by Lex Martin
It doesn’t matter that my face is puffy and that I feel like death. I just need to cry on her shoulder. Surely she’ll know how to advise me on how to talk to Drew about this.
And that makes me cry more.
When I envisioned my life and having a family, it came in a certain order. Build up my career. Save for a rainy day. Buy a house. Date and marry a great guy. Fuck like bunnies for a few years, maybe travel, and then start a family.
It did not include getting knocked up by Portland’s most infamous bachelor.
I look around at my small bedroom, wishing I hadn’t sold my condo to start my business. At least then I’d have some liquidity. Because I’m pretty sure I have a gazillion-dollar deductible on my health insurance and giving birth is expensive.
Babies are expensive.
Doctor’s appointments are expensive.
I know because I’ve been Googling the hell out of everything baby-related today.
When I pull up to Evie and Josh’s house an hour later, I don’t care that I must look like a car ran over me. They can deal with me looking disheveled and maybe slightly psychotic.
My hair is knotted on top of my head, but pieces are hanging in my face. I’m rocking some hiking boots and the yoga pants I slept in. At least I changed my shirt because I didn’t want to smell like vomit, and I mustered the last bit of energy I had to brush my teeth and wash my face.
When I ring their doorbell, I paste a smile on my face.
Which promptly slides off the moment Drew answers the door.
20
Drew
Instead of the Uber Eats delivery of Taste of India, I open Josh’s door to a startled redhead drowning in oversize clothes. My brain halts, and my body falters. I blink.
What is Kendall doing here?
Too many days have passed since I’ve seen her—too many weeks, really—and I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to do either, so I just rub my hands through my hair as my hungry eyes take her in. But I can’t bring myself to confront her about where she’s been or why I never heard back from her. Not here, not now. And I definitely can’t look her in the eyes, since she might see the rawness in mine.
Rather than scrutinize her expression, I focus my gaze everywhere else as she stands in the industrial-chic hall. Her slim legs in yoga pants. Her tendrils of messy-sexy hair. Her narrow shoulders that seem more hunched since I last saw her. Despite my immediate concern, I’m elated to see her. Fuck chicken tikka masala and vindaloo fish curry.
I want Kendall.
I’ve missed her. So fucking much.
My chest tightens, and I’m about ready to throw my arms open to her before I remember she’s not talking to me. No, she very deliberately blew me off. Plus, she’s seeing someone else.
She must hate me for the shit that went down on our last day. Why else wouldn’t she have responded to at least one of my thirty million texts and calls?
“Hey,” I say hoarsely as I do a double take.
Red rings her sky-blue eyes, and there’s a presence behind them I’ve never seen before. Noticing the puffiness in her face and the splotches on her cheeks, I subdue a growl. Who hurt her?
A burst of protective anger pulses through me.
But she isn’t mine, I remind myself.
She’s not my problem.
I swallow hard.
She frowns, and her brows knit together. “Is Evie home?”
Without a word, I hold the door open for her, but before Kendall takes three steps in, Evie bounds over, her dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and her gray eyes lit with friendliness. She gives Kendall a huge hug.
Like I want to do. I’ve never had my body and heart ache the way they do right now.
“Kendall! So good to see you!”
“Hey, girl. Missed you,” Kendall says, her voice sounding scratchy.
Evie’s face falls as she sizes up her best friend. “Oh my God, what’s wrong? Come in.”
Evie ushers in Kendall and takes her over to the dining area. Josh kicks back in the middle of the room on his black leather couch drinking sparkling water, looking all smarty-pants in his typical dark-rimmed glasses. I make a beeline for my asshole best friend.
Okay, the fact that he’s drinking sparkling water instead of a beer in solidarity with me means he’s not a total asshole. He’s not off the hook, though, because I’m suspicious this meeting was planned by him, if not Evie too. I shoot laser eyes at him over Kendall’s head as I walk his way.
