Last Call (Bad Habits Book 3) (31 page)

I took a long drink and set down my glass. “Yes.”

“No, you don’t.”

I sighed. “No, I don’t. But I don’t know how to handle any of this.”

She gave me a look my mother used to give me. “I think you need to start by apologizing.”

“For what?” I shot.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Gee, Rose. I don’t know. Rejecting him? Hurting him?”

In a split second, my cheeks were on fire. “But
he
rejected
me. He
hurt
me.
”

“You hurt
each other.
So start the conversation by apologizing for your part in that.”

I didn’t answer for a second, surprised. She was right, and I hadn’t even considered the concept.
This is why I suck at relationships.
“And then what?”

“Hope he apologizes back and that you can actually talk about all the things you’re afraid of without running for cover.” She took a drink.
 

“And if not?”

“Then, you know. You will have tried. Minimize your regret by doing whatever you can to mend things.”

The waitress brought our drinks by, and I picked up the fresh one, promising myself idly that it would be my last. “Is it even smart to mend things? Maybe we’re just bad for each other.”

“You’re not bad for each other. You just need to figure out how to communicate. It’s pretty simple. You just go …” She grabbed my chin and moved my bottom lip with her thumb. “Hey, Tricky, ya big stud. I’m sorry I was a smelly bag of fried dicks to you, but I can’t stand being apart, so how’s about we kiss and make up?” She made wet kissy noises, and a laugh burst out of me. She shrugged. “See? Easy.”

I stared down into my amber whiskey. “So, just apologize and see what happens?”

“You want him. He wants you. It’s really all you can do, Rosie. You just have to check your ego at the door and do a little groveling.”

I made a face. “Why does that make me feel itchy?”

“Probably because you avoid instead of grovel. But if you want to get the guy, you’ve got to suck it up, Buttercup. You let him walk away thinking you didn’t care about him when the exact opposite is true. You need to tell him that. You need to tell him the truth about how you feel about him. He’s been waiting to hear it this whole time, forever. And now’s your last chance to say it.”

The thought of declaring my feelings sent a bolt of excitement and dread through me, followed by flashes of images — rejection, acceptance, kissing, crying. Both. “You’re right,” I said quietly.

“I know. Drily is always right.” She reached for my hand and peered into my eyes. “It’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

“Well, it can’t really get any worse.”

“Never say that, Rose,” she chided. “The night is still young, and Ellie just ordered another martini.”

I looked over at Ellie, who was dancing like Molly Ringwald to Karma Chameleon as her jugs bounced around, dangerously close to popping out of her dress by sheer force.

“Oh, God,” I said with a laugh.

“See?” she said, enjoying being right again. “It could
always
be worse.”

Patrick

I DIPPED MY BRUSH IN the tar black paint before pressing the heavy bristles to the canvas, dragging it down. Pressure. A curve. A line. And then the paint was gone, without enough to do what I wanted, which was fill the canvas with darkness. I loaded the brush again.

Nothing was simple except this.

I’d drawn her face a thousand times. Some days, it was all I could see. But she and I weren’t meant to be. The distance between us wasn’t a straight line. It was a series of winding corridors, lit by harsh, naked bulbs. We didn’t know the way through, couldn’t find the exits.

Lost. Rose and I were lost to each other.

I painted the canvas black, all but where the light touched her profile, the negative space creating the features that made up the face that haunted me. But she was just a ghost, made of mist and smoke.

I thought I heard a knock at the door and turned my head to the sound, wiping my hand on my jeans before reaching for my phone to turn down the music, listening. The knock came again, and I stood, making my way to the door to pull it open curiously.

I never expected to find Rose on the other side of it.
 

My breath stopped as my eyes roamed over her. She looked small, shoulders bent in a gentle slope, lip caught between her teeth. Her dark eyes seemed endless as they met mine.
 

“Hey,” she said, the single word heavy with nerves and hope and dread.

My heart hammered as I stood in the doorway, hand on the knob, staring at her. “Hey,” was all I could muster.

“Can I come in?”

