“She’d be pretty happy more or less. More about Blaire’s successes and Walker settling down, less about my arrest record and your fighting this thing with Mariah.” He gives me a look, begging me to argue with him. I don’t. He sucks in a breath and blows it out slowly. “We can keep pussyfooting around whatever the reason is you’re here or you can just tell me. But I do have shit to do today.”
“I didn’t come here to see you. Let’s remember that.”
“Guess it’s your lucky day I showed up then, huh?” He sits beside me, his elbows resting on his knees. “What’d she do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing as in you aren’t telling me or nothing as in it was you that fucked up?”
I hang my head. “Nothing as in it was me who lied to her.”
He works his head in a circle, realizing this is a little deeper than some one-night stand I have to figure out. “What’d you lie about?”
“Listen, if I tell her the truth, it’ll put her in an impossible situation.”
“Fair enough,” he says. “Answer me this: did you cheat on her?”
“Nope.”
He seems shocked but continues on without commenting. “Did you hurt her in some way?”
“Nah, but I’m trying not to. If I tell her the truth, she might get hurt eventually.”
“Lord, you’re such a girl.”
“I am not,” I say, tossing him a dirty look.
“We’re in the twenty-first century, bud. Women can make choices. They like them. And, quite frankly, they get a little pissy if you try to take them away. Just throwing that out there.”
My stomach knots up as I consider what he’s saying. Mariah is an intelligent woman. She’s capable of handling her own business. Should I have just laid it all out there, no matter how embarrassing to me it is?
“I don’t know,” I groan, still unsure.
“Even if it means not getting her back?”
I hate the way he put that. It feels … final. I’m considering that when he taunts me more.
“Even if it means never feeling her—”
“Our mother is right there,” I say, motioning towards the ground. “Have a little couth.”
“Fine. Even if it means never feeling her in your arms again,” he says with a mock-sweetness. “I don’t know what you lied about. But I know you’re in love with that girl and you’re going to feel this way for the rest of your life if you don’t grow a pair and at least come clean. Maybe she loves you too.”
I’m zapped right back to a couple of days ago at Goodman’s when she said she loved me. She glossed right over it, but it’s the only thing I remember hearing her say.
I’ve replayed that single line over and over and held onto it like a life raft.
Women have said they loved me before. Lots of them, really. But even when they were looking me in the eye and professing their undying devotion, it didn’t register like Mariah’s words did. It didn’t feel the same. Not even Britt, the woman I thought I loved. The woman I’m sure now I didn’t. Not even close.
“You’re overcomplicating this,” Machlan tells me. He ponders this for a second. “Let’s go back to the blessings, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Mom didn’t say all blessings were pretty. She just said to find them, identify them, and use them. That they were given to us so we could do something with them, right?”
“I guess …” I try to follow him, but the surge of adrenaline in my veins starts to make it difficult.
“Take Britt, for example. If you hadn’t had that accident, you’d be married to her sure as shit. If that happened, we wouldn’t be here right now all pussy-whipped over Mariah.”
I turn my head to react to that, to smash him in the arm, but the weight of his words stops me.
Oh.
My.
God.
He’s right.
“What if Mom and Dad had lived? Yes, we’d all make that happen if we could, but we can’t,” he continues. “Let’s look for the blessings. Well, Blaire is a hotshot at her law firm in Chicago. Walker happened to be at my bar the night Sienna rolled into town. Us kids are really fucking close, something that might not have happened had we not had to rely on each other.” He looks at me. “You feel me, Lance?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, trying to keep up with the thoughts pouring through my head. “I think I do.”
“Good.” He stands and stretches his arms over his head. “I got shit to do. Come by and see me at Crave if you need more professional opinions.”
He cackles to himself as he walks away, leaving me on the bench alone.
I consider everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, the things that have really affected me. Getting to know Mariah, hearing Ollie’s story, seeing Brandon start to turn around—all of those are blessings. But what if my story took a turn the day I had the accident? What if the one thing I considered a stain on my manhood is actually a blessing in disguise?
I plant a kiss on top of the tombstone and let my gaze linger on that date for a long moment. Then I turn and head to my car, my shoes sinking into the ground once more.