While Josh and Evie live in a restored farmhouse, they kept Josh’s old open-plan loft and stay here from time to time because it’s so convenient and features a view of the sparkling, misty city. Since he’s an architect, it’s stunning to photograph, but there’s no privacy. So instead of being able to shut a door and rip into him, he and I have a silent discussion, which involves me widening my eyes and trying to communicate with my face without the women seeing.
Me: What the hell, dude? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me she was coming over? Or for that matter, that you’d buzzed her in? Here I was expecting saag aloo…
I’m positive he understands all of the above from my pointed glare, but I only get a shrug and a wide-eyed, innocent stare back from my ex-best friend.
Him: Whaaa? I know nothing.
I plop down on the couch across from him and gesture with my ear to the women.
He holds up his hands over his head, framing a halo.
This silent argument would go on for another hour, but the doorbell rings and Josh buzzes in Uber Eats. The real Uber Eats this time.
I get up again and open the door for the delivery dude, but all I want is to talk to Kendall, but I don’t know how to do it with everyone here.
Even though I think Evie and Josh want us to talk.
Irony at its finest.
Ten minutes later, we sit without speaking at the dining table surrounded by takeout boxes of fragrant Indian food. Kendall swears she’s not hungry, and her expression makes no one want to push it. There’s food on my plate, but I move it around, none of it making its way to my mouth.
“So.” Josh clears his throat, spears a samosa, and grins in a wicked way that means he’s getting me back for, like, everything I’ve ever done to him. At least the time I pantsed him in eighth grade and when I shaved his eyebrow on winter break in college. And, oh yeah, that time I replaced the cream in his Oreos with toothpaste. “We’re graced by the presence of Portland’s most eligible bachelor. Bow down to Andrew, everyone. Can we get your autograph?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter. “Let’s not forget you’ve had the honors, too.”
“I’m old news. You’re the hottest thing around now,” he says cheekily.
I’m wondering if I can murder Josh with chutney or maybe yogurt sauce. Some sort of water torture with condiments instead? I can MacGyver it. I lean back, giving up pretending to eat. Josh notices, but he’s used to all my food issues by now.
“It’s all they could talk about on set,” Evie says. “The producer wants to get you on the show.”
“No can do, Mrs. Cartwright,” I say stiffly. “I will have to formally decline the invitation.”
With a sniffle, Kendall toys with her fork. Her voice sounds brittle, and her expression hardens. “Why not? Milk it. Give the gossip bloggers something new to say.”
The stilted tone of her voice makes me wonder. Is something new posted?
Not that I care what anyone says about me.
I do care, however, what Kendall thinks of me. “I guarantee you in a few days, no one will remember who was on that dumb magazine.”
“You have to admit it’s flattering,” says Evie.
Shaking my head, I toss my napkin on my plate. “It’s a bullshit title. It means nothing.”
“But what about that picture of you the other night with two girls on your knees? Did that mean nothing?” The edge in Kendall’s voice pierces right through my heart.
My response is immediat
e. “I haven’t been anywhere. I haven’t been out in weeks. I work. I work out. I go home.” And Google self-help questions, I don’t add. “If anything’s circulating the internet, it’s old.”
Kendall doesn’t look convinced. Especially with Josh’s next words.
“So what about the new sex tape?” He breaks off a piece of naan, fully conscious of the bomb of glittery dicks he’s just thrown down in the room.
I splutter. “Sex tape? What sex tape?” I’ve been a monk since the cabin. Before Kendall, I wouldn’t care what showed up on the internet. Now, though, I’m panicked something incriminating from my past decided to make its public debut. Especially when I catch a glimpse of Kendall’s wounded expression. I’m about ready to kill my best friend for real this time. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Got ya.” His smile is way too toothy.
“Mother. Fucker,” I growl, then open my mouth to say more but am interrupted by Evie, who must have a sixth sense I’m about to disembowel her husband with whatever I can find in their apartment.
