Slow Ride (32 page)
“You’re a liar. You just didn’t want to tell me. You don’t care about me enough to share your feelings with me.”
He knew Tuesday was struggling with her grief, knew that she loved him. But he was frustrated, afraid of losing her, either to wine or someone else when she saw clearly how unexciting he and his life were. But he still heard the insult and reacted in the worst possible way. “It’s just all about you, isn’t it?”
That was probably poking the bear. Especially given the bear was drunk. But Diesel was hurt, he was tired, he was embarrassed by the attention of the night, all the damn questions about his accident. He wanted to have it out. Clear the air. Have them both say what they meant.
Except sometimes you get exactly what you intend, and you don’t like it.
Tuesday’s expression changed and he expected drunken anger. That’s not what he got. She had retreated, pulled back into herself. “Oh, really? I didn’t know that’s how you felt. And if you do, I question why the hell we’re even together.”
Diesel couldn’t meet her eye. At the moment he wasn’t sure why they were together. There were issues she needed to deal with and he couldn’t fix them for her.
But she wasn’t finished. Though she wobbled a little on her heels, her words weren’t slurred. They were just harsh. “I did try to talk to you a few times and you shut me down. You can stand here and say I’m the only one with a problem, but I’m not. You don’t know how to share your emotions. And if you think for one goddamn minute that you have dealt with the repercussions of your accident, or hell, even your mother’s and brother’s deaths, then you’re kidding yourself. You’ve just locked it all in a box inside of you marked Don’t Touch and told yourself you’re fine.”
He wasn’t about to agree with that, even if somewhere inside him it struck a chord of truth so powerful he was suddenly afraid. “I’m dealing just fine.”
“And if you think everything in our relationship was about me I’d argue that it was the exact opposite. It was about you. What you wanted.”
That pissed him off. “We’re not talking about sex, and that was a dynamic you liked, don’t deny it.”
“I’m not talking about sex either,” she said disdainfully. “You’re right, I enjoy you being in charge of what happens in the bedroom. I’m talking about the fact that when you withhold your feelings, yet expect them from me. That’s selfish.”
It was so unexpected, he could only stare at her in shock. No one had ever called him selfish before.
Tears filled her eyes. “Tonight, I just needed you to support me. And you made it about what you didn’t want to do. I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot, I was just trying to get through the night.”
When she put it like that, he felt guilty, and that made him angry. “I wanted the same thing. Just a little support and understanding. Instead you splashed my business all over. I think maybe we need to take a break here, spend a little time apart and see where we’re at.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re breaking up with me in the middle of the cancer benefit?”
Again, when put like that . . . “No, of course not! I just think we need to take a step back and think about some things. Talk when we’re calmer. When you’re sober.”
Her lip curled in disgust. “A break is a break-up and you know it. Thanks for ruining my night.” She pushed the door to the ballroom back open and tossed her hair back as she wiped the tears from under her eyes. She looked vulnerable, but she had straightened her posture and steeled her voice. “Have a nice life, Daniel.”
A steel pipe to his knee would have hurt less.
He watched her go, wondering what the hell he had just done.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
FOURTEEN
TUESDAY
got trashed at the cancer benefit to honor her father. After her fight with Diesel, she had stalked the waiter and had made him rustle up an unopened bottle of wine for him, which she then proceeded to drink in an hour. She was conscious of the fact that she wasn’t walking entirely straight and that her tongue had gotten too big for her mouth. When a reporter she knew asked her some interview questions, she had a hard time thinking up answers and she giggled way more than normal.
got trashed at the cancer benefit to honor her father. After her fight with Diesel, she had stalked the waiter and had made him rustle up an unopened bottle of wine for him, which she then proceeded to drink in an hour. She was conscious of the fact that she wasn’t walking entirely straight and that her tongue had gotten too big for her mouth. When a reporter she knew asked her some interview questions, she had a hard time thinking up answers and she giggled way more than normal.
