A laugh breaks my sob. "Not funny."
"A little funny."
"Very little," I say.
"But a little?"
I nod into the sheets.
Chapter Fifty-One
Ty
Sleep fails me.
Eventually, I give up. Move to the couch. Try to find distraction in a classic movie marathon.
But it only makes me think of her.
Lying here, completely spent, curled into my body.
Laughing at a screwball comedy.
Crying at the end of Casablanca.
Bent over the couch, begging me to fuck her.
Then at the party.
Pushing the ring into my palm.
Whispering an apology.
Those same awful words, with one important change.
I'm sorry, Ty.
I can't do this.
I love you.
I'm in love with you.
It hurts worse. Knowing I'm the one failing her.
Knowing I'm the one who can't give her what she needs.
Sometime after dawn, I shower, dress, fix coffee and breakfast.
Play her favorite album.
The ode to misery and self-destruction is perfect. Or it should be.
But it fills my head with memories of Indigo.
Her eyes closed as she loses herself in a song.
Her silky voice falling off her lips.
Her body swaying with the music.
I already miss her so fucking badly.
I can't do this without her.
I can't do anything without her.
I listen to Indie's music all day.
A few times an hour, I pick up my phone. Consider calling. Begging her to come here. To be mine. To love me.
To stay, even if I'm not sure I love her.
I consider playing the best card I have—
Sending a dirty picture. Ordering her to bend over. Promising to make her come.
But I can't.
I know how it feels, wanting someone to love you. Wanting it more than anything.
I can't ask her to live with it.
I can't call her unless I love her.
Unless I know what the fuck it means to love her.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ty
"You look like shit." Ian tosses running shorts onto the bed. "Come on. Get off your arse. I'm not watching this."
"When did I give you a key?"
He chuckles. "You think I need a key?"
"What happened to your reformation?"
"With my girlfriend, not you."
"Fuck off." I roll onto my other side. The one that isn't facing the window. The one facing the side of the bed where she slept.
It's cold without her.
The entire world is cold without her.
"Last time you went to London." He sits at the edge of the bed. "You asked me to water your plants."
"I have plants?"
He chuckles. "On the balcony."
"And you watered them?"
"I did."
"You concocted this story in the last ten seconds."
He shakes his head. "I'll show you the plants."
"No."
"Then get off your arse. We're going on a run."
"I can lap you."
"Talk is cheap." He stands. Taps his running shoes together.
"Where's your girlfriend?"
"Off. Your. Arse." He moves into the hallway. Leaves the door wide open.
Does my brother really expect me to go for a run? Now?
Ridiculous.
But he is right. I'm not doing well here.
I rise. Piss. Wash up. Dress.
Ian's in the kitchen. With his offering of mercy.
A touristy thermos with the Empire State Building in dark blue. Filled with too milky, too sweet English Breakfast.
"Is it that bad?" I ask.
He nods. Sips a mug of fresh tea. The leaves Indigo prefers.
The scent is familiar. It makes me think of her.
Everything makes me think of her.
"Ten minutes." He motions to the thermos. "Then we run."
"Do we really have to run?"
"You run every day."
"And?"
He chuckles. "And? You have more discipline than this."
"Did I berate you for drinking yourself stupid after your divorce?"
"Yes."
Arsehole.
"You used your drunken misery quota last year."
It's not that. Last year, after Rory left, I drank myself stupid with Ian. He and Eve had just started seeing each other. He still believed it would end the way all his arrangements did.
He couldn't admit it to himself.
He couldn't admit he was in love with her.
Then he did. And he's spent the last year building in love, trust, devotion.
That's why he's calling me on this now, but I'm not in the mood to argue.
"Run," he says it again. "Or I'm calling Mum."
"No."
He motions to the door then go.
"I'll drink the fucking tea first."
He smiles. "It's not a punishment."
"Let's agree to disagree."
Ian shakes his head. It's a look I don't see often. My brother, so ridiculous.
I've never been ridiculous.
I've been disciplined. Driven. Practical.
I got things done. Took care of our mother. Took care of myself.
Built this fucking business with him.
Held on to every secret I had.
I pick up the thermos, even though the cheesy tourist logo makes me think of Indigo. She loves the city. Especially the iconic Empire State Building.
"Is it so bad?" Ian asks.
The tea itself is fine. Strong and warm, with enough cream and honey it's more dessert than drink. But the feeling of comfort, of knowing I need comforting—
It's strange.
"Terrible," I say.
He chuckles. "Make coffee then. But you've only got another eight minutes."
"Are you timing me?"
"Maybe."
"Arsehole."
He shrugs so what if I am.
I drink with greedy sips. As much as I hate to admit it, I need the comfort.
We sit there in silence for a few minutes.
Then he speaks. "Cam tells me she stormed out."
"You didn't see?"
"No." His voice is soft. "You two have that in common. Quick exits."
"What else did Cam tell you?"
"That you're an idiot who can't see what's in front of his face."
Maybe.
"And that he's going to fuck her sister."
"Is he?"
"Who can tell with Cam?" He chuckles. "Would it really be so bad? You'd have an excuse to see her."
"I can't see her."
"Why not?"
"She's in love with me?"
"It's been a while for me, I admit, but isn't that the idea? You meet someone, fall in love, get married?"
Yes. Of course. "She won't do this unless I'm in love with her."
His eyes fill with surprise. "You're not?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"