I nodded and stepped out of the way, and she passed like she was afraid to touch anything, hands her in her pockets, eyes on the ground. I closed the door and turned to face her, not sure what I should say, not sure what she’d say.

She looked up again, her face more determined than a moment before. “I … I owe you an apology, Patrick. I’m sorry for the way we ended things. Not just now, but before.”

I nodded and said quietly, “So am I.”

She took a breath. “I wasn’t the only one who got hurt, but I never acknowledged that, never told you that I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I punished you, but I never enjoyed it. Not for a single minute did I feel less pain because of yours.” She swallowed. “All of our problems stem from one snag, and it unraveled the whole sweater.”

“And what’s that?”
 

“We can’t be honest with each other about how we feel. I didn’t ask you to stay when you left me. I didn’t stop you from leaving the other night. I didn’t tell you the truth. And the truth is, I didn’t want you to go. The truth is that I miss you and I need you and I want you. That I’m glad you lied to me and snuck into my apartment to sleep. Because if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t have found you again. I’m just … I’m sorry that I let you down. I’m sorry I’m scared.”

I stepped into her, slipped a hand into her hair. Her hand found my waist, resting just over the roses there. Just over the thorns. “I was scared too, Rose. Scared you’d leave. Scared you’d hurt me. So I hurt you first.”

She closed her eyes and covered my hand with hers.

“But,” I started.

Her eyes opened again, shining with tears as fear flitted behind them.

The words caught in my throat, and I swallowed them down, knowing the truth of the matter. Knowing what I had to do, for both of us. “I’ve waited so long to be here, in this place, in the same place. But it’s too late.”
 

Her chin quivered, and she lowered it. I pressed my lips to her forehead.
 

“Rose … we’re no good together. We’ll only keep hurting each other, over and over again. It’s vicious and destructive. Look at what we’ve done to each other. We don’t know another way, but I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want to hurt. I’m sorry, Rose,” I whispered, nose burning, voice thick as I closed my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

She said nothing, only took a shaky breath.
 

A hot tear rolled onto my hand, still cupping her cheek. There was only one thing left to say, the words I’d never said, the words she needed to hear, needed to know. So I took a breath and whispered, “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” she whispered back, still for a long moment before she stepped back, swiping a tear off her cheek. “I should go.”

I nodded, throat tight, taking a step away to put more distance between us. And then she walked away, and I closed the door, completely empty.

Rose

I trotted down the stairs in Seth’s building, sucking in breaths like I was breathing through a straw. I couldn’t get enough air, not even when I broke out onto the sidewalk, winding my way through people, blurred by my tears.

I’d been stupid to come. Stupid to think we could make it work, because he was right. I’d known it all along.

The thought wasn’t a comfort.
 

I wished I was home in my bed, where I could break completely, as I walked the blocks in a whirl, choking down sobs as they bubbled up in my throat, brushing away the tears that had no care for privacy.

I unlocked my door with relief coursing through me, breaking down my shredded veil of composure. My hands shook. A sob escaped. And then I was inside.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder at me, though I only saw her out of my hazy periphery as I hurried through the living room and into my room, closing my door behind me to the sound of my name as a question.
 

I shed my shoes. I climbed in bed. I clutched a pillow. And then, I cried.

It was my soul exposed, the raw ends frayed and nerves screaming. I’d lost. I didn’t know if there’d ever been a chance I might have won.

It was over. We told the truth — not the truth we wanted, but the truth of reality — and the truth was that we were better off apart.
 

I didn’t know which was worse. The truth, or the lie we’d been telling ourselves.

The tears slowed after a while, the pain burned down to smoldering embers. My door creaked open.

“Hey. Can I come in?” Lily asked.

I didn’t move.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” The door closed, and she lay down next to me. I couldn’t meet her eyes as she looked me over. “Oh, Rosie,” she said softly, touching the cold tears on my cheeks.

And then the tears were back, pressing at the backs of my eyes, spilling from the corners, the proximity to someone who loved me more than I could stand as the muddy wall I’d built to hold it all back broke down.

