lynsey squeals and reaches out to grab my computer.
“Wait, will this be emasculating?” I say, stopping her mid-Google. “If I buy some expensive part for his grandpa’s truck, is he going to be like, ‘Fuck you bitch, I pay my own way?’” Lynsey and I both look at Dean for an answer.
“Not if you give it to him naked.” He simply shrugs.
My first reaction is to laugh, but when Dean doesn’t join in, my face drops. “Wait, seriously?”
He lifts his brows and pins me with a look. “I’m not even into cars, but if you came at me naked with a carburetor in your hand, I’d probably be all over that.”
I look over at Lynsey, who gives me a shrug as well.
“We’ll figure that part out later,” I state with a laugh. “Let’s find this orgasm-maker!”
“Bro, what the hell is your deal?” my sister, Megan’s voice cuts through the phone line, waking me out of a deep slumber.
I scrub my hands over my face and check the time on my phone. “Jeez, why are you awake? It’s 6:30 in the morning. My alarm hasn’t even gone off yet.”
“I thought you worked for a living,” she retorts.
“I don’t leave my house until 7:15. I had a good thirty minutes before I had to get up, you brat.”
She sighs heavily. “Mom’s worried about you.”
I stretch my arms wide and throw my feet off the side of the bed to make my way to the bathroom. “Why?” I ask, pulling myself out of my boxers.
“Because you haven’t sent her an email in two weeks. Are you peeing?”
“No,” I lie.
“Liar.”
“I’m not peeing. It’s just the creek by my house. It runs really fast and hard in the morning.”
“You’re disgusting. Have the decency to mute the phone line next time.”
“But then you wouldn’t be able to hear me pee.” A lazy grin spreads across my face as I tuck the phone against my shoulder to wash my hands. “What’s Mom’s deal?”
“You go from emailing her on Sunday nights like clockwork to radio silence on all of us for two weeks. We talked about this, Miles. One email a week means you get to avoid the two-hour phone calls with her where she threatens to come stay with you for a week. Why are you slacking?”
I exhale heavily and make my way down the hall out into my kitchen. My timed coffee pot has finished brewing, and I pour myself a cup. “I’ve been busy.”
“Bullshit,” she snaps as I open my front door and step outside onto the porch. The sky is a mixture of blue and golden sunrise, illuminating the treetops in front of my house.
“I haven’t felt like talking, Meg.”
She groans loudly. “Don’t tell me you got back together with Jocelyn. I’m telling you, Miles, our family will not be able to stand this again. I thought she was married and had a kid anyway.”
“It’s not Joce,” I snap, rolling my eyes and taking a sip. “It’s that…author girl,” I admit because I know my sister, and she won’t quit until I fess up.
“The one you called me from the bar about?”
I clear my throat and reply through clenched teeth. “Yes.”
“Oh man! I didn’t know you were seeing her!”
“I’m not…I mean, I was. But it’s over now.”
“Why?”
“Because she lied to me about some shit, and I’m not bringing noise like that back into my life again. Been there, done that.”
Megan’s little growl on the other line surprises me. “Don’t think every girl who isn’t perfect is like Jocelyn, all right? I don’t know this author chick, but I do know you, and you sounded so crazy happy that night you called me to talk about her, Miles. Happier than I’d heard you in like…forever. I’d say since Joce, but honestly, you were never happy with that girl. Not a day in your life. I know I haven’t met this author, but I called Mom the very next day to tell her about how you sounded because it was so night and day different. We were excited.”
“Seriously?” I state, my jaw dropping. I knew my family had issues with Jocelyn, but they rarely ever voiced them to me. They were always blindly supportive of my decisions. “You guys never said anything.”
“Miles, Joce was the worst, and she made you miserable. You were moody for years because of that girl. God, every time you guys broke up, we all prayed it’d be the last time.”
“Why wouldn’t you say something to me about that?” I exclaim, wrapping my hand around the railing of my porch and squeezing it in frustration.
“Because we never knew when you might get back together with her! And if we admitted how we really felt, a
nd you stuck with her, it could ruin our relationship with you. We actually used Grandpa to tell you she was a massive bitch because we knew you couldn’t hate him.”
“Oh my God,” I exclaim with a shake of my head. “Grandpa was in on it?”
“Oh yeah,” she replies with a giggle. “I remember him saying to Mom one time…‘If you guys are too weak to tell Miles to drop that girl, then I’ll do it.’ Mom was super insulted, but it was Gramps…ya know.”
I laugh loudly at that. “God, I can picture him saying that.”
“Needless to say, I’m glad your silence isn’t because of her. So what’s going on with the author girl then? What’s her name again?”
I shake my head and reply, “Kate.” It feels weird to say out loud when she’s been Mercedes in my mind for so long, but honestly, it suits her a hell of a lot better than Mercedes Lee Loveletter.
“What did she lie to you about?”
“A couple of different things,” I reply, really not wanting to get into the details because it makes me feel pathetic.
“So what happened when you found out?”
My brows lift. “I punched a guy.”
I’m met with silence on the other end.
“Megan?” I ask. “Megan!” I say a little louder.
“Sorry, I was processing. So you actually punched a guy?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m not proud.”
“Jesus, I am…impressed. Dad always said the only woman who would ever make you violent to another person was me. You’re sort of one of those ‘all bark, no bite’ guys. Your bark is usually scary enough because you’re basically a giant. So the fact that you punched a guy over this girl makes me think you must really care about her.”
This is a concept I have been pondering for the past couple of weeks. “I think I was really starting to,” I admit. “But it’s over now. She lied, and I’m not doing the Joce bullshit again.”
“There’s one big difference here that I think you’re not considering, Miles.”