Just as I was ready to sock him, I heard a familiar, smooth voice behind me. “I think this dance is over, buddy!” I turned around to Will who had a beyond calm look on his face. He never met my gaze, but just the sight of him did weird things to my heart. In my drunkenness, I moaned from the memory of what he could do to me. I stared, transfixed, my mouth gaping. Thankfully, the unintentional moan was drowned out by the pounding music.
Dolph Two yelled back, “Get your own piece of ass, dawg!” Will shrugged like he was conceding. He turned on his heel to walk away and then a split second later he turned back and clocked Dolph Two right in the temple, laying him out cold on the floor. He grabbed my hand and began pulling me off the dance floor.
“Whoa, Rocky, what was that?” He ignored me and continued yanking on my arm until we were outside of the club. I shimmied my hand out of his grip. “I didn’t ask for your help,” I spat. “Where’s Jenny?”
His voice was low and husky. “She’s inside with Tyler. You’re wasted, Mia. Let me get you home.”
My eyes began to well up as I studied the handsome man in front of me. My vision blurred, but he was still perfectly sexy, his hair a little longer, a light stubble growing along his defined jawline. The pink T-shirt was covered up by a black hoody that came up over his head and shadowed his eyes. Taking a cautious step toward me, he moved into the light of the street lamp. His eyes were sullen and distant, but his hands were outstretched to me, palms up like Jesus Christ himself.
“Please, let me help you get home?” He moved toward me.
“What do you think, you can just disappear for months and then show up here to save me? What? You think I need you?” I could hear belligerent words leaving my mouth, but I couldn’t stop. He shook his head slightly; eyes narrowed and pained.
Suddenly my world was spinning; I walked two feet and began heaving into a planter box. I felt his hands on me, holding my hair and rubbing my back. I did need him. Collapsing into his side, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and tilted my head back to look into his eyes. He was searching my face. “Baby, are you okay?”
That’s when I lost it. Tears poured from my eyes, I sobbed loudly. “Don’t call me baby!”
“Settle down,” he said in all seriousness and then in one swift move, he reached down and scooped me up. That was last thing I remember until I woke the next morning with my head in his lap, and not in the way either one of us would have liked. We were on my bathroom floor, his back was propped against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the feet. He was sound asleep, sitting almost perfectly upright. I surveyed the room and myself. My head was throbbing, my shirt was stained and smelled awful, but I didn’t want to move because I didn’t know how long I had… with him. I had clearly been throwing up, probably all night, and Will must have stayed to watch over me. I put my head back down in his lap and dozed off again.
I woke later that morning to the sound of his muffled voice in the kitchen. I was lying on top of my bed where he must have put me. I was always amazed at how gentle he was; moving a grown woman without waking her was a gift. I scurried down the hall, hoping I would catch him preparing breakfast in a way that would say everything was back to normal, but he wasn’t. He was dressed with his backpack on and a glass of water in hand as he finished up a quiet phone call.
“I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you in a bit,” he whispered into the phone and then reached out to hand me the glass of water. He put his phone in his back pocket, looked over at me, expressionless, and said, “Take care of yourself,” before turning to leave.
“Wait, Will. Can I talk to you?”
“I have nothing to say.” He continued walking away.
When his hand reached the knob, I protested. “Wait, please! I have something for you.”
He paused and turned, leaning his back against the door. I went to my room, grabbed the Sinead O’Connor tape and ran back toward him. As I handed it to him, I gazed into his eyes. He looked away, like my stare caused him pain.
“I’m sorry.”
When he glanced at the tape, I caught a tiny smile playing on his lips, but it was fleeting. “Me too.” He spoke so quietly, his words didn’t seem meant for me.
“Listen to it, please—it’s not what you think.”
“Okay.”
“Do you still love me, Will?”
He looked right into my eyes and whispered, “More than you know.” Then he was out the door and down the stairs before I could find my voice to beg him to stay.
I went into the café and muscled through a hundred lattes even though I thought my head was going to explode. By the end of that day, I was back to my wallowing, pitiful self. I closed up Kell’s at nine, went home, took a shower, and then walked to the corner market in a pair of pink flannel pajamas covered by my light-blue terry robe. I had really lost all self-respect at that point. I spread my groceries out on the counter; Benton reviewed my choices. There was a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of peppermint schnapps, hot cocoa mix, vodka, a box of tissue, and one of those rolled-up horoscopes.
“I didn’t know you smoked, Miss Mia?”
“I’m starting today,” I said.