I stand and say, “Robyn doesn’t owe me anything. And you need to stop talking shit about the woman I want to get back with—and the relationship you helped destroy.”
Tessa flinches, then fires back, voice sharp. “If you’d been confident in your relationship and how much that woman supposedly loves you, and you love her, I shouldn’t have been able to break the relationship.”
“So you admit it? You broke up my relationship.”
Her mouth opens and closes, and I shake my head. “Forthe record, you’re right.” My voice comes out quieter, steadier. “The blame lies with me. That’s why I’m going to do better now.” I drop three twenties on the table. “Stop coming to my workplace, Tess. I mean it. I’ll see you around.”
Without looking back, I yank the restaurant door open, the glass rattling in its frame as it slams against the stopper behind it. A wall of lean muscle stands in the doorframe. Broad chest, sleeves rolled up, tattoos cutting down the exposed part of his arms. Blue eyes meet mine, cool and steady.Julian.A short brunette with large, styled curls stands right behind him.
He scans the restaurant and must see Tessa because his eyes narrow at the corners, and his lips go downward at the corners.
“This isn’t what you think.”
Julian crosses his arms. “And what might that be?”
“I was setting boundaries, alright? I wasn’t—” I exhale, defeated. “Please don’t tell Robyn, give her the wrong impression.”
He flexes his jaw before he says, “If I did, that’s on you too, Leighton.”
His words hurt because they’re true, but the knowledge of wrongdoing doesn’t take it away.
“Besides,” Julian adds, uncrossing his arms, “she was making out with a hot blond guy last week, Nate.” He extends his hand to the girl behind him, and she takes it eagerly. “And I know they’re going out tomorrow night. Doesn’t seem too heartbroken about you.”
Julian steps around me and into the restaurant, pushing into my chest enough that my back hits the wall. My throat tightens. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s not because of Tessa’s perfume this time. I palm the crushing pressure in the center of my chest as the memories of everything I’ve done wrong mesh together.
The breakfast I hid.
The lunch I didn’t leave.
The movie I shouldn’t have watched, and the gazes that should have never lingered. Tessa’s phone propped against my car console, the red recording icon burning in the corner.
The kiss I didn’t stop immediately.
My stupidly polite smile at every turn. Because cruelty and confrontation?—
“Confrontation didn’t drive your father away.”My mom’s voice echoes in my head, sharp and steady down the line. That call was two weeks after her visit. I paced in my apartment, one hand pressed to my temple, while she spoke.“Your father didn’t leave because I didn’t need him to figure out dinner or because I threw in his face he wasn’t contributing. He didn’t even leave because of the cheating, although that did a number on me, I admit.”
Her sigh had crackled through the phone.“He left because he wanted to be put first and me to beg for forgiveness when he wasn’t. And I didn’t—because you and I both deserved better than a man who needed everyone around him small so he could feel good about himself. You’ve never managed to unpack that,”she added.“Until you do, you won’t know the difference.”
“The difference between what, Mom?”I’d asked, half belligerently, half resigned to the lecture.
“Son, I can’t do the work for you. You have to figure it out on your own.”
I still haven’t, but on my way back to work, I know one thing. What I broke, I’ll rebuild. I’ll sketch myself from scratch to be fucking better. I shove my hands in my pockets and walk away, pulse still tripping overher name.
The wind whipsagainst my face. The sun’s breaking the horizon, bleeding orange and red all over the sky. The path along the lakefront stretches endlessly, both the walking gravel road and the smooth bike road are close enough to the shore you can hear the waves crashing against the beach. Their rhythm complements the satisfying click of Andrzej’s pedals next to me. We’ve biked together most Saturdays, but he hasn’t canceled on me once since Robyn ended things.
“Kurwa mac, cold as hell,” he mutters, the Polish curse rolling off his tongue with a casual shrug, keeping one of his hands steady on his bike handle.
“So much for early summer,” I joke, pedaling faster to get ahead of him.
The rest of the ride goes by in silence. He slows to a stop near a bend where the lake opens wide, silver and endless, then gets off and drops his bike in the sand. I’m inhaling quickly, same as Andrzej, but it feels good. Moving makes thinking easier; maybe that’s why I can’t seem to stand still lately.
Andrzej sits on the sand. “I have a friend. Therapist.”
“Is this one of those friends you’d like to fuck?”
“Dude, my buddy would fucking cut my balls off if I even tried.” Heat floods his face as he crosses one leg over the other, protecting the merchandise.
