by Megan Hart
Shit, why had he said that? Now there was no way to ask her to see him later. Idiot.
“Well,” Alice said in a clipped voice, “sounds like you’re busy. I guess I’ll talk to you later. Call me when you have some time for me.”
He could’ve asked her to wait, told her he had all the time in the world for her. He could have asked her out for tonight, but Mick hated it when women acted like they were the only ones who got to be upset about stuff. Or that it was only the guy’s responsibility to fix things. His ex Shanna had been like that, always expecting him to read her mind or make things up to her for crimes he hadn’t even known he’d committed.
Alice was nothing like Shanna.
And Mick knew it, too, just like he knew she had a right to be upset with him, even if he hadn’t meant to upset her. But there seemed to be no good way to say so now without reminding her they’d had a fight … sort of … and that it hadn’t been resolved. She’d snuck out in the morning without so much as a kiss, not even a note, and she hadn’t said a goddamn word to him since then, but it was his job to patch things up?
It had taken him about thirty seconds to think of all that, but thirty seconds is a really long time for silence on a telephone call. The soft huff of her breathing sounded pissed off. Well, guess what, he thought. He was still pissed off, too.
“Later,” Mick said, and hung up before she could say anything.
He regretted it immediately. He had no plans for tonight, because he’d assumed he’d be with her. And shit, even if they hadn’t specifically said anything, why shouldn’t she assume the same thing? Why did he have to spell it out for her? If she wanted him to be the guy who showed up for every date with flowers and candy, Mick thought sourly as he passed the chocolate aisle, she had the wrong guy.
“I should never have to guess how you feel,” she’d said, and remembering that pissed him off all over again.
How could she even wonder if he thought about her? Fuck, he thought about her all the damn time. She drove him crazy, that’s what Alice did. Distracted him, made it hard to do anything else but think about her.
How could she not know that?
Mick flipped open his phone and dialed her number. He was going to lay it all out to her, right there in the kosher foods aisle. He did think about her, he did want to see her, and he did love her. Okay, so it wasn’t easy for him to say things. Most guys were like that, weren’t they? Did she have to expect so much from him?
Angrily, Mick listened to the ringing of his unanswered call, but hung up before it went to voice mail. He wasn’t about to leave her a message that she could ignore and not answer just to get back at him. That shit wasn’t right, he told himself as he pushed his cart, filling it with stuff he barely paid attention to. Playing games.
Fuck that. He wasn’t going to call her again. No matter how much he wanted to talk to her, or see her. Let her come to him, Mick thought bitterly.
Let her wait.
* * *
Alice waited a week before she deleted his name from her instant message list. It had killed her to see him come online every night, same time as always, but never ping her. So had the silence of her phone. But she’d meant what she’d said. No matter how quickly the words had slipped from her lips, they’d been sincere.
Call me when you have time for me.
No call. Therefore, no time. It stung, first like a slap and then every day after that with the slow, dull throb and ache of a muscle-deep bruise that refused to heal.
Another week passed. A third. She gave up believing he’d call her, but not hoping.
She didn’t speak of it to Jay, who asked only once or twice before wisely choosing to change the subject. Things with him and Paul had been patched up. Jay was happy about it, and if Alice didn’t quite believe Paul wouldn’t end up breaking her friend’s heart, she knew better than to taint him with her own bitterness about her situation.
Wendy hadn’t been quite so understanding.
“Men,” she said flatly, “are assholes. Why are they such assholes?”
Alice picked at her salad. No appetite. At least she wasn’t eating her feelings.
“Hey. Don’t let him do this to you.” Wendy rapped a fingertip on the table to get Alice to look at her.
Alice shrugged. “He didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t let him do. Things happen. Sometimes the things that burn the brightest also die the fastest.”
“He said he loved you ‘on some level,’” her sister said with a sneer. “That’s just gross.”
Her sister’s affront on her behalf made her want to cry. “I don’t know. I guess I’d rather he said that than lied to me about how he felt.”
“He’s scared.”
“That’s just what we always say about men when they don’t give us what we want,” Alice said. “It’s a nice way of making ourselves feel superior, or something.”
“Okay, so he wasn’t scared, he was just a dick!” Wendy said.
Alice dragged her fork through the pile of unappetizing lettuce and gave her sister a small smile. “I’m trying to be philosophical here, and the best you can come up with is that he’s a dick?”
“A giant one.” Wendy nodded. “Riddled with oozing sores. No, not a big one. A tiny, teeny weeny blister-covered prick!”
Alice snorted laughter. After a second or so, the giggles turned to chuckles, and then to guffaws. In another minute, she and Wendy were laughing hard enough to send tears rolling down their cheeks … and then she was crying. Sobbing. Alice buried her face in her hands.
She hadn’t cried at all this entire time, but now the gasping sobs rose up and choked her. The tears seared her, burning. Everything tasted of salt and sorrow, and Alice pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop herself from crying but could not.
“Thank God you came here for lunch instead of Olive Garden,” she heard Wendy say, and lost it all over again.
