“He broke me,” I whispered.
“What do you mean he broke you?” She sat up straighter. “What happened?”
The story of our relationship rushed from my mouth, like it had been waiting years to be freed. By the time I was done, there was as much hurt on Lyla’s face as there had been on Foster’s earlier.
“You never told me any of this,” she said.
“It’s not exactly easy discussing how your boyfriend married your best friend.”
“College roommate,” she corrected. Lyla had always referred to Vivienne as my roommate, not my best friend, because that title she’d claimed in the womb. “I get that it’s not easy to talk about, but you should have told me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Knox didn’t know about Foster either. Does anyone?”
“Dad does. Foster was supposed to help me move, but after the breakup, plans changed. Dad came to help me with the U-Haul. I was pretty upset. He knows what happened and you know he doesn’t keep secrets from Mom.”
“Unlike you.” Lyla scoffed. “I’m mad at you.”
“You’re not alone,” I muttered.
“We don’t keep stuff like this from each other.” She flew out of her chair, swiping a can of glass cleaner and a rag from the counter. She went to work on the display case—the display case I’d already cleaned—erasing invisible fingerprints and smudges until the glass squeaked.
“I’m sorry, Lyla.”
She whirled, eyes blazing. “I tell you everything. You’re not just my sister, you’re my best friend. You help me through the bad days. You didn’t even give me the chance to be there during yours.”
“I’m—”
“Shush. I’m on a roll.” She started pacing. “You’re brilliant. You’re an incredible doctor and you help so many people. But you suck at letting anyone help you. Would it be so hard to not be perfect?”
Ouch. “I’m not perfect. Far from it.”
“I know you’re not perfect. You can’t cook worth a damn. Not that you’d ever admit it. Not that you’d ever admit how you’re really feeling. Here you are, after working all week at the hospital, cleaning my coffee shop.”
“I don’t mind.”
“That’s not the point and stop interrupting me.” She held up a finger. “I don’t need you to help me clean. But I know you want to, so I let you. Get the difference?”
I kept my mouth shut.
“That was a real question you have to answer.”
“Yes.” A smile tugged at my mouth. “I should have told you about Foster a long time ago. I promise to tell you the next time a man breaks my heart.” Not only because I should lean on my sister, but because it was important to Lyla that she be given the chance to show up on my bad days.
“Thank you.” She gave a single nod. “So what are you going to do about Foster?”
“Ignore him?”
She laughed. “A single woman does not ignore a man who looks like that.”
“God.” I dropped my face into my hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know. He kissed me three days ago, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Good?”
“Remember when we were fifteen and you got your first kiss?”
Lyla walked to her chair, taking a seat with a dreamy smile. “Jason Palmer.”
“I made you tell me every single detail that night.” We’d snuck out to the barn so that no one would hear us talk. I’d been curious and excited and a little bit jealous. Lyla had always been more daring with boys. “You told me it was better than rainbows.”
“I do love rainbows.” She gave me a sad smile. “This kiss with Foster wasn’t just good.”
“It was better than rainbows.”
“Oh boy. As your sister, I’m obligated to hate him for what he did to you. But as your best friend, I will support you in whatever you decide. What are you going to do?”
“Ask him to leave?” I shrugged. “I can’t. It’s too late.”
Lyla reached over, placing her hand over mine. “Too late for rainbows?”
“The rainbows disappeared in the storm.” The storm of Foster and Vivienne.
“Then maybe you can get some closure. He wants to explain. What’s the harm in letting him try?”
The harm? That I’d fall for him. And he’d break me again.
We sat together in silence for a few moments, until I stood and put my chair on the table. Then together, we walked to Knuckles and ate a quiet dinner. When Lyla started to yawn through dessert, I signaled for the check.
“I love you,” I said, giving her a hug as we stood between my Jeep and her car in the alley behind the coffee shop.
“I love you too. Good night.”
“Night.”
Lyla drove in one direction on Main as I turned the other. Except when I reached the street that led to my neighborhood, I kept going straight until I found myself on Lower Clark Fork Road, following the dark curve of the river out of town.
Maybe Lyla was right. Maybe I needed closure with Foster. Maybe then the pain and frustration would go away. Maybe then I could truly forget.
And damn it, I had a few things to say myself.
Foster was mad at me. But he didn’t get to be mad.
With every mile, my heart raced. My own anger blossomed until my grip on the steering wheel was punishing. The lights inside the gym streamed through the windows into the night. I parked, hopped out of the Jeep and hurried inside, not giving myself a chance to second-guess this visit. To cool my emotions.
Heat blasted me in the face as I stepped inside.
The gym was nothing like it had been earlier in the week. In the center of the space was an elevated boxing ring. The mats and skirt around the base were a bright blue. Black ropes stretched from corner to corner. And in its center, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, was Foster.
His body, those cut muscles, glistened with sweat. His chest heaved with labored breaths.
Desire pooled between my legs. My core clenched. Fuck. Coming here tonight was a mistake. He was too tempting.
Watching him train had always been such a turn-on. During his fights, I’d sit on the edge of my seat, hoping that he’d win. Panicked that he’d lose.
But on the nights he won—which was most of the time—we didn’t make it out of the parking lot before I dragged him into the back seat of his truck and tore his clothes off.
“What do you want, Talia?” Foster’s voice held a razor-sharp edge.
I wanted to look at him and feel nothing. I wanted to be able to rip that photo of us in a hundred pieces. I wanted to sleep at night and not have his face haunt my dreams.
I wanted him to stop being mad at me, because damn it, he didn’t get to be mad at me.
Heading for the ring, I climbed its edge. Then I bent and slipped between the ropes, marching straight into his space.
“You don’t get to be mad at me.” I poked a finger into his bare chest and was met with nothing but solid muscle.
He glanced at my boots and the flecks of snow that had made their way inside. His jaw clenched. “Take your shoes off. This is a brand-new fucking ring.”