“That’s what I said, no.”
“You are more of a bitter bag of dicks than I remembered, Wes, so why don’t you do us both a favor and butt out.”
“I could say the same about you, darlin’,” he snarls on a saccharine-sweet smile.
“Do not start with me,” I warn. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re a coward,” he says calmly. “And I know that man in there would kiss the ground you walk on if you let him. I know he would offer you the moon if it would make you happy, let alone a beautiful life if you let him, but you’re so caught up in your own miserable bullshit that you won’t ever give him a chance.”
“What chance?” I practically shout. “We had a chance nine years ago, and I gave it all up,for him, so don’t you stand there and look down your nose at me.”
“And it’s within your grasp again, and what are you doing?” he asks, looking at me like I’m nothing but a dog turd on his shoe. “You’re running. I see it. You’re just waiting for an opportunity to run again.”
“I have to find my daughter!” I grip my hair in my hands, pulling it roughly from its messy bun.
“You don’t think he feels the same way?” Wes snarls at me. “You don’t think he’s dying inside? He finally found the family he thought slipped through his fingers nine years ago, and he is feeling her absence greatly, but you’re still only thinking about you. What about him?”
And then after he finishes tossing my world on its head, he tosses back the rest of his beer before dropping the glass bottle in the trashcan and stalking from the room without offering me so much as a backward glance or a “See you on the flipside.”
And to be honest, I don’t really blame him. After what he said, I can’t help but feel like a monster. Have I been so caught up in my own head that I haven’t bothered to think of Rick? It kind of lessons the sacrifices I made for him years ago. Maybe I’m as bad as Wes thinks.
I fill up my glass one more time before grabbing two more beers from the fridge and carrying them all into the dining room that sits between the living room and kitchen. I set my water on the table and carry the beers to where the guys are talking in low tones so I won’t hear them. We watch each other warily as I approach them.
“Another beer?” I ask as I hold them out in front of me.
“Thanks,” Wes says as he eyes the still capped bottle cautiously. I wanted him to realize I didn’t spit in it when I could have.
“Thanks, baby,” Rick says softly before taking the bottle from me.
“Sure.” I try to step back, feeling really unwelcome in this little powwow, when Rick pulls me into his side and holds me tight. Ever since this morning, he’s been finding ways to keep me close to him, to hold me or touch me in some sweet way or another. I don’t even know if he realizes he’s doing it, but all of a sudden, he’s always in contact with me physically if he can be.
A knock sounds at the door.
“That would probably be the pizza,” Rick says, letting me go.
Wes tenses as he watches Rick approach the front door. I see them both hold their bodies loose, like they’re ready to spring into action, but you wouldn’t know it’s coming unless you know what you’re looking for.
Rick looks casually out the side window just as he did when Wes showed up and decides it’s safe. Pulling open the door, Rick hands the kid a couple twenties and tells him to keep the change before accepting the stack of pizza boxes and shutting the door behind him, throwing the lock closed.
He carries the pizza boxes into the dining room and sets them on the table. Wes and I follow behind him. When I get there, I realize I forgot plates and napkins, so I scurry back into the kitchen to grab them. Wes’s words about how I could do a better job looking after Rick are still weighing heavy on my brain. He’s right. I haven’t been looking after the man I swore up and down I loved no matter what, when I should have. Instead, I only thought about me and how it made me feel.
I set a stack of plates and napkins down on the table and take a seat. Wes and Rick waited for me to return to the table before sitting down. He might hate me, or at least he used to, now I’m not so sure. I’m not sure where we stand at all, and I’ve done so much wrong, but he has manners, and that is an interesting combination.
I pass plates around while the guys lift lids on different pizzas and start passing the boxes around the table. Rick puts three slices of pepperoni and anchovy on my plate. It’s my favorite and he knows it. I didn’t have to ask; he just provided a comfort staple for me. I have to swallow back against the lump in my throat.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
“Of course.”
I pick at my plate. I really am the worst. I need to put forth more of an effort to make sure he’s okay. But overall, I’m miserable. It’s never a fun moment having your worst failings thrown in your face—whether or not you deserve them. When Rick notices that my glass is almost empty, he stands up and heads to the kitchen. Wes shoots me a pointed stare.
“I know,” I say sadly. “You were right. I’m a monster.”
“You’re not a monster,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “You can fix it.”
“But how?” I ask as I pluck a piece of anchovy and pop it in my mouth. “I’ve been so awful.”
“You know that’s disgusting, right?”