But she didn’t really realize exactly how loaded she was until her mother pulled her into the hallway. “You need to go home,” her mother told her.
“Why?” Tuesday tried to lean over and hug her mom but she stumbled a little and got distracted. Her mom looked beautiful, elegant, and classy, and she’d given a brief speech before Tuesday had gotten trashed after the argument and breakup with Diesel. Had she and Diesel really broken up?
God, that sucked.
Tuesday felt tears rise in her eyes. “Diesel and I had a fight.”
“I know, he told me when I asked him to take you home. I don’t think I should leave and he pointed out he probably shouldn’t either. It looks better if he and I continue to show our faces all night. So he said he asked Kendall to take you home.”
Yeah, she was definitely drunk because none of this was making any sense to her. “Why do I have to go home?”
“Because you’re embarrassing me,” her mother said quietly and firmly.
That shocked her. She was embarrassing her mother at her father’s cancer benefit? Tears filled her eyes.
Without warning, all the wine decided to make a reappearance and Tuesday turned and threw up into the pot of a fake palm tree in the lobby.
When she stood she was vaguely aware of eyes on her, then the night went black.
TUESDAY
remembered coming to in the cab and bawling on Kendall, then proceeding to drink two more glasses of wine at home before she passed out for the night.
remembered coming to in the cab and bawling on Kendall, then proceeding to drink two more glasses of wine at home before she passed out for the night.
Now the next morning, she had a pounding head and a broken heart. And a deep, deep shame that she had embarrassed both her mother and her father’s memory by acting like a drunken idiot at the benefit. Fighting the urge to throw up, she fumbled for her cell phone and dialed her best friend.
“Hey, are you okay?” Kendall asked by way of greeting.
“I guess.” Taking stock, she counted a throbbing head, a swollen nose, an earache, a stomach that was alternating between knots and nausea-inducing flips, sore shoulders, aching feet, and a mouth so dry licking sand would improve its moisture content. Not to mention a pain in her chest so severe it took her breath away, and even after being awake for five minutes, she’d already had repeated attempts to fight back tears. She pretty much wanted to die, but she was assuming the physical pain would recede. The heart was going to take a while to heal, if ever.
“Did I say anything really inappropriate last night? How many people saw me puke?”
“You ranted about Diesel, but no one heard that. You were obviously drunk, but you didn’t say anything awful. I’m not sure how many people saw you puke, but I’m guessing at least one or two. I came out right after and I knew you needed to leave. But you managed one more glass of wine before I could haul you to the car. You have ninja skills when you want a drink.” Kendall said it lightly.
But Tuesday just sighed. “Thanks. You’re the best best friend I could ask for. I can’t believe I ditched out on my own benefit.”
“Diesel just broke up with you. I don’t blame you. No one would blame you.”
“It just proves I’m completely weak. I hate that. I want to be in control.” She fought with that every day. She tried to control her life and the environment around her and when she couldn’t, she went off the rails.
“Everyone does. But honey, there are just some things beyond our control.”
“I know.” She looked at her nightstand, wishing a glass of water would magically appear. Diesel had asked for a break and she had definitely given him one—he hadn’t had to deal with her drunk ass the night before. “I need to learn to let go. Diesel once asked me what my issues were, and I think it’s safe to say that’s it . . . I want to control everything and when I can’t, it’s bad.”
“There are definitely worse issues to have, and if you know that about yourself, you can work on it.”
“Yeah. I want to.” She closed her eyes, hoping the pounding would recede a little. It didn’t. “I always thought men were the problem, not me, that they were selfish. But who wants to be generous emotionally or otherwise with someone who has a steel vice on their own feelings and the relationship in general?”
“I think you’re being really hard on yourself. You’re right, you shouldn’t have had so much wine last night. That wasn’t cool. But Diesel needs to give a little, too.”
