Rusti makes a face as I wipe under my eyes with my shirt.
“I’m calling it now,” she says, hopping up onto her feet. “You’re going to tell him, and it’s going to work out.”
“How can you call it? You don’t even know him.”
She thinks about that. As do I.
She’s been so wrapped up in life with Zack that the one or two times I suggested they come to dinner with Wade and me, Zack had something going on.
Maybe now I know why my best friend didn’t meet my boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend. Zack wasn’t going to stick around.
“Okay, true, but I do know him through you. From the way he made you smile. And laugh. And … the way he made you happy.”
He did make me happy. So happy.
“I bet he’s just scared,” she says.
“Yeah, well, me too.”
“But you have me.”
I roll my eyes, making her laugh.
She glances at her watch. “I have a quick shift tonight. Do you mind if Cleo stays here since Zack is gone?”
I look at Cleo. She wiggles her butt at me.
“It’s better than being alone, I guess,” I mutter.
Rusti laughs. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Be right back.”
She disappears down the hallway, leaving me with the dog.
“What do you think, Cleo?” I ask. “Will this work out with Wade?”
She barks. Then pants. Then shakes her behind again.
“No, that’s what got me into this situation, you little minx,” I say, laughing.
She barks again.
I feel that reaction. I really freaking do.
FORTY-FOUR
WADE
I’m going to have to move.
I stand in the middle of my living room, and all I can think about is Dara. Not just the moments when she was bent over a piece of furniture or riding me on another but also the way she tucks her legs beneath her while watching movies. How she gets popcorn bits all over the couch every damn time. Her preference for the fireplace to be on whenever she sits down because she likes the ambiance.
It’s this way in every fucking room.
The kitchen? I think of the boxes of donuts I’ve come to expect on the counter.
My office? The awe in her eye at my sketch.
The bathroom? So many lewd, delicious memories that I want to punch the mirrors until they smash against the floor that no longer has strands of her hair on it.
I can’t do this. I can’t live in this space and be surrounded by memories of her.
But will it be easier if I do pack up and go elsewhere? Sadly, I don’t think so. I think she’s burrowed into my soul and will never let go.
I mosey around my house and think of her, grateful her memories aren’t fading away. Dara Alden was the best part of my life. My time with her was the happiest I’ve ever been—happier than I ever thought I could be.
But that’s over now.
Knock! Knock!
Who is here?
I make my way to the foyer and pull open the door. My father is standing on the porch. Fuck. I’m not sure what my face does, but he laughs.
“I know that I’m not too pretty anymore, but you could at least act like you’re happy to see me,” he says.
“Sorry. Come in.”
He nods and steps inside.
I close the door.
“What’s going on?” I ask, heaving a breath. Out of all the people I want to talk to today, he’s … not on the list at all. I’d rather talk to Boone’s dumb ass than my father.
I’m not sure why I feel the way I do about him. A psychologist could have a field day with it, I’m sure. It probably has something to do with Dad seeing me at my worst—facedown in the World History section of the Georgia Tech library. I don’t love that about our relationship.
Thankful that he came? Sure. Enjoy thinking that he knows that? Not so much.
“Oh, I was in the neighborhood,” he says, sitting on the sofa.
I want to stop him, to ask him to use another piece of furniture because that cushion still smells faintly like coconuts. But just before I do that, I realize how fucking stupid that is.
Before long, everyone will stop smelling like her.
My stomach knots, and I reach for my phone.
“Interesting that you found a reason to be in this area,” I say, typing out a text.
Me: How are you?
I hold the phone in my hand.
“Well, we both know I’m lying so let’s cut the shit, huh?” he asks.
“Sounds like a plan.”
He crosses one leg on the other knee. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, or should I tell you what I heard instead?”
I glare at him. “I don’t give a shit what you heard, and no, I don’t want to talk to you.”
Dara: I’m good. Thank you for asking. Hope you are well too.
Hope I am well too? What?
I don’t know why I keep texting her. I mean, I do—I need to know she’s okay. But every time I get a response, it reminds me of the status of our relationship.
And I fucking hate it.
I hate the disconnect. I loathe feeling like she thinks I don’t care.
But am I supposed to care since I basically broke things off with her?
I don’t know. I know I can’t stop caring about her.
I know I’m so fucking fucked.
“That’s fine,” Dad says, making me jump. I forgot he was here. “Don’t talk then. Just listen.”
I look at him with the blankest stare I can muster. “I’m not in a listening mood, Father.”
His foot hits the floor. He leans forward and pierces me with a gaze I haven’t seen in a while.
The old man still has it.
“If you’re feeling froggy today, go visit another one of your offspring,” I say. “Boone always has time to waste on his hands.”
“Okay. We can do this the hard way.”
I sigh.
“I know what happened with Dara.”
“Do you now?”
He nods. “I know she had an accident and that you broke things off with her.”
“Let’s just drive that pain home.”
“I also know that your brothers canceled a massive project with Bowery Hotels because of it.”
If he wants to fight, he picked a damn good day.
My jaw clenches.
“And I told them good fucking job,” he says.
The tension in my face eases.
“Curt Bowery is a sonofabitch and always has been. If he can treat his granddaughter this way, we should want no part of it,” he says.
Okay. Didn’t see that coming.
“Glad you agree,” I say.
“But that’s really the least of my concerns right now. I know Holt and Ollie are going to do the right thing.”
Fair enough.
“What I’m worried about is you, Wade.”
“I’m fine.”
“But are you, though?”
I roll my eyes and turn my back to him.
Me: I’m miserable.
Before I can send it to Dara, I delete it.
I stare at her name and feel my heart bleed. How can it possibly feel like I’ve lost a part of my soul?
I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t even escape with work. All I can do is pace around like a deranged chicken and worry myself to death about Dara.
It wasn’t this bad with Morgan. It was a whole different kind of hurt and confusion. Now, losing Dara, I can barely breathe sometimes, and there’s no end in sight.
It’s not getting easier. I’m not making new memories to pile on top of the ones with her, thereby making it more survivable.