“You were supposed to tell me if it was getting to be too much.” He runs his hand through his hair, his frustration obvious. “I don’t understand. You just got out of a seven-year relationship. This was supposed to be simple.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want things to change. Maybe we could see—”
He cuts me off before I can finish the sentence. “I can’t be your boyfriend, Lily. I almost screwed some chick because you couldn’t make a damn game.”
“But you didn’t. And that was—”
His anger is a wave rising. I don’t know if it’s directed at me or himself, but his words hit me like shattering glass. “The only reason I didn’t was because you showed up. I will fuck you over. Is that what you want?”
“No, Randy. That’s not what I want.”
He jams the key in the ignition and starts the truck. “Then I guess this is it.”
“I guess it is. I’d say we could still be friends, but I’m not so sure that would work out very well.” I leave off the rest, which would go something like this: because I’m in love with you, and I’ll pine over you and cry if I see you with another girl.
“Probably not.” He’s staring straight ahead.
“If I left anything at your place—”
“I’ll give it to Miller to give to you. He’ll be over here all the time.”
“Okay.” I open the door and go to get out, but once again I’ve forgotten to unbuckle my seat belt, so I jerk back.
Randy reaches over and jabs the release with his thumb. He’s still not looking at me.
I lean over and press my lips against his cheek. The sensation is electric. He freezes. I pull away before I make any more bad decisions, like inviting him inside for one last naked session. Or stripping in his truck. “Bye, Randy. Thanks for the ride.”
“All of them, or this one in particular?”
It’s a shot. My heart feels like it’s made of sandstone, and it’s crumbling into dust inside my chest. None of my breakups with Benji ever felt like this.
“All of them, except for this one,” I say.
I slip out of the truck. Randy waits until I’ve unlocked the door to the house. Then he takes off down the street without so much as a parting wave.
I step inside the empty house and lock the door behind me. Randy’s absence feels like shards of glass buried in my chest. I don’t make it past taking my shoes off. I sit down on the floor, put my face in my hands, and cry.
Chapter 25
Fun is Not my Middle Name
RANDY
I drove home on autopilot. I don’t remember stopping at lights or pulling into my driveway, but I’m sitting here, staring at my front door, so I must have obeyed the rules of the road. Otherwise there’d be cherries flashing in my rearview.
I cut the engine, but I don’t move. My truck still smells like Lily, so I wanna stay here a little longer. I don’t get what happened. I replay Lily’s time in Chicago in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong—how I missed the signs. Or maybe I didn’t miss them at all. Maybe I decided not to see them because that would mean admitting I want more than I can have.
I was such an asshole to her.
I sit here until I can see my breath and start to shiver. Trudging to my door, I put my thumb to the keypad and turn the knob. The first thing I do is pour myself a generous shot of vodka. I have to fly out at seven-thirty tomorrow morning for a game. The last thing I should do is get drunk to manage whatever just happened. But I’m feeling shitty about this, so alcohol is the numbing agent of choice.
I get good and shitfaced and watch that little video I made while visiting Lily in Guelph, when I woke her up in the middle of the night for sex. I don’t watch it because I want to jerk off. I mean, yeah, it makes me hard—even as wasted as I am—but it’s the way she’s so unguarded. She’s looking at me like I’m more than just someone she’s passing time and exchanging orgasms with. I knew even then that it was more than what it was supposed to be, and I let it keep happening. Because I wanted it. I wanted her. And now I don’t get to have her at all.
***
Pounding on my door echoes the awful feeling in my head. I peel my eyes open and groan.
“Balls! We gotta roll!” It’s Miller.
I push up off the couch, and the world spins so much I fall forward over the coffee table. I don’t have great coordination, and my reaction time is shot—probably because I’m still drunk, and I’ve been shocked awake. I hit the floor with my face and taste blood.
It takes me a couple of tries to get my ass back up. I stumble to the foyer, fumble with the lock, and throw the front door open, almost hitting myself in the face.
“Oh, shit. What happened?” Miller looks over my shoulder like he expects someone to be behind me. Maybe the person responsible for my bloody lip.
“I fell.” I lean against the wall.
Miller frowns. “Are you drunk?”
“You woke me up.”
“You smell like booze.”
“I’m fine.”
Miller’s phone starts ringing. He glances at it, then at me. “Get your shit. We need to be at the airport. You should be ready to go.”
I try to walk, but it’s not working. I smash into the wall.
“Seriously, Balls, what’s the deal? Sweets, can I call you back? What? She’s what? I don’t understand; she should be here, not there—”