Now I’m angry. “Hey, I was defending you!”
“And I didn’t need you to defend me. I just needed you to keep your stupid mouth shut for once!”
“You could be a bit more grateful, you know,” I tell her, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “It wouldn’t kill you.”
“Grateful? You ruined everything for the sake of your ego.”
“My ego?” I practically roar. “What the fuck? You’re fucking daft, you know that!”
“We had an understanding. We were in this together. And to think I trusted you. I trusted you with my heart!” she sobs.
I stare at her, gobsmacked, as the rage boils through me. “Your heart?” I repeat incredulously. “You’ve never given me your heart!”
She swallows hard, her chin wavering. She quickly rubs the makeup out from under her eyes and part of me wants to rush over to her, to hold her and tell her I’m sorry again and that everything will be all right.
And the other part of me is breaking apart and coming back together, hardened. Not understanding how easily she can flip like this, how she can just say these things like I haven’t meant anything to her, like she’s never trusted me at all.
I had to have meant something to her. It couldn’t have just been in my head.
“You’re right,” she says with a sniff, looking away. “I never gave you my heart.” She shrugs and gives me a sad smile. “It was probably for the best.”
She grabs her purse and starts to head out the door.
I should stop her.
I shouldn’t let her go.
I should make her stay.
There are a lot of things I should do. But all I can feel is my heart dissolving in my chest like someone’s poured a vat of acid over it.
So I watch her go.
“By the way,” she says, pausing before she closes the door. “I may have fed Fluffy and forgot to put the lid back on. Have fun.”
“Argh!” I cry out, immediately feeling like he’s on me already.
The door slams shut behind her.
And I can’t believe what just happened.
I’ve lost Amanda.
And Fluffy is somewhere loose in this apartment.
Look at you, you sad arse, I tell myself, trying to steady my nerves and repair my heart all at the same time. I make my way onto the balcony, the only place in the apartment I figure is safe from the monster, and try to think.
Fuck.
I was an idiot.
Not just about telling her ex about our secret. I seriously regret that now and I was sober enough to know what I was doing. I just got so caught up in the moment, I needed to say something. And she was right. I didn’t need to defend her.
But god it felt good.
Maybe it was my ego talking after all.
I lean back in the chair and look across the harbor. It’s far too beautiful of a day to break up. The clouds need to come in, the rain needs to come down, a cold bitter wind needs to carve right through me, matching how empty I feel inside. Instead there are birds chirping from the trees and children are playing happily on the grass below by the seawall.
I get out my phone and place a call to her.
It goes straight to her voicemail:
“Hi, this is Amanda Newland. I don’t check my voicemails ever so please hang up and text or email me. If this is a telemarketer or my parents or someone born before 1961, better luck next time.”
I know she doesn’t check these but I leave a long babbling message, apologizing, and ask her to call me back. Then I call her back.
Again.
And again.
Text.
Email.
Wait.
Nothing.
I decide to head to the store and see if Kevin’s there. If he is, I’m totally borrowing him and bringing him back here for a Fluffy hunt. At least that’s one problem I’ll be able to solve.
Meanwhile, I wonder if I can talk to my father and break the news to him before the word gets out. Amanda’s old friends and my friends don’t run in the same circles but it’s a small world and obviously if a journalist has already caught wind of this supposed story, there’s a chance that word could travel down the grapevine to the bookstore. I mean it is pretty ironic. Son of the city’s most elite bookstore is a randy smut-peddler.
Except I really don’t want to do it. I mean, I’m dragging my feet to the store, opting to walk because it will take more time. But it’s time to be a man and own up to it. If I was prepared to throw Amanda under a bus, I can throw myself under a bus too.
“Dad,” I say as I enter the store.
He looks up from the register in surprise. I wasn’t supposed to come in today. Luckily it’s quiet in here.
“What is it?” he asks, frowning at my grave tone.
I guess that’s a good sign. I don’t see any signs of torches and pitchforks. He obviously doesn’t know yet.
“I have something to tell you,” I say to him.
“Can it wait?” he asks, gesturing to a few people lingering in the store. They aren’t paying us any attention. The usual casual browsers, not sure what they’re looking for.
“It can’t.” I stand on the other side of the counter. I learned something from Amanda this morning. Always keep your distance between yourself and potential injury.
The line between his brows deepens. “Okay…did you get someone pregnant?”
“No,” I tell him. “But I’m not sure if this will be worse to you or better.”
“Great,” he says dryly. “Okay. What is it?”