“I’m psychic. A key life skill as a bartender.”
I tip my head and step out of the comfort of his embrace. "Why do you call Josh anything but his name?"
I’ve never stopped to ask why before now. As far as I know, Graham has only talked to Josh once, that day a while ago when he was drinking before noon.
"You know that song by the Eagles, ‘Hotel California’?" He sets a glass on the bar and folds the towel he'd been using.
"Yeah."
"He’s in his own private Hotel California. He can never leave, no matter how much he wants to."
I lean back against the table, letting Graham’s words sink in. “He’ll never leave the war behind, will he?”
Graham swallows. “I don’t know. I wish I did.” He glances out at the darkness leading to the bar. He pauses then looks back at me. “We are the product of what we come from. But we don’t have to let that dictate our choices.” Graham takes a step toward me and pulls me into his arms once again. “You are the strongest woman I know.”
“I’m not strong, Graham. I smile and wave and pretend to be something I’m not.”
He shakes his head. “You’re wrong. The whole world has been trying to change who you are. And you haven’t surrendered.” He pauses. “If that’s not strength, I don’t know what is. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you. And I don’t know if Josh is the right guy or not…but I’d let him eat crackers in bed.”
“Oh god, that was terrible.” I burst out laughing, swiping at the tears that burn down my cheeks. "You know, for a guy who likes to pretend he's a dumb blond, you're pretty slick." I tuck my bag into the small space under the bar and tuck my shirt in. "You're also not wrong." I sigh hard, trying to release the tension in my chest. "Why does this have to be so hard?"
"Because nothing that comes easy is worth it."
"That's a shitty way of saying God has a plan or some other platitude, isn't it?"
He shrugs apologetically. "No." This time, it’s Graham who pats my cheek. "I just think…that no matter what, we have to take care of each other. Even when we don’t understand why it hurts."
Graham's words slither beneath my skin and strike a little too close to home.
Because for a long time, I didn't understand why people stayed in relationships that are so terribly bad for them. Part of me still doesn't.
It’s easier to end things with Josh than to ever face the hurt again. To ever feel it again. “I hurt him,” I whisper.
It's easier to hold on to the anger, to the hurt, than it is to figure out just what the hell had been going on that night to make him lash out like he did. I screwed up but Josh…Josh went for the jugular.
“You know how people say ‘I love you’ means never having to say you’re sorry?” Graham says quietly. “They’re full of shit. ‘I love you’ means admitting you’re wrong. It means not just saying I’m sorry. It means trying to do better.” He squeezes me and lets me go. “Do better. Take a chance. And start with I’m sorry.”
This isn’t going to end well. I should leave him be. Let him go. But I’ve screwed up badly enough that I can’t let it end like this.
He’ll be at The Pint. That’s where he always is.
* * *
Normally, The Pint is welcoming and warm and fun, but tonight it feels like all eyes are on me, frozen in the doorway. Times like this make me feel the darkness of my skin in ways that I don't when I'm around my friends.
Josh is sitting–or rather leaning–at the bar.
I have never felt this before. This pain.
But it's new for me to have been the one to cause it.
Josh glances up at me, his eyes glassy. He's swaying on his feet.
I can't feel anything. All the sound stops.
All I can see is Josh.
And then he's approaching and he is all I can see. Maybe later, this will make sense.
I thought I could do this. I was wrong.
I can't. Because I'll give in to the emotions rioting inside me and I'll hurt him. That's what I do.
Josh is right in front of me now. He's more than a little drunk. His voice is thick and slow.
"I really don't want to do this right now." His voice is smooth and deep, even if his eyes are somewhat glassy from far too much to drink.
I have broken us. Destroyed the fragile thing between us that had just gotten started.
This is my fault.
Josh
She is braced for war. Braced for me to lash out, to cut her and when I do, I end her responsibility, relieve her of the pain she caused.
"I really don’t want to do this right now." It is the most reasonable thing I can muster.
She needs me to forgive her. The rational part of my brain should say the words she needs and let her go.
At least now I can keep my shame buried. She’ll never know she did us both a favor by ending things between us before I got too attached.
I can't think.