“Shh,” she soothed and wrapped her arms around me. I curled into her. “I’m so sorry, Rose.”

So was I.

She stroked my hair as I cried myself dry once more, the second wave passed, leaving me flat and gray.
 

“He said we were better off apart,” I finally said, my throat raw.

She didn’t say anything, though her hand paused in its slow track across my hair.

“I thought it would be easy. I thought I’d just go over there and say I was sorry and it would be okay. But it wasn’t, and I can’t blame him. He’s right, you know. We’re both so bad at this. We’ll just keep hurting each other, over and over again. It’s best to end it once and for all.”

“Not that it makes it easier.”

“No. Definitely not.”

We lay there in silence for a few minutes before she asked, “Are you glad you told him how you felt?”

I took a breath and thought about it, took a body assessment. Nose burning. Head pounding. Eyes stinging and swollen.
 

Heart shredded.
 

“At least I have an answer,” was as much as I could commit to. “What’s done is done. Now I just have to find a way to move on. Really move on, not whatever we were doing before. There’s no saving what we had before all of this.” My chin quivered. I closed my eyes. “It doesn’t matter that I think I’m in love with him, does it?”

“I guess sometimes it doesn’t, as much as we want it to. Maybe, sometimes, love just isn’t enough.”

“He … he told me he loved me, like he just wanted me to know before he said goodbye. But I already knew.”

She pulled in a heavy breath and let it out slow as I lay in the arms of my best friend, wishing I could turn the man I loved back into a stranger.

Patrick

I STARED AT THE BLANK canvas, feet hooked on the bottom rung of my stool, just like I had been for the last hour, the last day.
 
I didn’t know what else to do with myself. It was the only way I knew how to get what was inside of me out.
 

My thoughts stumbled around and around in circles, replaying everything that had happened with Rose in a loop from beginning to end.

Calling it was the smart thing to do. The right thing. I knew that, even though it felt wrong.

I’d dodged West and Cooper easily enough, though only under the promise that I’d meet them at the courts that afternoon. No one else had texted or called, and I’d kept myself locked in my room, leaving only for work. That was where Max told me what he knew, unsolicited. He’d cornered me, really, said that Rose wasn’t okay. I tried to downplay it — he was known well for his flair for the dramatic. But I knew she was hurting, because so was I.

I sighed and flipped my pencil around in my fingers. She was all I could see. I opened them, seeing the blank canvas once more.

I needed to clear my head.

I abandoned my stool and my easel to dig around in my duffle bag for a shirt and basketball shorts, changing quickly and putting my sneakers on. The canvas screamed at me, the crisp whiteness, the deep
nothingness
of it overwhelming. I gave it a long, final look before leaving the apartment.

It was one of the warmest days we’d had that summer, muggy and heavy, the kind of day that leaves you sweating and tired, even if all you’d done was tie your shoes and venture out to get your mail. The blacktop sweltered in the heat, and small waves radiated up gently, making things low in the distance look like a mirage.

I spotted West and Cooper at one of the far courts, smiling at me as I approached.

“Hey, man,” West said from the bench when I reached them.

“What’s up?” I set down my bag.

“Not much. Glad you came willingly,” he added with a smirk. “I didn’t want to have to show up at Seth’s and drag you down here like I did Cooper when Maggie left.”

I chuckled. “Am I going to get ‘talked to?’”

“Not by me. Not unless you want to be, in which case I’m sure I can find a thing or two to say.”

“I’m sure.”

Cooper smirked. “Well, now I’m curious.”

West shrugged. “I mean, I’d probably say something like …” He glanced at me. “Nah. Tricky doesn’t want to hear it, Coop.”

Cooper sat down and retied his laces. “Yeah, probably not.”

“You guys have zero stealth.” I stretched out a leg and leaned on my knee.

Cooper leaned back on the bench, his face more serious. “What happened, man?”

I shifted to stretch the other leg, unable to answer for a moment. “We’re bad for each other. Why keep fighting the inevitable?”