“It’s okay,” I try to reassure him, but he rejects my comfort with a grimace, capturing both my hands in his.
“It’s not. It never will be. Nothing could ever make what I did to you okay.” As much as I want to argue, I sense he has more to say, so I stay quiet. “I need you to know I wanted to, so badly. Every part of me needed to hear your voice again, but each time I got to the point of looking you up, I’d start running the scenarios in my head, and they’d always end up with you hanging up in my face, telling me you hate me and never want to talk to me again. And I couldn’t, not while dealing with my own rehabilitation and what was happening with my mom. I couldn’t bear it.”
“I would never have done that,” I promise with all the sincerity I feel. “Never. And if not me, then Brian, or the girls. We’re your family.”
“You were my family,” he deadpans, and I frown at his unwavering conviction.
“Just because you were a complete tool and did something totally idiotic like breaking my heart and disappearing for five years doesn’t mean we would turn our backs on you in your time of need.”
“I’m not sure Brian will agree with you on that.”
“He still wants to beat the crap out of you,” I point out, and Andy barks out a laugh.
“Aww, he still cares!” Andy leans back on the couch, his gaze fixed on our joined hands, and he seems lost in thought. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask with a squeeze of his hand, trying my best to ignore how it entwines perfectly with mine.
“For saying that, despite everything.” He shrugs as if it’s a small thing, but once again, I’m struck by the weight I can see is bearing down on him, crushing the light-hearted joy that used to be his second nature. “It’s been a tough ride, the past few months. I know I don’t get a do-over on us, Phoebs, but just knowing you don’t hate my guts, it helps.”
“I’m glad I can help,” I reply in a soft voice. My body, having a mind of its own, leans closer to Andy, the fragrance of lilac laundry softener with an underlay of a leathery scent tempting me to press even closer. “And I’m glad you at least have Gabe.”
“Gabe’s a good guy, but he doesn’t know me like you used to.” Andy again denies my attempts to comfort him.
“Self-pity isn’t a good look on you, Surfer Boy,” I chide him, and Andy raises an eyebrow. “You left, in an ass of a way, sure, but that doesn’t mean you get to carry our breakup on your shoulders for five years. Let it go.”
“I left for you, Phoebe, and deep down, you knew I was right.” His turquoise eyes lock on to mine. “The army wife life, baby, it wasn’t for you.”
“That was my choice to make, Andy.”
“You were too stubborn to make the hard choice.” His voice is stern, harsh, something I’ve never heard from him before, and it pisses me off.
“I loved you too much to make that choice.” I stand from the couch in anger, grabbing my beer and stomping to the kitchen. “Something you clearly weren’t feeling back.”
“No. Not a fucking chance am I letting you play that card!” His voice rises an octave, and I turn to him with flaring nostrils. “You know I loved you more than anything in this world, you know it!”
“Then why, Andy?” I raise my voice to match his.
“Because I loved you so much, it would have killed me when you left,” he yells at me. “And you would have left, Phoebe, despite your valiant declarations otherwise.”
“You don’t know that.” I stomp to him and jab a finger at his chest. “You kept running away from me because of what you thought I may or may not do. You were too scared to love me all the way to stick it out until the bitter end. I loved you enough to stay with you even when you went to war. I loved you enough to stay even when I knew any day could be the day there’s a knock on my door telling me you’ll never be back. I loved you enough to spend five years hoping you would make it back even after you tore me to shreds!”
“Jesus, Phoebe, all I do is make you cry,” Andy groans out with a pained voice, rubbing his palms over his face as I wipe the tears I hadn’t noticed I was shedding with the back of my hand. “I’m no good for you, not anymore.”
“What does that even mean?” I cry out in a desperate attempt to get him to open up, say something that isn’t cryptic and confusing.
“Look, we’ll get through this Lantern business as fast as we can, okay?” He takes a step toward me and shoves his hands into his pockets as if to avoid touching me, his eyes fixed on my kitchen wall. “I’ll let Gabe run point from now on. I won’t get in your way.”
“After all this time, you still choose to run away,” I seethe. “You’re a coward.”
“I guess I am.” He shrugs with disinterest. “I’ll see you around.”
“At least you don’t have to ask for a ring back this time.” He stops, his back rigid, and part of me hopes he’ll retort, fight for himself and for us, have the courage to do things differently this time. But instead, his shoulders slump, and he walks out the door.
“Fuck!” I yell to the empty kitchen and throw the half-full beer bottle at the wall, where it promptly explodes into bits, spraying the entire kitchen with sticky, pungent IPA. “Fuck,” I mutter, this time all the hot air leaving my body as I drag myself to the utility cupboard.
That was a disaster.
Chapter Nine
Phoebe
The connection is on its fifth ring, and I consider hanging up when, finally, there’s an answer.
“Everything okay?” the gruff, sleep-addled voice of my brother answers from the other end.
“Uh, no, not really. Is Tris there?” I ask a bit impatiently.
“She’s sleeping.” Brian yawns and grunts. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I snap at him, immediately regretting my tone. Brian did nothing wrong.
“That’s an ‘Andy pissed me off’ level of anger,” Brian observes, and I just grumble in response. “Come on, Phoebs, it’s 2 AM in New York, and you called Tris halfway across the world.”
“He was here for dinner,” I relent and sigh. “It was a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”
“I want to act surprised, but I can’t honestly say I am.” Brian pauses for a few moments. “Do you really think you can forgive him?”
“Can you?” I turn the question on Brian, a lame tactic, but I don’t know how to answer his question. Or rather, I don’t want to.
“Depends. I need to hit him and then talk to him.” Brian doesn’t even sound apologetic about it. “Now, stop avoiding.”
“I’ve already forgiven him, B, for this time around,” I clarify. “As for what happened five years ago? I don’t want it to matter enough to be an issue, but it seems I can’t stop caring.”
“What happened tonight?” Brian asks attentively, and I exhale.
“I don’t know. It started out fine. I made his favorite dish, he brought a bouquet of blue carnations and went through my medicine cabinet.” Brian snorts, and I can’t help but return the sentiment. “You forgot your beard cream here, by the way.”