"What is it?"
"She's gone. Yeah, I hate her for sleeping with that asshole. But, no matter how much I hate her, there's a gaping hole in my chest the size of her."
"You'd take her back?"
"I don't know. Doesn't matter. She's still with him."
"You really keep tabs?" The pounding in my head lessens. Fuck, it's nice thinking about someone else's problems. About anything that isn't how much I hate Iris. And how much I want her.
"People talk."
"You don't look at other women."
"I'm not doing it again."
"But you could fuck half the girls you ink."
"If I was an asshole who preyed on my customers, yeah."
"Please. I only fuck women who beg me for it."
"Whatever you want to believe."
"Don't make me go into detail."
"Doesn't bother me."
"I will."
He shrugs and?
I shoot him my best side-eye. "You could find girls easy."
"I don't want to fuck some chick I won't remember."
"Why?"
He shakes his head. "It would take too long to explain it to you."
"So you've gone a year?"
"So what?"
"A year? How the fuck do you live?"
"I have a hand."
"Still."
He rolls his eyes. "I have standards."
"You don't ever want to love someone again?"
"Do you?"
Fair enough. But I don't want to talk about me. I don't want to think about how fucked this is. "You and Leighton—"
"Are friends."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. She thinks I'm a miserable bastard."
"You are."
He flips me off.
"You do hang a lot."
"So do the two of you."
True. But she doesn't smile at me the way she smiles at him. And Ryan only smiles around her. "Would you fuck her?"
"She's not interested."
"If she asked?"
"Fuck off." His cheeks flush. He shakes his head. Actually stammers over his words. "I'm lecturing you here."
"This topic is better."
"For you."
"Yeah." I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. That pounding deepens. Heaviness spreads over my body. It's like a switch. Thinking about Iris, pain. Thinking about anything else, relief. "Does that gaping hole in your chest ever go away?"
"No. But it gets better." His expression gets intense. Well, more intense. Ryan is always intense. "Did you really tell her the past is the past?"
"Yeah."
"That makes you the asshole."
"I know."
"She didn't do anything wrong."
"She should have told me."
"Is that really why you're miserable?"
"Yeah." What the hell else could it be?
"Bullshit. It's something else. I don't know what. But it's not that she didn't tell you."
"It is."
He shakes his head. "You should fix this."
"I can't."
"You can."
"All right, I can. But I don't want to."
"'Cause you convinced her to keep a secret?"
No. "Fuck off." Asshole is right.
But it's more than that.
I did convince her to keep this a secret.
But now I don't know what to believe.
If any of it was real.
I know addicts. And they're full of shit.
"You care about her?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"You still want to make her happy?"
"Part of me does."
"Tell the other part to get lost. She made you happy, Walker. That's fucking rare. Get over yourself and get her back."
"What if I don't?"
"You probably won't. You've been a fucking idiot about it. No reason to believe you'll change."
"Then why this talk?"
He shrugs.
"You want to help."
"No shit."
"You want to believe in love."
He shakes his head you're crazy. But there's something in his eyes. He does.
"You want to get a drink?"
"Not if I'm gonna have to cart your plastered ass home."
I chuckle. "You're more fun than you let on."
"Don't tell anyone."
"I won't."
"You know I'm gonna keep lecturing you."
"I know." Part of me hopes he gets through to me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Iris
It feels like a million years pass.
I stare at my cell during boring lectures. Between classes. At lunch. During coffee breaks. When I get home. When I finish yoga. When I sit down to study.
When I'm in bed not really trying to sleep.
All week, nothing.
All weekend, nothing.
I try to convince myself to give him time. To give him space.
But I can't.
I need to explain this.
I need to look him in the eyes.
I only hope it's enough to convince him to forgive me.
Chapter Forty
Walker
My cell burns a hole in my pocket.
It's still there.
I'm sorry.
The two words feel like a dedication.
Like everything.
My stomach is in knots. Half of me is screaming call her. The other half is screaming never speak to her again.
I check the time. Fifteen minutes until my next appointment. Fifteen minutes in my head, turning over my options.
Leighton is sitting at the counter, reading something on her Kindle. Her eyes meet mine. She raises a brow. The same thing she's done every day since my birthday.
Are you really going to sulk when you could call Iris?
You're making yourself miserable. And you're annoying miserable. Not like Ryan or Brendon. They know how to do miserable. You don't.
We've had that conversation way too many times.
Maybe I don't wear miserable as well as Ryan does.
But Ryan is the king of miserable.
Those are big shoes to fill.
I stare back.
She shrugs. "What?"
"You know what."
"I'm reading."
"You gave me a look."
"You're pissy today."
"Go fuck yourself."
"I will. Later." She slides off her stool. "I'm making coffee. You want one?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"You're welcome." She takes a step toward the Keurig. "You could call her."
"I'm aware."
"You'd be less annoying."
"Where's the fun in that?"
She shrugs suit yourself, but there's concern in her blue-green eyes.
She still wears her eyeliner the same way Iris does. That long line. Hers is purple. Iris's is a dark brown.