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It’s a good question, but I can’t even begin to answer it truthfully. Which is why I’ve been hiding out at home all week, wallowing in my grief and trying to check at least one item off of my heartbreak recovery list.
It was a lofty set of goals—fix my broken heart that only wants to be put back together by the hands that destroyed it in the first place, cleanse my mind of all thoughts and images from the last four weeks, find a way to hate the person I love—but I set them so the next time I came face to face with someone who knows me as well as Mal does, they wouldn’t be able to see the pain written all over my face. I guess I failed at that too.
I move aside to let Mal in the door. “Nothing.”
She steps inside gingerly, almost like she thinks moving too fast might cause me to break, and I appreciate it because I honestly believe it might. Since I walked out of Dom’s place, I’ve felt like a shell of myself. Fragile like a piece of glass that’s already got a crack running down the middle. One sudden move, one more bump, and I’ll shatter into a million little pieces.
“Sweetie, you answered your door in a shower cap.”
“I’m deep conditioning my hair.”
“On a Wednesday night?”
“Yes.” I throw myself back onto the couch cushion I’ve been stuck to since Saturday. “There are no rules against deep conditioning on a weeknight.”
Mal plops down in the opposite corner and tosses her hair over her shoulder. Today she’s wearing a red wig with blunt bangs and bone straight tresses that reach the center of her back. This is my first time seeing her all week, and it’s good to have something else to focus on besides the image of Dom looking at me and saying it’s over that’s been playing in my head on repeat.
“Not officially, but I for one have no interest in spending a weeknight suffering through an in-depth wash routine.”
I shrug and set my bowl on the table. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
“You’re not going to find it sitting in this house.” There’s a sad sparkle in her eyes as she studies me. “I know you’re sad about things ending with Ash, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up completely. He was just one man, there are plenty more where he came from.”
The smile I give her feels brittle and forced. “Thanks, but I’m not sad about Ash.”
“You’re not? Then what’s with the ‘I just got my heart broke’ look you’re sporting?” Her eyes light up with a mischievous glow. “Were you dating someone else?”
I shake my head. “No, Mal.”
But it’s too late. She’s already grabbed the bone and started to run with it. A happy little squeal hits the air as she bounces in her seat like a child and points at me. “You were! You totally were! Who was it?”I open my mouth, but she waves me off. “Oh, no. Let me guess. James?”
“No.” I push to my feet and head towards the kitchen. “I wasn’t seeing anyone else.”
“Liar!” Mal calls from behind me as she follows me into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island. “Oh my God! That reminds me. I ran into Kristen at Twisted Sistas yesterday, and she told me the craziest thing.” I start to rummage through the refrigerator, examining a jar of pickles way too closely just to avoid letting her see the panic on my face at the mention of Kristen’s name. “She said she ran into you outside of Nic’s place over the weekend, and you looked like you had just rolled out of bed. Then she launched into this whole theory about you guys sleeping together because Nic broke up with her around the time he took the job at the hotel.”
I freeze and the jar of pickles slips from my hand and hits the floor. Mal is on her feet in an instant, rushing over to me and grabbing me by the shoulders.
“Sloane! What the hell?”
She spins me around, and the feel of her fingertips pressing into my shoulders is the only thing anchoring me to Earth. How the hell did Kristen figure it out? Mal walks me over to one of the bar stools and urges me to sit. I watch her clean up the mess with the same stunned expression on my face.
“Are you okay?” She sits back down beside me, her forehead creased in clear confusion. “Don’t worry about what Kristen said, girl. Nobody would ever believe you and Nic would be together, I mean you two barely—”
“It’s true.”
Her mouth snaps shut. Then falls open. Then snaps shut again. And it would be comical to see Mal struggling for a response if it didn’t feel like I just ruined our entire relationship with two little words. When I get the courage to look at her, she’s still speechless, so I launch straight into the apology I’ve been preparing for weeks just in case this moment came.
“Mal, I’m so sorry. We were only together for a few weeks. It was a stupid mistake, and it’s over now.” I grab her hand and squeeze it. “Please don’t hate me.”
The creases in her forehead deepen as I stare at her, pleading with my eyes for her to say something, anything, in response to what I’ve just confessed. When Dom and I first made our agreement, I lived in fear of this moment—dreading the dip in her brows and the tears in her eyes that would make the hurt there more evident—but none of it is happening the way I thought it would. Mal is deathly still beside me, her features frozen in surprise and the corners of her lips twisting into something between a smile and a horrified scowl.
“Mal, please say something.”
“I just—” She shakes her head, a small laugh bursting from her mouth. “I mean I don’t know what to say, Sloane. Honestly, I think I might be in shock.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I’m sorry to just spring this on you. Do you want me to get you some water or something stronger?” I start to rise from my seat, but she pulls me down and stares at me with wide eyes.
“No! You already have the whole kitchen smelling like pickle juice.” Her lips quirk like she’s fighting back another laugh. “Sit your ass down and tell me what the hell is going on with you and Nic.”
