“No shit?”
I nod, stretching my arm across the back of the bench and crossing my legs wide. “I kind of went off on her.”
Locke whips his gaze in my direction. “What? Why? You should be honored she wrote you into a book. That’s like a rock star writing a song about you.”
“I don’t fucking know.” I exhale. “I just ... I felt like I lost all control, like she did this thing, this big thing, without my permission, and I just ... lost it.”
“If you fucked her, she doesn’t need your permission to write about you,” he says. “Just ask Alanis Morrissett and Dave Coulier. They oughta know.”
“You’re a moron.”
“Have you read the book?”
“Some of it.” I scratch at my temple, watching my dad take Joa down the kiddie slide.
“Is it good?” he asks.
“That’s irrelevant,” I say. I didn’t realize I’d walked out with her copy in my hand until I was halfway across town, headed back to my hotel. Now the book rests on my nightstand at home. I can’t bring myself to finish it just yet, but I will. Truth be told, I want to know what happens in her version of our story. “Anyway, I’m going to call her tonight. I owe her an apology. I overreacted.”
Hopefully I can undo two days’ worth of radio silence with a single phone call and heartfelt regrets.
God, I’m an asshole.
I really am a prick.
Locke thumbs through his phone, and I ask what he’s doing.
“Deleting a bunch of women’s numbers,” he says.
“No shit?”
“I’m serious. I want to start dating. I want to find the one,” he says, turning to me. “And don’t fucking make fun of me either. I’m turning over a new leaf for my daughter. I want her to have everything she could ever possibly need, starting with a mom. And a dad who loves her mom like crazy.”
“Isn’t that sweet,” I say with a chuckle.
“Maybe you should think about doing the same?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe I should.”
“I don’t care what I said way back when,” Locke says. “I take it all back. It sucks to be alone. Love is where it’s at. That’s the secret to happiness.”
Forty-Eight
Ayla
* * *
I leave the cell phone store with an upgraded phone, a new number, and an entirely different lease on life.
I’ve decided to cut ties once again—and for the last time.
It feels a bit foolish, removing my heart from Rhett’s teeth over and over again, only to run right back to him the second he says my name, but I’m done this time.
I mean it.
I can’t do this anymore.
The ups and downs, the joy and heartache, it’s too much.
It’s time to move on and focus on my career and my friends and my life—all the things that have taken a backseat this last year and a half.
The second I get home, I check my mail. The publisher overnighted me a new proof as soon as I told them I spilled coffee on my original, and they gave me an extra two days for approvals.
Fixing myself a cup of hot tea and finding a warm place in the sun at the end of my sofa, I settle in to read the story of us, to get my heart ripped clean from my chest one final time.
I’m halfway into chapter four when there’s a knock at my door. Placing my book aside, I tiptoe across the carpet, peering through the peephole, my body turning to ice when I see who’s standing on the other side.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pull the door wide, but I don’t invite him in.
“Seth,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“I tried calling this morning,” he says. “You changed your number?”
Biting my lip, I nod. “Yeah.”
“Mind if I come in for a sec?” He pushes his thick glasses up his straight nose and glances over my shoulder. “You don’t have anyone over, do you?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
Seth drinks me in, and I see it in his eyes—the love he still has for me. Something tells me this conversation isn’t going to be quick or simple or easy.
“Fine. I’ll just say it. I’m sorry for ditching you at Viv’s wedding,” he says, hooking his hands on his hips. “I shouldn’t have left you. Not like that. And I shouldn’t have said those things to you then. I should’ve said them in private, when we could’ve discussed everything.”
Exhaling, I say, “Thank you.”
“But that’s why I was coming here today,” he says. “I wanted to know if we could talk?”
“About what?”
He releases a frustrated laugh, like I should be able to read his mind. “About what? About this. About us.”
“Seth.” My head tilts. “There is no us.”
“You won’t even consider it?” He cups his hand over his mouth, hiding his incredulous smirk. “Seriously, Ayla?”
My hand grips the door in case I need to slam it in his face. He was my best friend for well over a year, but he doesn’t get to darken my doorstep because I won’t date him.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “We had a perfectly wonderful friendship. And you want to throw it away because I won’t date you?”
He holds a finger up, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a folded piece of paper.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Look,” he says, unfolding it. “I made a list of all the reasons we’re perfect for each other. Number one, we’re comfortable together. Number two, we’re avid readers and intellectuals. Number three, we’re—”
“—stop,” I say, cringing. This is awkward, and I care for him too much to let him make a fool of himself. “It’s not going to change my mind.”
Seth crumples the paper and tosses it on the ground. “Fine. Fuck it. Someday you’re going to realize you wasted all your time pining after some jackass who doesn’t deserve you. You’re going to realize you could’ve been happy. With me. And by the time you figure that out, it’s going to be too late.”
He’s red faced, eyes glassy. I’ve never seen him this worked up. I’m startled into wordlessness. All I can do is watch him walk away.
“You’re so not worth it,” he shouts from the sidewalk as he turns to face me. Lifting a finger, he points in my direction. “And I guarantee that guy, the one you’re so hung up on? He probably figured that out a long time ago.”
Yeah. Maybe he did.
But it doesn’t matter now.
I’m moving on.
Forty-Nine
Rhett
* * *
I read the final page of Cold Hearted and let the book fall to my lap, letting Ayla’s words settle before I call her, and then I flip back to a dog-eared page toward the middle.
* * *
“Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I didn’t love him enough to make him stay. Maybe he thinks I’ll leave, like the ones he loved before me.” Ariana blamed herself. She blamed herself until it hurt, until she felt the crushing squeeze around her soul and knew it would never return to its original condition. “So I’ll love him harder. I’ll love him until he comes back to me, whenever that will be. Because I know. I know he’ll come back because he loves me. I feel it even when he can’t say it.”