I didn’t hesitate to leave the gala, my instincts forcing me to find Linda and confront her, to get down on my knees and beg her to stay. But now self-preservation has kicked in, that same instinct is warning me that it won't be that easy. I’m left reeling at the knowledge that there is a possibility Linda won't listen to me, or worse, doesn’t believe me. But why would she when I lied to her from the start? Fuck, I have to try, I have to show her. Somehow, I’ll make her see that she is all that matters to me.
Six months ago, I would have balked at the idea of being happily married. I was jaded and pissed off, writing romance off as a whimsical farce, but the last six weeks have been the best of my life. Being with Linda didn’t take anything away from the man I was, it turned me into the man I was always meant to be.
Or at least should have been. My fear of losing her always prevented me from being upfront about my less than stellar intentions when I first sought her out, but because I hid that from her, I might lose her anyway.
When the elevator doors slide open, I stride to the apartment door with sweaty palms and a horrible sense of foreboding. Swinging the penthouse door open, I immediately know that she’s gone. The warmth that Linda brought here with her when she moved in has disappeared like she’s taken it with her, leaving this place as cold and as sterile as it had been before she arrived.
“Fuck,” I shout, slamming the door behind me as I head to the bedroom. Her rings and dress are on the bed where she tossed them. There are other traces of her here, her perfume on top of the dresser, her robe on the back of the door, but her clothes are gone from the closet, and the bathroom has been emptied of her things.
It's clear she left in a hurry, only taking what she could carry. I move to her studio and note that her art is still there, but on the floor is a torn canvas I hadn’t seen before. I bend and pick it up and stare down at the image and swallow hard. It's me, and it's clear that each brush and stroke had been made with love and reverence. Love and reverence that I shit all over, and like the broken picture in my hand, I destroyed everything.
Thirty-One
Linda
If I was hoping for an emotional reprieve when I woke up, I was to be sorely mistaken. The second I open my puffy eyes, I remember. The humiliation and pain are making space for their dear friend anger this morning.
I sit up gingerly, my body aching and lethargic as if I had run a marathon. I swing my legs off the bed and sit for a moment, trying to arrange my thoughts into some kind of cohesive plan, but I’ve got nothing.
As nice as it is for Tig and Delia to put me up for the night, I can’t say here indefinitely. On that thought, I climb to my feet and head to the bathroom for a quick shower before heading downstairs. The kitchen is deserted, but I find a note on the counter letting me know Tig and Delia are both at the tattoo shop and that I’m welcome to stay as long as I like. As much as I hate putting them out, I have zero options available to me right now other than to go crawling back to my stepfather, and I refuse to do that.
“Okay, Linda. You’ve been in worse situations. You can figure this out. Coffee first, then job hunting,” I mumble to myself, finding this place too quiet with only myself for company.
By the time I’ve consumed my second cup of coffee, I feel slightly more human. Job wise there isn’t much out there, but I can’t afford to be picky. I try not to feel bitter about giving up my job at Illusions because this was precisely the kind of thing I was afraid of, but I can’t be angry at anyone but myself. I should have known better. Using my phone, I apply for a few bartending jobs before deciding to go for a run to clear my head.
If I stay here alone much longer, I’m going to fall apart. In fact, the only thing that's stopping that from happening right now is the anger coursing through me. I need to burn some of it off or I’m afraid I’m going to start smashing stuff.
I get dressed in yoga pants and a racerback tank top with a built-in bra shelf before pulling my hair up into a ponytail. I slip on my pumps, which aren't ideal for running, but they’ll do in a pinch.
Grabbing my phone and the spare key Tig left for me, I head for the door and pull it open only to freeze at the sight of Asher asleep in the hallway with his back against the wall. Even in sleep, he looks exhausted. My heart clenches at the thought, but then I remember what he did to me, and any sympathy evaporates. I close and lock the door quietly behind me, step over his extended legs, and leave as silently as I can. I’m not ready to deal with him yet. I’m not sure I ever will be.
I run the trail that loops around the back of Tig's apartment to the park, pausing when I get there to take a breather. My legs burn from being pushed, but the pain gives me something to focus on.
I hear laughter and turn to see a man and a woman with their arms wrapped around each other. They sound so happy, but the noise grates on my frayed nerves. Unable to handle listening to them any longer, I head back, praying Asher is gone when I get there.
Thankfully, he is, so I’m able to slip in and take a shower before checking my emails. I’m shocked to find a response to one of the jobs I applied for earlier. That was fast; they must be desperate. Scanning the email, I see my assumption was correct as they want me to pop down for an informal interview due to being short-staffed.
I change into smart jeans and a purple v-neck sweater with black ankle books from Delia’s closet. Thankfully, she is the same shoe size as me. I pull my hair back into a neat braid.
Creeping over to the door, I peek outside to make sure the hallway is still empty. It is, so without wasting time, I quickly leave and make my way to the bar. It takes twenty minutes to get there on foot, which is perfect. I won't have to waste cash on the bus or cab fare.
I arrive at the address, but there is no name above the bar, just a faded green sign with chipped and peeling paint. I double-check the email, but it's definitely the right place. Looking through the window, I see there are already people inside drinking even though it's not lunchtime yet.
Pushing the dark wooden door open, I head inside the dimly lit room that smells of spilled beer and fried foods, and make my way over to the bar.
“Hi, I’m looking for Colin,” I tell the large overweight guy behind the bar reading a newspaper.
He looks up and takes me in, his muddy brown eyes roving over my body from head to toe before he smiles, revealing a toothy smile. “You, Linda?” he asks, leaning over to shake my hand.
I nod and place my palm in his sweaty one, before pulling away and discreetly wiping it on my jeans.
“I’m Colin. You worked in a bar before?” he questions.
“Yeah, for a year until recently,” I answer with a polite smile
“Good, when can you start?” he asks, shocking me.
“Wait, what? I got the job, just like that?”
He shakes his head at me with a smile stretched across his face. “Unless you don't want it anymore.”
“No. No, I do. I’m just surprised. I thought I’d be waiting by the phone for a reply. I can start tonight if you need me.”
“That would be great. Everyone besides Patty, who will be on tonight with you, has come down with the flu. Let me just grab a couple of T-shirts for you. Small, right?” he says, eyes drifting to my chest.