I can’t believe I went to dinner with Fabian. I had spent two days prior to the dinner alternating with heck no and why the heck not? Casey and Lionel both tried to persuade me not to do it; they obviously saw scenarios I had not anticipated, but neither of them had guessed the scenario that played out. It was as if the Fabian that had taken me out to dinner that night was a different man. The easy and playful gaze he had shown me on the few occasions we had met was gone. In its place was an intense and demanding look that bordered on possessive. To say it rubbed me the wrong way was an understatement. It pissed me off. Decker had never looked at me that way; his gaze had been nothing but playful and adoring. Once my mind had drifted down that path, I wanted to see Decker more than anything. I needed to see him. I needed the full explanation that Casey and Lionel suggested I should hear. When I could no longer bear Fabian’s leering eyes or insistence to talk about himself, I told him that I wanted to leave to go find Decker. Any sign of interest was immediately gone and replaced with a look of sheer loathing. I should have known when we pulled in front of the club that things had just gone from uncomfortable to downright wrong. Fabian wasted no time in dragging me past the long line of patrons who were clearly outraged when we were ushered straight through. I was literally thrust through a doorway in the back of the club and was face to face with Decker and Melody who was on her knees, his cock in her hands. Bile had immediately risen in my throat. My heart that had been cracked on the surface by Decker’s lies and callous words, shattered. It was no longer intact, but now broken into a million tiny shards that cut and scraped against the walls of my chest, causing more pain than I ever thought possible. Punching Fabian had been the one, single, most satisfying thing I had done in the past forty-eight hours. It was worth the broken bone in my hand, and it was worth the itchy, uncomfortable, yet now colorful cast that I was stuck with for four weeks.
I glanced down at the work of art I now wore. Casey and Lionel had spent a great deal of time painting it into a beautiful piece of art that was supposed to bring joy to my heart when I looked at it. Instead, it brought pain. Memories of betrayal, memories of that night. It had been two weeks since that night. Two miserable, heart wrenching, sickening weeks, where every little thing around me seemed to have lost its brilliance and wonder. Everything felt darker, and it didn’t help that a dreary rain had settled in over New York, casting it into a cool gloom. Food tasted bland, my clothes looked dreary, and my lucky boots that I wore anywhere and everywhere were tossed under my bed. Decker loved those boots, so it made it harder to look at them. My landscaped lady parts reminded me of Decker too, so I studiously avoided looking there as I showered and dressed. Casey and Lionel had tried everything to break me from the depression that was dragging me under. This was how I had felt after my father had died. Defeated, crushed, like the world had finally delivered the blow that would break me. Not even a twenty-four hour WAGathon with wine, cheese, and crackers could pull me from my mood. The doors to The Book Shelter wouldn’t have even opened if Decker’s mom hadn’t turned up on my doorstep three days after she helped set my broken hand. Apparently she had managed to attain from Decker a little of what had happened, but not the full story. I wasn’t about to repeat it. I was doing everything I possibly could to forget about it. She dressed my cast in a waterproof bag and forced me into the shower. Then she made me soup which made me cry. No one had ever made me soup. Then she helped me open the store and even hung around to make coffee and chat with my regulars. Having her there made me miss Decker even more though. So, two weeks later I had not heard a peep from Decker, not that I imagined for a moment I would. Casey, Lionel, and I were lounging on my couch watching Debra Messing in The Wedding Date. Yesh, it just made me think of HIM all over again.
“You’re nothing at all like Debra,” Casey murmured in a contemplative tone.
I slapped him with the back of my uncast hand. “I am too. I am everything Debra embodies. A successful, beautiful, independent red head. Especially the independent part, I got that down.”
“You’re more Isla than Debra,” Lionel added.
“Isla Fisher?” I wondered out loud.
“Ohhhhhh, yeah, just like Isla in Wedding Crashers!” Casey enthusiastically joined in.
“Are you suggesting I am crazy?” I balked.
“Not at all, sweet pea,” Lionel said, patting my thigh in an effort to placate me.
“You’ve just got that whole I-don't-care-what-anyone-else-thinks attitude going on. You rock the whole go and get em’, tiger motto,” Casey said, smiling with that devilishly handsome smile he used so well.
“She’s fifty shades of cray cray in that movie,” I huffed.
“She’s a beautiful free spirit who sees something she wants and goes for it,” Casey clarified.
I snorted. “Uh huh. You just wait, Wedding Crashes Two will have Vince cheating on her and crushing her heart into smithereens.”
“Glad to see Negative Nancy has joined us for the movie,” Lionel mumbled.
“If you don’t like the company, you know where the door is!” I snapped. Yeah, I was also rockin' Angry Alice right now. I felt rather than heard the joint sigh from either side of me. Now I felt guilty. All they were trying to do was cheer me up, and I was making it difficult. I didn’t mean to; I simply couldn’t shake off the gloom sticking to my skin. A loud pounding on the door downstairs caught my attention.
“I’ll get it!” sang Casey, scrambling from the couch in what I suspected was a chance to get away from my pessimism.
Lionel tucked me under his arm, and I snuggled in. I didn’t feel like visitors, and I knew Casey would take care of it. The familiar murmur of a guy’s voice coming up the stairs to the apartment caught my attention though. I turned out of Lionel’s embrace and lounged over the back of the couch. When that familiar face appeared at the top of the stairs, the one that had been absent from my life for so long, well, the water works started all over again. Bradley dropped his bag and opened his arms. I scrambled in a not so elegant fashion over the top of the couch and ran into his comforting hug.
“Andi girl, I’m here to cut a pair of Steele balls off,” he murmured into my ear. That got something between a laugh and a sob from me.
“I missed you,” I said through clenched teeth.