She cried long enough to soak the tablecloth in front of her, and her sister handed her tissue after tissue until finally, Alice was able to stop. Her eyes had swollen so much her sister was nothing more than a blurry lump. Her nose, a running faucet. Even her tongue felt cracked and sore.
Wendy handed her a wet cloth from the sink and squeezed her shoulder gently. “Feel better?”
“No.” Alice shook her head as she wiped her face with the cloth. Another surge of tears threatened, like waves of sickness, but she pressed the cool cloth to her face and managed to keep it under control. “I fucked up, Wendy. So much.”
“Shh, hey,” her sister said. “He fucked up. Not you. Even if you did, I mean, we all do, he still should call you. You told him to when he had some time, and he hasn’t. That’s just a dick move.”
Alice wiped her face and took the cloth away to look at her sister. “It’s playing games, and it’s stupid, but I’m doing it, too. So we’re both idiots.”
“So … call him,” Wendy said.
Alice gave her sister a long, hard look, until Wendy nodded with a sigh. “It’s a thing with him, Wendy. And it will probably always be a thing with him. So, the question is, can I deal with that thing? Or will it keep making me crazy?”
“It will keep making you crazy.” Wendy shook her head.
“So … I call him, he doesn’t call me back. Then I’m right back where we started. It sucks. It’s stupid. We’re both stubborn, we’re both assholes.” Alice shrugged helplessly, feeling the tears welling again. Hating herself for not being able to stop feeling so fucking sad. “But I told him to call me when he had time for me, and he hasn’t. Should I chase him?”
“No. But do you want him to chase you?”
Wendy had a point, one Alice had thought about a lot. “He doesn’t have to chase me. I’m right here. Right where I’ve always been. All he has to do is reach out, and here I am.”
“I’m sorry.” Wendy reached to grab Alice’s hand for a squeeze. “It sucks all around.”
“Yeah. It does.” Alice drew a deep breath
and gave her sister a water-logged smile.
“Hey, I know what would make this better. Soft serve from Peggy’s.” Wendy waggled her brows and grinned.
The last thing in the world Alice wanted was ice cream, really, but her sister was trying to cheer her up.
“By the time we get there,” Wendy said, “you’ll want some. I promise.”
Face washed, positive attitude implemented, in her sister’s passenger seat, Alice turned the music up loud and rolled down the window to let the wind blow her hair. It was summer. She was with her sister. And ice cream really could make everything better.
They were both laughing and singing along with the radio when the pickup truck ran the red light and rear-ended them.
* * *
He’d known there would be questions when he showed up to Sunday dinner without Alice, but all Mick said was that she hadn’t been able to make it. Jimmy and Jack didn’t give a shit, of course. Pop, God bless him, wouldn’t have noticed the Pope if he walked in. Mick’s mother gave him an extra-long hug and pat on the back and served him two portions of turkey before she’d even let Jack have a second. It was Mary who cornered him in the kitchen after dinner, when Mick was getting something down from the high cupboard for Ma.
“What happened?”
Mick set the platter on the table and gave his sister a shrug he knew damn well wouldn’t put her off for long. Mary, who could be a dog with a bone, gave him a sad look. Mick shrugged.
His sister watched him, her arms crossed. She’d started looking so much like their mother it was scary, except that Ma was soft-spoken and never pried. Mary could take a lesson, Mick thought, and felt bad at once.
“She was good for you,” Mary repeated. “What did you do?”
Mick cracked open the bottle and took a long pull. He could escape into the living room and the TV with his dad, brothers, and nephews, but he stayed. Not sure why.
“I didn’t call her back.”
Mary groaned. “Oh. That. What is it with you? With most men, actually. It’s not brain surgery. Someone calls you, you call them back, why is it so hard?”
“I didn’t feel like talking to her right then, and then it got late and I was going to call her the next day. That’s all.” Mick shrugged again. The beer tasted sour, and he poured it down the sink.
“Did you fight about it?”
He nodded.
Mary sighed. “So, call her now.”
Mick said nothing. Mary’s brows rose. She put her hands on her hips.
“Mick!”
“She said she didn’t like it when we didn’t make plans, that it was always last minute.”
Mary looked at him like he was stupid. “Makes sense to me.”
“I’m spontaneous!” Mick protested.
“You’re not spontaneous,” his sister told him. “You’re disorganized and you’re always looking for the next best thing, so you can’t commit to what’s in front of you in case something more exciting comes along.”
That hit him to the core, but if anyone in the world knew him, it was Mary. “Shit. That’s cold.”
“It’s true,” she said, but gently. “I love you, Mickey, but my God, I’ve watched you do this dance for years. You’re going to lose her if you don’t step up.”
“She told me to call her when I had time for her, like I never made time for her, when I did. All the time. I gave that girl more time than I’ve ever given anyone! Why can’t women ever just be satisfied?”
“I’m disgusted with you,” Mary said flatly. “Satisfied? You want her to be satisfied with what you give her? Don’t be arrogant, Mick. She wants to spend time with you because she likes you. And you turn around and knock her down for it?”