Thirty-Two
Mariah
“The three most popular answers are on the board. Name a place you go where you can’t touch anything.”
“Work,” I deadpan, popping the rest of a brownie into my mouth. Flipping off the television before I can hear the answers, I toss the remote onto the couch.
Whitney called earlier to see if I wanted to go to the movies and I told her maybe later. I’m probably going to have to pass altogether. The sun coming up this morning didn’t bring me the relief I’d hoped.
Last night was the worst night yet. I’m sure the fact it coincided with seeing him at the gas station isn’t ironic. Or that Gretchen gave me the best hug at the nursing home when I told her what was going on. Or that I was really bored and loneliness is the biggest bitch I know.
Dressed in sweatpants riddled with holes, ones I can’t make myself throw away because they’re so perfectly soft, and a t-shirt with a logo from Ruma, a restaurant I loved in California, I get off the couch and look for my phone. I find it where I left it last night, sitting on top of a book about finding inner peace. I’ve never read a book that made me so hateful.
Leave nothing unresolved. Accept what is.
It can fuck right off.
I switch to a playlist that aligns with my mood and am ready to hit play on some girl power jams when the doorbells rings.
Working my hair into a makeshift ponytail, which is harder than usual because I haven’t even brushed it today, I pull the door open with one hand without even looking through the peephole. If someone wants to try to kill me on the other side, bring it. Today’s their day.
Or maybe it’s mine.
Lance stands on the stoop, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. A plain black Henley hangs from his frame; his hair is a mussed-up mess.
The look on his face is somber, pained, almost, and as my hand falls to my side, my brain issues orders for it not to reach for him. And don’t invite him inside.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I want to talk to you.”
“I’m busy,” I lie, bouncing on my toes to the lyrics in my head.
“Doing what?”
“Feeding my fish.”
The corners of his lip quip up. “You have fish?”
“No,” I shrug, narrowing my eyes. “Get the picture?”
“Give me ten minutes.” There’s a smirk hidden in those full, delectable lips and I want to kiss it and smack it at the same time.
Damn him.
“Nope,” I say, pulling the door closer to me so he can’t see inside. I have no idea why I do this. It just feels like the right thing to do.
“Mariah.”
“Will you stop?” I bark, losing my grip on the door. I ignore the way he melts me with his gaze, how my knees wobble as he makes no secret of sliding his eyes down my body and up again. “You’re driving me absolutely insane. Is that what you want? I have never in my entire life met a man as frustrating as you are, Lance Gibson, and it’s so mean for you to show up here and want to talk to me after breaking my heart—”
My words are stolen as his lips crush mine. I’d fall on my ass if his hands weren’t holding my face, cupping my cheeks like he might not ever let them go.
I raise my hand to smack his chest, but my arms fail to take commands. Instead, like the loser I am, I give in and kiss him back.
His lips take control, leading mine in a motion that feels like a lot more than a kiss. Lucky for me I’m still riding the tail-end of my all-nighter and don’t have the clarity to listen to whatever it is he’s trying to convey.
His grip loosens just a bit on my face and my eyes pop up.
Stop doing this.
My palm connects to his shoulder and I shove him away. It’s certainly not the punch I’d like to deliver, but it’s enough to make him step away. But, when he does it, his eyes are on fire.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“No. You’re still here.” My voice is wobbly now, his stupid kiss throwing me off my game. “Please leave.”
“Just talk to me. Or let me talk to you. You don’t even have to say anything.”
“Can I ever not say anything?”
He laughs, his hand moving through his silky locks. “Good point.” He tucks his fingers back in his pocket, his smile starting to fade. “Please let me come in. Ten minutes. Tops.”
With every decrease in his smile, my willpower goes with it. “Fine. But you aren’t coming in. I’ll come outside.”
His eyes spring open. “Fine. I won’t come inside. Let’s go for a drive instead.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“It’s chilly out here and I need to have your undivided attention for a couple of minutes, okay?” He looks at me without a trace of humor in his eyes. “Give me this and if you insist I don’t come back again, I won’t. You have my word.”