Because he is.
He's the guy in the song who can't get out of his own way.
And I'm Gwen Fucking Stefani, singing about how I always knew he'd end up my ex-boyfriend.
The song fades into a commercial for the local Honda dealer.
Dean turns to me. Shakes his head with disapproval.
"What?"
He shrugs like he isn't judging me with his eyes.
Finally, the light turns green.
Dean taps the gas. Drives slightly faster than a snail.
"Maybe you should drive slower. So you can be sure I miss my flight," I say.
"You know I could be getting laid right now." He blows air up from his lips, blowing his messy hair from his eyes.
"You know I offered to take a cab five times." I came close to insisting. But, even with his attitude, I'm glad I didn't. I'm coming apart at the seams.
The familiarity of my obnoxious, intimacy avoiding friend in the driver's seat is the only thing holding me together.
Dean Maddox is holding me together.
What a terrifying thought.
"You know Ryan is going to kill me," he says.
"He's not. He's gonna thank you for taking care of me." That's the kind of guy he is.
Dean chuckles. "Yeah. He is. You like that?"
"That he's considerate? Why wouldn't I?"
"You broke his heart. He shouldn't give a fuck."
"We're still friends." In theory. One day.
"You're gonna be his friend?"
The apprehension in his voice tugs at my heart. I can't imagine my life without Ryan. But Dean is right. I can't be his friend right now. Not after that second-choice slap in the face. "I promised I would."
"But you're not."
"Not right away."
"You'll ghost all four of us."
"I wouldn't do that."
"Yeah, you would." He shakes his head. "You forget how well I know you."
I shrug, playing coy.
"Please, Leigh. I watched you ghost too many guys."
"Not that many."
"That many."
"I couldn't disappear on guys who knew where I worked."
"Which is why you stopped dating guys you met at the bar."
He's right.
It's terrifying how well Dean knows me. But I guess we've been friendly for a long time now. Four years. And good friends for half that.
I want to disappear. I want to forget about the last two years.
I want to do whatever it takes to make this hurt less.
But I can't run anymore.
I ran from every guy who ever hurt me.
I ran from my mom's drinking.
I ran from every design setback.
This… I'm not running from this.
Dean continues. "You know—"
"Whatever it is, I'm sure I know."
"I heard you and Ryan."
"You—"
"You didn't know that."
"You did not."
"Yeah. I did. I was coming to your room to pick you up. Could hear it all the way in the hallway. You're fucking loud, Leigh."
My sex clenches. My stomach twists. My veins buzz with some horrible mix of misery and desire. "Your point?"
"You begged him to fuck you."
"I did not beg."
"Yeah, you did. It was hot."
"I don't need to hear that." Fuck, I already miss him so badly. My pulse is weak. My breath is shallow. My head is a mess.
"Might fuck myself to it later."
"That's your brother." I turn to face him. Try to find the genuine emotion hiding in his playful expression. It's not desire. It's concern. Which only adds to the dread in my stomach. "You're full of shit."
"Not gonna think about him. Mostly gonna think about your tits in that dress. Fuck, that might be all I need."
"And my ass?"
"Of course. You looked like a spy in a porno."
"You know—"
"I do." He parrots my tone. "Whatever it is, I know."
"If I really thought you were masturbating to me, I wouldn't talk to you."
"Believe what you want."
"I will." I sink into my seat. Set my purse in my lap. Stare at my text from Ryan.
Ryan: I'll be here if you want to talk. All night.
I do.
I want to be there so badly.
I want to collapse in his arms as he whispers I love you in my ear.
But that isn't going to happen.
He isn't going to be mine.
Not when his fucking ex-girlfriend owns his head.
"Still think I can talk you out of this." Dean motions to the other side of the divided street. "Not too late to make a u-turn."
My heart thuds against my chest. It's tempting. God, how it's tempting. Some of Ryan is better than none. That's what I decided a long time ago.
And it was.
But it's not anymore.
I need all of him.
I'm not sure when it changed, but it did.
"You can't." My fingers trace Ryan's words. I'm here if you want to talk. All night.
"He text you again?"
"No."
"Uh uh. No way he let ‘safe' slide."
"He did." Sort of. He knows I'm a scared little bird, that I have to be coaxed into opening up.
He knows exactly how to play me.
Even when I'm running away from him.
"Bullshit."
"He said we can talk."
"Let's go back to the hotel. Talk."
"I should have taken a cab." Even if this conversation is the only thing holding me together.
Dean cares. About me and about Ryan.
It's on the surface today. There's no façade. Just concern.
It's fucking terrifying—Dean is never serious—but it's comforting too. He's a good friend. He'll make sure I'm okay.
I stare at my cell as commercials fade into music. A Foo Fighters song. It's familiar. A song the LA rock station plays every hour.
My fingers glide over my cell.
Leighton: Did you realize you love me?
The words are even more pathetic in digital form.
He's made it clear he doesn't love me.
I'm not going to beg him.
I deserve a scrap of dignity.
Dean turns. Studies my cell. Shakes his head. "You know it's more than that."
"It isn't."
He turns back to the road. "He's an idiot."
"Not my type. Unfortunately for you."
"You think I'd take Ryan's sloppy seconds?"
"No, I don't think you'd sleep with someone your brother is… whatever this is."
He shrugs, playing cool, effortless, soulless. "Still not too late to turn around."
"I spent a fortune on this flight."
"I'll reimburse you."
"That's sad. Paying me to give your brother a chance."
"Paying you to get your head out of your ass."
Those are strong words coming from Dean.
I sink into my chair. Stare out the window. Let my phone rest on my thigh.
My breath stays shallow.
My pulse stays weak.