“That’s great,” she enthuses.
“There’s one position in the Chicago mayor’s office that I’m really interested in.”
There’s a moment of silence. “Chicago? You’re applying out of state?”
I blow out a breath. “Not all of them, but yeah, I’m aiming for out of state. There’s nothing really holding me here.”
“Uh, excuse me, what am I? Chopped liver?”
“Ha, ha. Of course not. But it’s not like I see you that often. And you’d come visit me, right?”
“I guess. But Chicago, Els? You wouldn’t last five minutes in the winter. Doesn’t it go down to like minus a million?”
“That’s the whole point of a fresh start. That everything is new and different.”
When I get nothing but dead air, I pull the phone away from my ear to check the screen to make sure she’s still there. “Soph?”
She sighs. “Yeah, I’m here. I’m thinking the eight hour drive is going to be necessary after all. This Scott guy really did a number on you.”
“Nah, come on. Even without that jerk, there’s nothing here for me – just Amelia, and I’m sure that she’ll come and visit me too. Anyway, enough about me. What’s going on with you?”
When we hang up, I feel better than I have all week. Though I’ve managed to keep myself busy with school, work, internship applications and long runs through my neighborhood, last weekend’s events have left me feeling drained. No matter how much I’d like to pretend I’m fine, I know I still need time to recover.
It’s not until I’m putting my nightly Ramen noodles in the microwave that my relative levity fades with the jolting sound of the building’s intercom.
The clock on the stove says 5:40 . . . on a Friday evening. He wouldn’t. Would he? I slam the microwave door and fire it up, ignoring my rising dismay. It doesn’t matter if it’s him. I’m not going to answer.
The intercom jars me twice more while I pace, waiting for my soup to cook. Damn him. What could he possibly want? Anger starts to mix with the trepidation. He’s got a lot of nerve coming here. I grab up my phone and check the screen before I remember that I blocked him.
My nerves calm a bit when a few minutes pass without the intercom going off. Maybe it was Mrs. Stanfield needing to be buzzed in.
A soft tapping at my door has the dread surging back. Who let him in the building? I’d haul the door open and give him a piece of my mind if the thought of seeing him weren’t so terrifying.
More knocking, this time loud enough to echo through the apartment.
“Come on, El. I know you’re home.”
My pulse stupidly spikes at the sound of his muffled voice.
“Please? I just want to talk.”
Before I can stop myself, I pad my way to the door and peer through the peep hole. My heart leaps at the sight. He’s as beautiful as ever, but with a slight slant to his brows, showing his consternation.
He knocks again, loudly, and I jump about a foot in the air.
“Please, El?”
Behind him, I see Mrs. Stanfield’s door open just enough to be caught by the safety chain. “Young man, if you don’t leave, I’ll have to call the police.”
The back of Scott’s head fills the view as he turns to face her. “I’m really hoping it doesn’t come to that.” He turns back and knocks again. “El? You don’t want me to get arrested, do you?”
“Well, don’t say that I didn’t warn you,” she says indignantly.
Oh shit. I quickly unhook my own safety chain and turn the deadbolt. “It’s okay, Mrs. Stanfield. I didn’t hear him knocking.”
The half of my neighbor’s face that’s visible through the six inch gap shows her suspicion. “You’re sure, Piper?” she asks with what almost sounds like concern.
“Yes, thank you so much for looking out for me.”
The old lady harrumphs and bangs her door shut.
I finally bring myself to look at Scott and the anxiety in my stomach pulls lower and starts to heat. “What are you doing here?” I mean it to be an angry hiss but it comes out more like a pathetic whisper.
His big brown eyes swirl with entreaty. “I only want to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, dropping my gaze so I won’t be swayed by the look on his face.
“Yes, there is.”
My shoulders sag. There’s only two reasons he could be here. One, he’s sorry and he wants a second chance, or, more likely, two, he’s here to assuage his conscience. Either way, I’m not interested.
He takes my momentary silence for uncertainty because he goes on, drawing my eyes back up. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can throw me out.” His lips twitch into a sad, fleeting grin. “Please, I only need five minutes.”
Trying to ignore the ache in my heart at his apparent sincerity, I wonder if he’ll show up again if I deny him this chance. I step back to let him in. “Okay,” I whisper. “But FYI, I’m not sleeping with you.”
His palms come up in surrender. “No, of course not, I mean, I wouldn’t . . .”
With a frown on my face, I lead him into the kitchen. Is he nervous? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Scott nervous. It’s almost as if he has something to lose. The idea does little to shore up my resolve as we square off at either end of the island.
For a long minute he doesn’t say anything and I fiddle with my phone on the counter to avoid looking at him.
“I was a dick,” he announces like it’s news.
“Yes, you were.”
“I want to apologize.”
Irritation chips away at my patience. “We’ve already had this conversation.”
“It got cut short. And I’ve still got four minutes left.”
His tone has my hackles rising. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t call,” he says earnestly. “I panicked. Because you were right when you said it was good between us.”
He has got to be kidding me. “You blew me off – after you fucked me – because it was good between us?”
“Yes,” he says, maddeningly meeting my sarcasm with calm equanimity. “And we didn’t fuck, and you know it.”
“Well, I’d hate to see how you treat the women you do fuck, because you left me feeling like trash.”
He winces. “I was selfish. I admit it. But you have to know that I didn’t intentionally hurt you.”
I scoff. “Not intentionally because I didn’t figure into your thinking at all.” I turn away, sighing heavily. “Why are you here, Scott?”
“I want to make things right between us, El. I’ve been miserable.”
“Is that right?” My irritation boils over. “You’ve been miserable? You’re not just selfish, Scott, you’re a complete narcissist. You have a family to go home to. You have children who love you. You have friends. You have –”
“I don’t have you.”
That damned knife is re-plunged into my chest, trying to rob me of the breath that I need to get rid of this guy. “Which is the way you wanted it,” I remind him with as much force as I can muster. “You told me so from the very beginning.”