I want to say no. I really do. But I don’t want this to continue to happen. I don’t want to worry that he’s going to show up every time I have an appointment with a new client.
I turn to look at Harris over the roof of the car. “I’m going to talk to him for a minute. While I do that, do you want to find somewhere to make reservations for dinner tonight?”
“Are you going to be o-okay with him?” he asks as he looks between Cohen and me, obviously feeling the tension, and my face softens.
“I’ll be okay, and I won’t be more than a couple of minutes,” I say, and he nods and opens his door. When he’s inside, I step away from the car and cross my arms over my chest as I turn to face Cohen. “I have stuff to do today, so please make this quick.”
“You’re still the only women I know who’s even more beautiful when she’s pissed,” he says quietly, his eyes roaming over my face like he’s trying to memorize it. “I’ve missed you, so fucking much. I….” He looks away for a moment, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Shit, I had a whole speech rehearsed for this moment, but now I’m at a loss for words.”
He clears his throat, and I raise a brow.
“It took me a long time to realize how badly I fucked up by letting you go, letting you walk away. I should have fought for you, for us, but I just couldn’t see past the band and my music. I’m sorry I hurt you. I hate that I hurt you, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I want another shot. I want the chance to prove to you that I’ve changed.”
“Thank you for the apology, but no.” I uncross my arms. “And if you really are sorry, you won’t talk about me during anymore interviews or do this ever again.”
“No.” He zeroes in on that word, looking confused, probably because no one tells him no anymore. I’m sure he’s surrounded with people who jump when he says to do so. Only ever asking “how high?” “Is it the guy you’re seeing? The one Brock saw you leave The Drop with? The same one Vanessa saw you out at dinner with?”
“It has nothing to do with Maxim.” And that’s the truth, because even if Maxim wasn’t in the picture, I would not go backward. The chapter of my life that included Cohen has ended.
“Maxim.” He spits out his name, his lip curling.
“We’re done here.” I sigh, heading for my car.
“I’m not going to give up,” he calls out when I open my door. “That’s what you want me to say, right, that I’m not going to give up?”
I meet his gaze and shake my head. “This isn’t some weird mind-fuck, Cohen. I don’t want you to try to prove anything to me. I want you to leave me alone and to move on, because I have.” The words come out with ease, and I realize it’s the truth. Somehow without even realizing it was happening, I moved on, or maybe I had a long time ago but never realized it. “What we had ended a long time ago. Find someone who makes you happy, and put some effort into them.”
I slide into my seat, shut the door, start the engine, then slip on my seatbelt. I don’t even bother looking in his direction as I back out and then a moment later pull out onto the main road.
“W-ho was that guy?” Harris asks, and I glance over at him, finding his head turned so he can look out the back windshield.
“My ex.”
“So he didn’t want to see the house?” he asks, sounding deflated.
“No.” I laugh. “He didn’t want to see the house.” Or I don’t think he did.
“Darn, I was hoping I could tell Molly we were going on vacation.”
“The day is still young, and that wasn’t the only appointment we have on the schedule.”
“I guess you’re right.” He turns to face forward.
“Did you find somewhere for us to have dinner?”
“Molly wants to go out for hambur-gers.”
“Burgers it is then.” I press down on the gas, listening to the engine of my car purr.
“Are you okay?” Hearing the concern in his tone, I look over at him when I pull up to a stoplight.
“Absolutely.”
“Real-ly? You seemed upset when you saw that guy. Your ex.”
“I wasn’t upset. I was angry that he was there, that he took my choice to talk to him away from me. I didn’t want to see him. I don’t want to see him again.”
“I would be angry too,” he says softly. “Will you see him again?”
“I hope not,” I say quietly. I hope talking to him didn’t do more harm than good, and I really hope he heard what I said and didn’t take me turning him down as a challenge, because Lord knows I don’t need that right now.
_______________
SITTING ACROSS FROM Harris and Molly, I watch the two of them finish off the giant ice cream float they got to share with dinner.
“Brain freeze,” Molly cries, holding her head.
“Hold your tongue to the roof of your mouth.” I laugh when she sighs in relief.
“It was painful but worth it.” She grins at me.
“I bet it was.” I smile back, dunking my last fried pickle in ranch dressing before popping it into my mouth.
“We should probably get home,” Harris, ever the timekeeper, says as he looks at his watch, and Molly looks at my plate, then me.
“Are you finished?”
“Yep, if you two are.”
“We are.” She gathers her stuff. “My mom doesn’t want us downtown too late.”
“Your mom doesn’t make the r-ules for us,” Harris reminds her gently, and I’m proud of him for saying it in a way that isn’t mean but just a reminder, because I know there are times he gets frustrated. I imagine a lot of that has to do with the way he grew up. Where Molly’s mom is overprotective to the point of overbearing, Harris’s mom and dad wanted him to be as independent as possible, so they let him experience as much of life as he wanted and let him make mistakes.
“I know,” she agrees quietly, letting out a deep breath as she looks up at him and stands as I grab my purse.
“Thank you for taking us out tonight,” Harris says as we head out of the bar that happens to be Molly’s favorite on Main Street. Not because it is known for great drinks, music, and dancing, which it is, but because the hamburgers, french fries, and milkshakes are some of the best in town.
“You know I love spending time with you guys,” I say as we make our way through the now-crowded space, with the two of them walking ahead of me.
As we near the exit, I see it before it even happens. Two guys stumble holding drinks, and Harris bumps into one of them on accident, causing the guy closest to him to spill his drink down the front of his shirt.
“Are you okay?” I hurry to Harris’s side, and he nods.
“What the fuck, retard?” the guy with the beer soaked shirt says, and I spin on him, shoving my hands against his chest.
“What did you just say?” I ask as rage courses hot and fierce through my system.
“Get out of my face, bitch,” he slurs as his friend pulls him back, and a hand wraps around mine, which is balled into a fist.
“I-t’s okay, April. Take us home please,” Harris says, getting close to me.