“Oh, crap, Ken. I forgot to send you all of our phone numbers. I totally spaced. I’m so sorry!”
I swivel my head between her and Kendall, curious why she doesn’t have that already. “Numbers?”
Kendall stares at me long and hard before she responds. “When the cops threw me face down into the snow, my phone landed in a puddle, and I lost everything on it. All my data and contacts. And I had to get a new cell.”
After I note she’s still a little salty over getting arrested, the more significant realization flashes over my head like a Vegas Strip neon sign.
My jaw drops, and I sit forward, white-knuckling the dining table. “Did you get any of my texts?”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “No.” Her eyebrow arches. “Did you send any?”
The tone of her voice suggests she doesn’t think I did.
“Only enough times for you to get a restraining order.” I half-choke out a laugh. “All this time—”
Relief, hot and swift, blasts through me.
But Kendall doesn’t look convinced.
In fact, she looks pissed.
And if she thinks I didn’t try to contact her after that weekend we shared, of course she’d be pissed.
Not to forget that minor detail of getting her arrested.
“Swear to God, KK.” I hold up a hand. “I called, I texted, I would’ve sent fucking smoke signals.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I got a new phone three days later.”
We stare at each other. The implication is clear. If I called so many times, why weren’t there any after that time frame?
Should I confess to waiting outside her office and seeing her with that guy?
My stomach revolts as I contemplate having this conversation in front of Josh and Evie.
“And I didn’t hear from you after those three days why?”
“For reasons,” I say, wanting to get her the fuck out of here right now. “Reasons I will gladly share with you if we could talk just the two of us.”
I glance at Josh. He’s the stupid cat who ate the canary. Okay, fine. I’m glad he orchestrated this. But I really need to talk to Kendall alone.
Evie catches her husband’s eye. “While I think Josh and I could make you guys miserable for the entire evening, why don’t you two go. Ken, I’ll call you later.”
Kendall’s eyes narrow on me like she’s not quite sure what to believe.
“I solemnly swear on Shazam that I am not bullshitting you. I have legitimate info to discuss that will shed light on”—I wave between us—“this situation. Now get your lovely ass up and come with me.”
Grabbing her hand, I tug her up from her seat and lean down to whisper in her ear, “Give me a chance to explain.”
After the longest minute of my entire life, she nods and heads over to Evie to hug her. I wave to Josh and shepherd Kendall to my car, my heart pounding in my throat.
Why am I so nervous?
Maybe because I care.
For once in my fucking life, I care—what this woman thinks, how she feels, that I’ve clearly hurt her feelings.
As we step out of Josh’s building into the Portland drizzle, I extend my fingers to hold her hand and then pull back. I’ve lost the right to do that. But I have to do something to make amends.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, stopping in front of her in the middle of the sidewalk. I pull her into an overhang so she’s not getting dripped on. She shivers, and I take off my jacket and wrap it around her.
While she accepts my jacket with a grateful, “Thanks,” she still won’t look at me. She bites her lip, her eyes anywhere but on mine. “What are you sorry for?”
“A lengthy list. Feel free to add suggestions. In fact, it might just be easier to name what I’m not sorry for.”
Dammit. She doesn’t smile.
Here goes everything. “I’m sorry for fucking up,” I say, hoping she can feel my sincerity. “I’m sorry the police hurt you. I’m sorry you had to spend time in a cell by yourself. I’m sorry you had no communication. I’m sorry for getting the address wrong.” I chuckle and run my hand through my hair. “Do you know what happened? I was off by a digit and a cardinal direction.”
She blows out her cheeks and releases, then cocks her head to the side, slowly blinking. “What?”
“Northeast instead of Northwest. The address. I typed it in wrong in the GPS.”
Kendall closes her eyes and rubs the middle of her forehead. “Seriously?”
My hands cover her shoulders, and she finally gazes up at me.
“Seriously. Oh, and I fucked up on the digits, too. Got them transposed.”