“She pissed me off, Mare. I need time to cool down, so I don’t lose my temper and totally fuck everything up, say things I’ll regret.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Let me get this straight. You had a fight about you not calling her back and about not making plans. She told you to call her when you had time for her. And you’re not calling her?”
It sounded stupid because it was stupid, but all Mick could do was give Mary a stubborn glare. His sister shook her head, clearly giving up on him. “I don’t want to be an idiot, Mary.”
“Well,” she said. “You are.”
* * *
Alice had been in the ER for hours. Nothing broken, though she’d needed stitches in her arm and hand. They hadn’t admitted her, though they’d taken Wendy upstairs an hour ago. Her sister had suffered the brunt of the accident and was being kept overnight for observation, though both of them had been fortunate not to suffer serious injuries. The driver of the truck had walked away without even being admitted. Everything could’ve been much worse.
Her clothes had started going stiff from the blood. She didn’t know if it were hers or Wendy’s, but she wanted a hot shower, clean pajamas, some ice packs, and her bed. Everything hurt. She was already purple with bruises.
“I just want to go home.” Alice turned her head to look away from the doctor who was poking and prodding her.
“You have a ride?” the doctor asked.
She hesitated. “I called my … a friend. To come and get me. But he hasn’t answered me yet.”
The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile. “Do you have any other friends who you can call?”
She did, but she didn’t want any of them. She wanted Mick. She needed him.
“Do you want to give your friend some more time to answer you? Or we can call you a cab.” The doctor was already looking harried, not that Alice blamed him. The ER was overflowing with patients in worse condition than hers.
Alice checked her phone, but Mick hadn’t returned her call. She took a deep breath that hurt everything inside her and shook her head. “Yeah. A cab would be great.”
* * *
“Mick. It’s me. I’ve been in an accident, a car accident. They’re keeping my sister, she’s banged up pretty bad, but they’re letting me go home. I’m okay, but … I need you. … Can you come get me? Please call me back. I need you.”
He’d listened to the message ten times, at least, each time feeling sicker and sicker inside. It had come in around two thirty on Sunday afternoon, while he was driving home from his parents’. He hadn’t listened to it until just before he went to bed. Not on purpose. Not to be a dick. Just because he hadn’t noticed it until then.
He’d called her back as soon as he’d listened, but had gone straight to voice mail. Three times, though he hadn’t left a message after the first. At a loss, he’d called Jay, but he hadn’t answered, either.
Monday morning, exhausted from being unable to sleep, he’d missed the alarm. Got to work late. He’d called Jay again, this time at the office, but got an out-of-office voice mail. Useless for anything, Mick canceled his onsite visits. He logged into his computer, but Alice’s name didn’t appear in his list of contacts.
He called her again. “Alice. Call me, please. I’m sorry I didn’t get your message before. I really am. But please, call me back, okay?”
She didn’t call him back. Not all day, and by five o’clock, Mick couldn’t stand it anymore. With rush hour traffic it took him close to two hours to get to her place, and by the time he did, he was starving. Worried. Anxious and a little angry, too.
When she opened the door, all the breath left him. She looked like … shit, she looked like she’d been hit by a truck. He wanted to take her in his arms, but the way she stood so stiffly, as though merely looking at him hurt her, kept him from touching her.
“Can I come in?”
Silently, she stood aside to let him pass, then closed the door after him. Without a word she went into the living room and settled onto the couch, where it was clear she’d been for a long time. Blankets, a bowl of half-eaten soup, ice packs. The TV was playing something in black and white, but on mute.
“Alice …”
She looked at him, her expression completely blank. She’d done nothing to cover t
he bruises on her face, and they stood out starkly in shades of purple, blue, and even black. It broke him to see them, along with the railroad track pattern of stitches on her forearm and the back of her hand.
It broke him worse the way she looked at him. Not cutting her gaze. Flat and disinterested and emotionless.
Mick knelt beside her, tried to take her good hand. She tugged it gently away and put it under the blanket. His insides twisted.
“I’m sorry,” Mick said. “Baby, I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
Something glittered in her gaze. “No. You weren’t. I called you, and you didn’t answer. And this time, Mick, it wasn’t about whether or not we were going to lunch. This time, I really needed you, and you were not there.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, helpless to do anything but repeat it until maybe she’d hear him.
Alice only stared, silent. She’d heard him, Mick realized. But she would not listen. He got to his feet.
“You want me to go,” he said, not a question.
“If you can’t be there for me when I need you,” Alice told him, “then I don’t want you.”
She swallowed, her mouth thinning. She blinked rapidly, and it killed him that she was trying so hard not to cry in front of him. He’d done that to her. Hurt her worse than that truck. Left her with worse than bruises. Worse than scars.
It was over.
Also by Megan Hart
Every Part of You
About the Author
MEGAN HART is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of many romance and erotica novels, including Switch, Tempted, Deeper, and Dirty, and the e-original serial Every Part of You. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and children.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DON’T DENY ME: PART TWO. Copyright © 2015 by Megan Hart. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.