“I don’t want this to get ugly, please. We spent so long together; we loved each other so fully. Can we end this . . . cordially?”
He opens his mouth to speak, but Heather cuts him off. “We’re not discussing this any further.”
“Gerard,” I whisper.
“Sorry, Lucy, I think she’s right. I think you need help. I’m really worried about you.”
I study him. “Please leave my house.”
“If you just give me the car, I’ll—”
“Leave, Gerard. Go ahead and do whatever you think you have to. That’s my car, and I have no money to buy another one.”
“But—”
“Leave or I’ll call the police.”
“Let’s go, Gerard,” Heather says, snatching his arm into hers and pulling him out of the room.
I watch him go, my eyes holding his. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Once again, he lets his sister speak for him.
When they’re gone and I hear the front door slam, I turn and study the room. I walk over to the bed and jerk the covers back. A small note flutters out. I pick it up, staring down at the neat but masculine handwriting.
Sorry, Lucy girl, I couldn’t stay.
I’d bet about fifty that you brought them upstairs to prove a point?
Yeah. You did.
I wrote my number on the back.
H x
I can’t help but roll my eyes, and maybe I smile a little.
“You’re a dick, Heath,” I mutter to the piece of paper.
But dammit.
I can’t get enough of you.
***
I make myself a coffee, have a shower and get changed before I decide to text the number Heath left me. I know he’s a savvy texter when his phone is actually turned on; I witnessed it at the baseball stadium. I think about what I’m going to say to him, and then smile slyly when I figure it out.
L – Asshole.
I send the message with a triumphant smile, and go to place my phone down but it buzzes in my palm almost instantly.
H – I’m not sorry.
I laugh softly.
L – That’s the worst part. I looked like a crazy person.
H – From what I recall, you are.
I flush.
L – Thanks for last night. I’m locking my windows from now on.
H – There are many other ways to get into your house.
Jerk.
L – I’ll lock them all. When will I see you again?
H – I don’t know. I’ll call you when I can.
L – Okay well, go and fight crime, GI Joe.
H – Later, honey.
I put my phone down and get ready for work. I’m doing a lunchtime shift today, so I get ready a little quicker than usual, considering I slept in. I grab my things, lock the house, and head out, trying to take my mind off everything. Mostly, Gerard. I hate fighting with him. I hate that things have gotten so cold between us. I never wanted that. Not even for a second. I know things deteriorated after the attack, but I didn’t think that we’d ever look at each other the way we do now.
Then there’s the guilt over having Heath in my life.
It’s been such a short time since Gerard left, and while I know it’s for the best and that we were never going to make it through, I can’t fathom the fact that I already have feelings for another man. I don’t know the depth of my feelings for Heath; I just know they feel real and that I can’t stop thinking about him. Being with him last night was hands down the best experience of my life and that scares me, because it was so intense, so incredible, that I have to wonder if it was the situation making it seem like something it wasn’t.
I think about this through my entire shift at work, and when night falls, I grab the newspaper on the way out the door, waving to everyone. I’m going to visit my parents tonight, then . . . well . . . then I don’t know. I walk down the road to a Mexican restaurant and order my usual tacos, then I sit outside and wait while they’re being made. I flip open the paper and my heart skips a beat.
Local baseball stadium to open Saturday for its first game since the horrific incident where so many lives were lost.
My heart lodges in my throat, and my fingers tremble as I read and re-read the article. It’s opening up tomorrow for the first time since the attack. I know I should go—I want to go, I need to go—but the idea of walking back in there scares me in a way I don’t even want to think about. Will they come back? Does this mean it’s over and they won’t attack again? Or does it mean they’ll try to because they didn’t win?
I pull out my phone and text Heath.
L – The baseball stadium is opening tomorrow.
He replies fairly quickly, which eases some of the fear lodged in my chest.
H – I know, honey.
L – You didn’t tell me.
H – That’s because I knew you’d try and go, and I don’t want you there.
I exit out of the messages with an angry push of the button. He didn’t tell me because, as always, I’m kept out of everything, and he wants me to be hidden away from it all. I had the right to know. I have the right to go. He can’t stop me from doing that—he won’t stop me from doing that. Facing fear is the only way to move on from it—even I know that.