I kick the ground. She doesn’t say anything further. I take that as my cue to keep going.
“I’m so sorry that the police came.” As my voice gets lower, aware of passing pedestrians, I cross my arms. “I’m sorry they separated us. That no one let me talk to you when we got arrested. That by the time my fucking attorney got to you, you were already gone. I’m sorry your phone broke. And I’m sorry for whatever made you cry on the way here.” I pause. “But I’m not fucking sorry about spending the weekend with you.”
A faint smile registers on her lips, but then it’s gone.
But I’ll take it. I know this girl and I have a connection, and damn if I’m not going to prove it to her.
With a deep breath, I say, “Let me take you home.” I pull her to my car before she can respond. “I can send someone to bring your car to you if you give me your keys. That okay? Just…I want to spend some time with you.”
I open the door and wait for her to decide.
“Before I get in your car, I need to know about those photos.” Her tone is accusing, and it stings. “I mean, up on the mountain, whatever we had? That was one thing. We were stranded, and we had a good time. But we’re back here for two minutes and your party pics are posted everywhere. You might say those images aren’t recent, but given your track record, I’m afraid if I believe you, I’m being a fool. And like it or not, you deserve your reputation.”
Ouch. But true.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m still sober and boringly low-glycemic. I’d tell you if I weren’t. I respect the hell out of you, Kendall. I have no reason to lie about that. You know me. I let it all hang out.” I grab her hand, knowing there’s a good chance she might knee me in the balls, and look her in the eyes. “I’ve been a shithead in the past, but this is the real me. The guy you hung out with at the cabin.”
She studies my expression.
“You swear? You promise me I’m not going to regret believing you?”
I hold up my hand. “I solemnly swear on my nutsack. And you know I love my nuts.”
A laugh bursts out of her, and I smile back and tug her to me until she’s nestled close and my arms are wrapped around her.
After a minute, she whispers, “You got the charges dropped? You’re why I’m no longer a fe
lon?”
I smile against her hair. “Maybe. I’m not opposed to playing with handcuffs under different circumstances.”
She leans into me, giving me a quick squeeze. I reluctantly let her go and usher her into my car.
We pass a few quiet blocks. No radio. No cat in our laps. Just the thrum of my engine and the slick water on the streets.
Finally, I pipe up. “I really did send you all those messages, Ken. Here’s an example.” I mimic holding up my phone. “Beep. ‘KK, this is Drew. I’m so fucking sorry, blah, blah, blah, for landing you in jail. Call me.’”
She narrows her eyes at me, but a smile is pulling at her lips.
“Beep. ‘KK. I know you’re probably still pissed, but please know I got them to drop the charges. You’d left before my lawyer sprang us out. Call me.’” I take a breath. “Beep. ‘KK. Baby, please give me a call when you get this. I’m kinda going out of my mind.’”
Then I remember the other guy, and I go quiet. I was so busy begging for forgiveness, I’d forgotten about that asshole.
“What’s wrong?”
I ignore her question. “Turn here?”
Her face hardens as she turns in her seat to face me. “What is it, Drew?”
Fuck it. I yank the steering wheel and pull us over to the side of the road. “I was honest with you. Now it’s your turn. Who’s that guy you’re seeing?”
“What guy?” She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I went to talk to you at your work the Monday after we got back, and you were leaving with that guy.”
One long pause later, she tilts her head.
“Tristan?” She couldn’t be more amused. “You met him. He’s my male version of Evie. Totally just a friend.”
Some old-school Biz Markie Just a Friend rings in my ears.
“You guys looked closer than business partners. Chummy.” I feel like an idiot for not recognizing him, but I was too busy seething to think clearly.
“No.” She smirks. “He doesn’t do it for me.”
But I do. I do really hard, if memory serves me.
“Drew Merritt, are you jealous?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes, but then she tugs on my shirt, and when I catch the smile on her face, I can’t keep the truth from her.