Ryan and Luke have become very close in the past months, between the amount of time Luke spent babysitting him and Ryan becoming Luke’s new business partner, so I’m a little surprised he isn’t being more supportive. I believe he’s only reacting to the fact that I’m helping with the logistics of the wedding though. I don’t think he’s yet registered that two of our best friends are getting married.
“That’s why I need to be involved. Who knows Virge better than I do?”
“Her brother? Her son? Her soon-to-be fiancé and husband? The fucking wedding planner he can hire to do the job?” He pushes on his temples, failing to hide his frustration from me.
I step closer and lay my hand on his bicep. “Luke, I need to do this!”
I want him to support my decision to help Ry and Virge. I want him to understand I need to be busy so I don’t think too much about my dad. I need to be in control, but I can’t control what’s happening between us anymore and that scares me more than anything.
He peels my hands off him and steps back. “What you need is fucking therapy! I can’t take any more of this bullshit. You haven’t changed your ways a bit.”
It’s my turn to cross my arms and send him a look of disapproval. “I did reassign Marlene!”
“Did I give you a choice in the matter? And that’s not enough. You need to take better care of yourself!”
“I thought that was your job?” I grin.
He runs a hand through his hair and clenches his jaw. “Don’t try to be sweet with me right now. It’s not a good look on you. You know what you’re doing, and you don’t give a shit what I think.”
I flinch. “Not true. Your opinion is somewhat important—”
“Somewhat? I’ll let you figure it out!” He walks away, fisting and opening his hands several times. Then he comes back, invading my personal space. “Organize all the fucking weddings in the world for all I care. I’ll be there next to the groom with the fucking rings and that’s it. Don’t come crying on my shoulder when they, again, leave you to do everything. Don’t complain when they act like children. You want to organize a wedding in three weeks? Be my guest.”
“I will. It’s not like a little fight will stop me!” I sound like a rebellious teenager and I hate myself for it.
“You think this is a little fight? No, this is you disregarding the discussion we had about your mental well-being and physical health. It’s you telling me my opinion is not important enough. It’s you doing whatever the fuck you want in this relationship instead of thinking of us. That’s not fighting. I’m not ready to see the man I love get eaten alive by stress. It’s not good for your heart and you don’t give a shit! That’s too much for me.” He walks to the door and I have no idea where he’s going.
I run and stand in front of him to block his way. “Fuck, Luke, I said I loved you last week. Wasn’t that enough?”
He scoffs. “I know you’ve never been in a relationship, but saying I love you isn’t enough. Most people need more than words, and your actions clearly show that you don’t respect me. You don’t respect my opinion, you don’t respect me trying to make you feel better, you don’t want to slow down even though your dad died from a heart attack six weeks ago. You think about Ryan, Ian, Virginia, Asher, Emma, even fucking Julie, who you can’t stand, before anything else. Even she has more influence on you than me.”
He pushes me away, and I’m not sure what just happened. I don’t know if Luke is breaking up with me or if we’re having a monumental fight. And for once, I don’t know what I should do.
I'm pretty sure he’ll come back once he calms down. He knows I love him—I wouldn’t have said so otherwise.
He hovered over me like crazy after I went to the emergency room. He didn’t really agree to keep it a secret from our friends, but he did it for me. I know he wants me to slow down, and I’m trying. Kind of. However, he has to understand I won’t stand on the sidelines and not help our friends if they need me. I mean, they’ve been great in the last three weeks and barely asked me for anything. I understand him being mad that I’m taking on one more thing as we’ve barely had time to see each other in the last week, but even if every second I’m away from him, I miss his face, his touch, his stupid overprotection, I can’t say no to helping Ryan and Virge get married. Luke will come around. He always does.
By the time I’m ready for bed, he still hasn’t come home. I try to call him, but he doesn’t pick up. I believe it’s better to let him cool off, so I sleep like shit alone in my bed, too used to having my personal heater next to me.
The next morning, I call him again. Nothing. I’m not worried he might be injured somewhere because I know someone would have called me. I’m pissed he’s ignoring me.
I throw my phone onto the bed, where it bounces, falls on the floor, and shatters. I go to shave and I cut myself. I pour coffee and it drips onto my white shirt. I can already see how shitty my day is going to be, just because Luke is having a tantrum. I reached out twice and he let me go to voicemail, so I’ll let him stew. I have a fucking wedding to organize after all.
25
Luke
The problem with staying mad with someone is that you end up hurting yourself more than passing on the message you need the person to get. Three days after I left Dex’s house, I was still mad, but for all I knew, Dex didn’t give a shit. According to Ryan, he’s grumpily dealing with finding the perfect wedding gown for the oblivious bride-to-be, but his behavior is nothing unusual.
I’m conflicted, and a conflicted Luke is no good at anything. In a way, I want to settle this by fucking him senseless, but I’m not sure it’s worth pushing for a relationship that might be doomed. I didn’t lie when I said I couldn’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me or what I have to say. I’m mad at him for treating me like this, but I’m madder at myself for thinking it would be any different.
Every day apart from him, I appreciate a little more the sound of my feet walking away from him. It hurts, but it’s necessary. I know there’s a life where I can be happy being single, especially if he isn’t missing me as much as I miss him. At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of every single minute of the day. He hasn’t reached out to me since that first night, and I’m certainly not calling him back. I’m sure he doesn’t have time to talk to me anyway.
Calvin, Elvis, and Morgan are fed up, telling me every day to call him and stop being stubborn. It seems I’m being a miserable grouch, which is unusual. My mood only reflects how my heart feels. Nevertheless, I know I have to do something to improve it or my staff will kill me before opening night, which is in a few hours.
We’ve renamed the shop Gritt Your Skin & Co as a nod to my brother’s restaurant, to Ryan—the last movie he was in was Your Skin—and of course & Co for the three stooges and other artists who will pass by. It’s modern, pretty, cool, edgy, and looks extra clean. There are now eight suites, a kitchen, an open lobby area with amazing hanging lamps, my office, and a room for the stooges to hang with brand new computers for their work.