“Good thing you can look at them now.”
I drop my gaze back to her cleavage. “You really do have amazing tits.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m standing with my hips pressed to hers, hands grabbing her waist as she drops her arms and looks up at me. I recognize the desire in her eyes, paired with a flash of apprehension about getting caught in the fridge together, but there’s more there. A dozen emotions I can’t read flit across her features as we stand locked in place.
“DeeDee.” I speak slowly enough to let her know I really mean it this time. “Are you okay?”
“I just...I want to be normal, okay? I hate feeling like this.” Tears start gathering at the corners of her eyes even as her face creases with anger. “I just...I get so close, and then...Like the other day, when Monroe said you might be changing jobs, I—”
“DeeDee.” I lift my hands to cup her cheeks with my palms, forcing her to look at me. “DeeDee, you know I’m not leaving.”
“I know. I know it’s not a big deal. It’s really, really not, but as soon as I heard your name and ‘leaving’ in the same maudit sentence, I started freaking out like a crazy person. I’m not normal.”
“You are,” I urge. “There is nothing wrong with you. You’ve been through so much. You’ve lost a lot of people, and every day I’m amazed at how hard you fight, at what you’re still capable of after all that.”
The tears start falling now. Her lip trembles, and when she finally speaks again, it’s barely more than a whisper.
“So why can’t I do this?”
Six words. Six damn words said so quietly I had to lean in to hear them, and yet they have enough force to shake the very floor I’m standing on. My throat feels like it’s closing up, and I squeeze my hands into fists as cold dread shoots up my spine.
“Are you saying you—”
I don’t get a chance to finish. The door of the fridge gets thrown wide open, and one of the trainees freezes mid-step when he sees us.
“Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”
“Is that DeeDee and Zach?”
That’s when I notice the entire staff of the bar gathered behind him, about to kick the meeting off. I’m suddenly very aware of all the places DeeDee’s body is touching mine.
“It is! Finally!” someone calls out.
It only takes a couple seconds before everyone in the kitchen is cheering. I look back at DeeDee with panic rising in my chest. She tugs my hands away from her face and swipes at the tears running down her cheeks. On instinct, I shift so my body is blocking her from everyone’s view, protecting her from the eyes and voices and questions and shouts.
But we can’t stay here forever.
“Câlice de criss,” she curses before stepping around me and out of the fridge.
Someone is singing ‘Zach and DeeDee sitting in a tree.’ I don’t consider myself a violent guy, but I’m about point five seconds away from punching them in the face. Drawing in a deep breath, I follow after DeeDee into the melee of congratulatory back-slapping and hugs.
It’s hell. It’s pure, unadulterated hell to stand there beside her and wave off the questions, being told we’re ‘sooo cute’ over and over again as those six fucking words ring out so loud in my head I can hardly hear what anyone is saying. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest.
Is this over? Is she ending it? What the hell did that even mean?
She doesn’t give me any clues, just stands with her spine unnaturally stiff and her eyes looking anywhere but at me. Somehow, Monroe gets everyone to settle down enough to carry out the meeting. I don’t have any idea what she talks about, but I think it’s some sort of pump up speech to get us prepped for one of the busiest nights in Taverne Toulouse history. It ends with people cheering and traipsing off to their stations, most of them making sure to stop and tell DeeDee and I how happy they are for us.
When we’re the last ones left, I can’t take it anymore and move so I’m standing in front of her. Dread makes my stomach churn.
“DeeDee, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She won’t look at me.
“I know that’s the exact opposite of the way you wanted people to find out about us.”
She barks out a laugh. “That’s true.”
The silence stretches, every question I can’t bring myself to ask getting lodged in my throat as the seconds tick by. I’m choking on this, on the feeling of being so close to her and still miles and miles away.
“Can we...talk?”
She draws in a shuddering breath before shaking her head. “Where? How? This is...Je ne peux pas...”
She looks like she’s about to either scream or start crying again, and I know neither of us can face walking out into the bar.
“Come with me.” I grab her hand and pull her to the kitchen’s back door, the one that leads out to the alley where we share a dumpster with the neighbouring businesses—not the world’s most pleasant location, but it’s the only spot around here where we stand a hope of being alone for a few minutes.
All I need is a few minutes. All I need is to hear something from her that will make me feel like we’re not falling apart.
A couple of the staff members hoot at us as we leave, but neither DeeDee nor I look back. As soon as we step into the alley, she drops my hand and turns her back to me.
I just go ahead and spit it out. “Are you breaking up with me?”
She whirls around, and I see the panic welling inside her. “We aren’t even dating!”
“I know. I know.” I do my best to stay calm. That’s what she needs. “I just—I need to know, DeeDee. Is that what’s going on? Are you ending this?”
Her eyes are so wide, searching for something, and I don’t know how to give it to her.
“I don’t want to.” She gives a tiny shake of her head, and something in her crumples. “I don’t want to.”
Twenty-One
DeeDee
FLAME: the act of setting an alcoholic drink on fire
Why can’t I do this?
I keep asking myself over and over again as Zach holds me in the alley. I take the deepest breaths I can, fighting not to cry again. I hate crying so fucking much.
Why can’t I do this?
Why can’t I just tell him everything is all right? Why can’t I go back in that bar and high five all my friends as they tell me how cute Zach and I are? Why can’t I be the perfect girlfriend in the perfect couple everyone sees when they look at us? I’m like a girl in a painting full of happy people and butterflies, but I’m not standing in the right pose. I’m close, but something about me just doesn’t fit. Something about me won’t let me fit.
“It’s okay,” Zach is murmuring. “It’s going to be okay.”
But it’s not. It’s been getting worse, not better, and the closer I get to him, the more I realize I’m not ready for this. I’m leaning on him too much.
That’s not a relationship. Being with Zach has taught me that even after all the boyfriends I’ve had, I barely know the first thing about relationships, but I know that. I know that what we’re doing isn’t working.