Mark steps closer. “That was all you. You’re the one who cheated on her.”
Allegedly, I silently add. Mark told me he thought Doug was cheating, but Doug was adamant he hadn’t. In the end, we broke up not because I was convinced he’d cheated but because I wasn’t willing to take Doug’s word over Mark’s.
You see why this whole situation is awkward? I trust my best friend, but he never would tell me why he was so sure about Doug’s cheating.
“Kelly and I were never exclusive,” Doug says.
My gaze flies to him. Wait, what? That’s news to me.
“You and Erika were though, right? Oh, wait . . .”
I’m so startled when Doug goes flying backward that I let out a yelp, but it gets lost beneath the cacophony of breaking glass as Doug’s beer glass shatters on the ground.
Doug catches himself on the barstool, a hand to his mouth, as he gives Mark an incredulous look. “Seriously, dude?”
I too look at Mark, watching as his right hand returns to his side, still in a fist. He’s breathing hard, and he looks as angry as I’ve ever seen him.
Time to go. Way past time to go.
“Come on,” I say quietly, wrapping my fingers around Mark’s arm. “He’s not worth it.”
I glance warily at Doug, but he seems more interested in keeping the blood from his lip from dripping on his blue sweater than he does in fighting back. Although I’m guessing that’s more from the fact that he knows he can’t win than from any “bigger man” sensibilities.
Doug’s relatively fit, but slim to the point of being lanky. There’s exactly zero chance he’d win in a fight against Mark. Especially when my best friend has hot murder in his eyes.
About what? I wonder. I’m sure a little bit of it was over Doug making me cry, but I’m also pretty sure there’s more to it.
One of the waitresses shoos us out of the way to clean up the spilled beer and broken glass. Mark runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath.
Then he adds another twenty to the cash I already left on the bar, and gives a nod of apology toward the bartender. Another twenty he hands to the waitress, bending down and murmuring to her.
She gives him a smile and a wink before nodding subtly toward Doug.
When Mark stands and meets my eyes, he’s still tense, but his gaze is steady. “Ready?”
Um, yeah.
Mark holds out his hand, and it doesn’t even occur to me not to take it as we walk out of the bar. Hardly anyone looks at us, their interest level having dropped when they realized there was no fight to be had.
I let my gaze flick upward right before I step out the door, almost smiling at the mistletoe and how very, very differently my night has gone than I planned.
Kelly Byrne’s Ex List: Version Five
Jack Chance
Joey Russo
Chad Morrister
Doug Porter
Stephen Hill: God, man, please be cool. Or at least decent.
December 18, Monday Night
“I’ll drive you home.” Mark’s voice is quiet, just like the night around us. It’s in the teens tonight with a bitter wind, and everyone’s at home in front of the fire or cozied up in one of Haven’s restaurants or bars.
“Nah, my car’s parked around back,” I say, digging around in my purse until I come up with my gloves.
“I’ll drive you.”
I look up in surprise. Not so much at him being bossy—that’s nothing new, and usually I ignore it. But there’s something else in his voice. And on his face, too, I see, as I take in his expression.
He doesn’t want to drive me home for me. Or at least that’s not entirely it. He looks . . . alone. But like he doesn’t want to be.
“I’ll bring you back tomorrow for your car,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, bracing his shoulders against the wind.
“Okay, sure,” I say softly. “Where you parked?”
“Back at the restaurant.”
I try not to wince. Cedar and Salt is several blocks over and the temperature seems to be dropping by the second. But if I’m going to die of the cold, I want it to be with this guy, so I smile and shrug.
I tuck my arm in his, and he lets me. We walk in silence for a few moments before I say what needs to be said. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For being there.”
He looks down at me for a long moment. And instead of saying the well-deserved I told you so, he reaches down, takes my hand, and squeezes it.
The gesture’s so unexpected and out of character that my eyes water. I squeeze back and glance up at his profile, which is hard and stony in the night shadows. “Why’d you hit him?”
I feel Mark’s shrug, and he tugs his hand away. “Like you said. He’s a jerk.”
“Yeah, but . . . I’ve never seen you hit anyone before.”
Another shrug. “Never thought anyone else deserved it.”
“Because he cheated on me?” I ask softly as we approach his truck.
“Yup.” His voice is curt in the way it is when there’s more to something and he doesn’t want me to pry.
I touch his arm as we get to the passenger door of the truck. It’s time for a very overdue conversation. “You knew that he cheated on me.”
He looks away.
“Mark.”
“Kelly.”
I am a patient person, I am a patient person . . .
“I know you were trying to protect me back then,” I say quietly, “and now. I appreciate it. But I’m a big girl. I can take it. You can tell me what happened. You should tell me what happened. Whatever you saw . . .”
His flinch tells me I’m dead on.
“Tell me, or I’ll try to read it in your palm,” I say teasingly. It’s one of my favorite threats. I totally believe in the power of palm-reading and lifelines, although I myself don’t have the gift, and it’s one of my favorite activities when I want to make crap up. Mark’s, um, not so fond of it.
But instead of smiling or answering the question, he merely starts to walk around me toward the driver’s side.
“Hey.” I grab his sleeve. “What’s going on here?”
“Drop it. It’s in the past.”
“Obviously not. You just punched a guy. Whatever happened back then is still eating at you, and not just because of me.”
“You’re my friend, and he cheated on you. I’m allowed to get pissed.”
“Call-him-bad-names pissed, not hit-him pissed. Not for that.”
“I don’t—”
“Did he cheat on me with Erika?”
His head snaps back, and I know I’ve got it right. I always suspected but never pushed. Now I’m sort of wishing I had.
He runs a hand over his face. “I saw them. In my bed.”
My eyes go wide, because even though I knew it was coming, hearing him say it is so much worse.
See, Doug and I might have been casual.
As I’ve mentioned, Mark and Erika were not.
Right around the time Doug and I got together, Mark took a big step with Erika, who was his girlfriend at the time. He’d asked her to move in with him. (Yes, this is the same Erika who still has a key.)
“I caught your boyfriend with my girlfriend,” he snaps. “Happy now that you have the whole story?”
“No, I’m not happy,” I snap back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”