Maybe it was time to be hard on herself. This wasn’t how she wanted to live her life. “I went up to the podium and told the whole room Diesel would do the very thing he said he didn’t want to do. I humiliated my mother. I flubbed an interview. And I barfed in a bush. I don’t think it’s possible to be too hard on myself.”
She closed her eyes, trying to blink back the tears. God, she was a mess. A complete disaster. “Did that interview air?”
Kendall hesitated. “Yes.”
That wasn’t encouraging. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“It could be better. It could be worse.”
Tuesday hauled herself into a sitting position and reached for her laptop. She hit a few keys, searching for the interview on the local news.
“Tuesday, I don’t think you should . . .” Kendall’s voice was filled with concern.
“Oh, my God.” Tuesday put her free hand over her mouth as she saw herself on the screen, wavering on her heels, her hair out of place. Her eyes were narrow and she had a lazy grin on her face. It was more than obvious she was drunk.
“Maybe you shouldn’t watch that,” Kendall told her.
“Shh.” She had to see, to hear how she had presented herself the night before.
“So what kinds of items are available tonight at the auction?” the blond interviewer asked.
“Oh, all kinds of shit.” She waved her arm around. “Meet-and-greets with drivers, restaurant gift cards, wine. Too bad I can’t win the wine.” She laughed, an obnoxious cackle that screamed she was bombed on Merlot.
As she watched, she saw herself stumble and grab the reporter for support. “Oops, sorry.”
The woman smiled tightly. “I don’t think you need to win the wine.”
Onscreen, she laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life. Tuesday hit the stop button. She’d seen enough. Swallowing hard, she made a decision.
“So, do you know a good therapist? Someone who specializes in alcohol abuse?”
“What? Are you serious? No, but I can definitely help you find someone. You really think it’s that bad?”
Tuesday didn’t even have to glance in the mirror to know what she looked like, and her physical symptoms were completely familiar to her. She had humiliated herself the night before in front of all her friends and co-workers. Her mother and her boyfriend, the two most important people in her life. That made it a problem. “It’s not beyond repair, but I need to get a grip before it gets worse. You know, I lost my dad to cancer. I just lost Diesel to my own stupidity. That fight could have gone a different way if I hadn’t been drinking. Hell, we might not have had the fight.”
The tears spilled out and a little sob escaped before she could stop it.
“Hey,” Kendall said softly. “Who’s to say you’ve lost him? It wasn’t entirely your fault, you know. He could have chosen a better time to initiate a conversation that was emotionally charged. He made it all about your drinking and that wasn’t fair. He brought his own issues to the fight.”
She nodded, even though Kendall couldn’t see her. She knew that was true. Everything she had said to Diesel was true, even if the way she had said it was awful and bitchy. He wasn’t necessarily dealing with his grief any better than she had. He just suffered internally, whereas her method of coping was external, on display at the bar. Neither was going to serve them long-term. But she supposed, no matter how much she loved him, that was his problem. He needed to decide to deal with it or not deal with it. It hadn’t been fair, the way she had been poking at him, insisting he talk to her.
Love was supposed to be patient. It was something she needed to learn tenfold.
She was going to deal with her problems head-on. She never should have tried to be the strong one, pretending she could handle her father’s death. It was a big deal, a catastrophic loss, and most people couldn’t just forge ahead on their own. There was no shame in needing someone to talk to, or finding a positive outlet for her grief.
In lieu of that she had turned to alcohol and that had been the worst possible choice.
“It doesn’t matter,” she told Kendall, even as her voice caught. “It’s over, and it’s probably for the best. I need to get my shit together before I’m involved with someone. It’s not fair to Diesel otherwise.”
“Maybe a little later, after you’ve both had a chance to think and process everything, you can be together.”
A part of her desperately wanted to cling to that hope. But a break was a breakup and she couldn’t pin her future on something that had very little chance of happening. “I don’t think so. We both said some rough things.” Her stomach tightened miserably and the tears came freely. “But I do love him, Kendall. I really, really love him.”
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