I should say no, tell him what I came here to say, and leave, but alcohol sounds pretty damn good right now. “Vodka water with lime, please.”
“You got it.”
He leaves me alone to make my drink, giving me more time to process everything that’s happened recently. It’s probably not a good idea—giving me time to reflect. It leaves me feeling rejection, confusion, and sadness. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I shouldn’t let myself get hung up on men who are complicated, who I know are just going to leave me in worse condition than when they found me.
I need safe, reliable, and romantic, which just sounds boring as hell.
“Here you go,” Charlie says, placing my drink on a napkin.
“Thanks.”
“You look like you might need a couple.”
“That’s actually what I need to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?” I ask, feeling a little nervous. I’m not a quitter so this has been wearing on me.
He glances around the bar and smiles. “It’s pretty busy, but I can make time for you.”
His good mood leaves me feeling even guiltier. Charlie the asshole would have been so much easier to quit on. “My boss informed me that I need to go to New York later this week, which means I’m not going to be able to work on Thursday.”
He nods, but I think he senses there’s more because he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s becoming obvious that I’m not going to be able to keep two jobs . . . not with the demands of my new job.”
He nods again.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me . . . giving me this job when I first got to town. I can work the next two weekends on Friday and Saturday to give you time to find a replacement.” I keep rambling. It’s safe to say I suck at this.
“Are you done?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“Look, Lila, I knew when I gave you this job that you wouldn’t stick around forever. You’re a bright woman who has dreams and all that other shit you all move here for. I get it,” he says, staring at me with softness in his eyes that I’ve never experienced from him.
I release the air I’d been holding in my lungs. “Whew. I thought you were going to yell at me.”
He laughs, tossing a bar towel over his shoulder. “Nah, I learned to control myself when I was locked up.”
My eyes widen unintentionally.
“Relax. It was almost fifteen years ago. I’m a changed man.” He winks, and then continues, “If you can work this Friday and Saturday, I can cover the rest. There was a young lady who stopped by earlier to fill out an application . . . another dream catcher. And I always have Dana.”
I thought about Dana a lot this afternoon when I was tossing this idea around in my head. It’s as if I’m abandoning her, but I know if I asked her, she’d tell me this is the right thing to do.
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“No problem. Just don’t forget me when you’re rich and famous.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s probably not going to happen, but I promise not to forget you anyway.”
He starts walking to the other end of the bar where a customer is waving his empty glass in the air. “See you Friday.”
I polish off the rest of my drink and head out before I can talk myself into having another.
After pulling my jacket tightly around me, I start the short trek toward home. It’s just before seven, but darkness has fallen, the sky only painted by the light dusting of snow falling in front of the streetlights.
This is usually my favorite time of year—all the Christmas decorations—especially the bright lights. Dad went outside the day after Thanksgiving—a few days before I left for Chicago—to put lights around the house. I kind of miss staring at them while driving up to the house at night . . . I miss home.
The only thing holding me back from my peaceful place is the uncertainty with Blake. Will he be home when I get there? If so, what kind of mood will he be in? We just left things—me pissed off, him with his head spinning.
On my way up to the apartment, I make a list of all the things I need to pack for New York to take my mind off what might await me. It’s useless because after each skirt, shoe, etc., Blake peeks through. That’s how it’s been all day.
When I reach the door to the apartment, light filters underneath, preparing me for what I might find on the other side. I brace myself against the wall, letting my mind get used to the idea. It doesn’t take long to realize that thinking about it is just making matters worse.
I take a deep breath and turn the knob, relieved to see that Blake’s not here . . . not where I can see him anyway. After stepping out of my boots and throwing my coat over a dining chair, I disappear into my bedroom to put on some comfy clothes. Nights like this call for sweats and thick wool socks.
When I emerge to find something to eat, I’m in my comfort zone. It doesn’t take long to get knocked right back out of that by Blake who stands with his back to me, looking into the open fridge.
Hoping he didn’t hear me, I slowly walk backward through the doorway to my bedroom. It’s too late, though. The memories have surfaced. The thoughts I’ve tried so hard to bury come up for another breath. And then he glances over his shoulder, looking straight into my eyes.
“I know you’re there,” he says, catching me off guard. I kind of expected him to ignore me even if he did hear me. It would be easier on both of us.
“And . . .”
He shuts the fridge, rubbing the back of his neck. “The fridge is empty.”
I’ve only been to the store once since I moved here, and I feel kind of guilty. Then I remember everything that’s transpired between us over the last few days, and I’m not sorry. “Go out and get something to eat then. Don’t hurry back.”
I start to walk away, but his voice stops me. “Is that how it’s going to be now?”
Now I’m pissed—white walls turned red. “You did this, Blake! If you don’t like it, that’s too damn bad!”
He looks down at the floor then back at me. “You’re the one who left with him.”
Blake, who comes off as the most confident person I’ve ever met, looks lost. Torn. Mentally obliterated. I can’t deny that I still feel things for him. After everything we’ve done, it would be hard not to.
I walk to where he stands. He needs to hear me. He needs to feel every ounce of pain he’s caused me. He stands in front of me, the vision of every man I should run from. “I came back for you. I was with Pierce, comparing everything he did to everything you did to me. I picked you.”
His expression crumbles, but it’s not enough. “If your goal was to hurt me . . . if you wanted to see how easy it was to break me, mission accomplished, Blake. You can move on to your next plaything now.”
I wonder if my words are cutting deep enough. In a way, I want to hurt him more than I wanted to hurt Derek. At least he was honest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He brushes past me without another word, without waiting to hear my reaction. My eyes stay on him as he grabs his jacket from the chair and walks out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
I almost wish I’d just left it alone, because in the end I think I hurt myself more than I did him. I watched him fall apart, but I’m the one who shattered.
Needing some added comfort, I order a veggie pizza from the place near Charlie’s, and pour myself a big glass of wine. I try to chase Blake out of my mind, and when nothing else seems to work, I pick up a book. I can’t concentrate on the pages. It’s just a bunch of words I’m not really taking in. I keep drifting for there really is no distraction that can peel me away from him.
Nights like this should be relaxing. I should use the time to find myself, to figure out what I really want. But there’s no guarantee I’d get it, so what’s the point.
A light knock sounds at the door. Pizza—that will make everything better.
I open it and immediately regret not using the peephole.
Pierce smiles at me, and for once, I can’t match it. Smiles have been as rare as warm days in winter since the night of the benefit.