Page 89 of I Saw You First

“Rhodes—”

“Oh, so it’s Rhodes again, is it?” Now my voice wobbles, too. “Say no more.”

“Come on, let me buy you a coffee.”

“My stomach can’t handle coffee,” I say with as much bitchiness as I can muster. I shake my head again, this time more forcefully, and it makes me dizzy and weak. He reaches out a hand to steady me, but I shrug it off.

“Fine. Tea, then. You can’t argue with that.”

Watch me. “Say what you have to say, Wil. No need to draw it out over a cup of tea. This isn’t Masterpiece fucking Theatre.”

He sighs. Somehow, he looks worse than he did this morning, and I want to reach out and stroke his cheek or rub his shoulders to help him feel better. But I don’t. I can’t, not anymore. My heart sinks with the thought that, after whatever he’s about to say, I’ll never reach out to touch him again.

“At least let me walk you to your car,” he says.

“That’s dumb. It’s freezing out here. And besides, aren’t you afraid someone might see?” I don’t even attempt to mask the bitterness. “Say what you have to say so I can go home.”

He clears his throat and looks across the parking lot at La Cuchara instead of at me. “I was out of line the other night,” he says in that quiet, calm Wil way, “and I need to apologize for my inappropriate behavior.”

Of all the things he could have said, I am not expecting this formal line of bullshit. Out of line. Inappropriate behavior. That’s what he’s calling our time together.

“Are you kidding me?” My voice catches.

He swallows hard. “As your manager, I’ve put you in a difficult position and again, I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

“Spare me this rehearsed load of horseshit.” As much as I’m trying to keep it together, my voice cracks. “Are you going to bring up the fraternization policy next?”

“Can you at least try to be… fair about this?”

“Fair? Fair? We were together, Wil,” I hiss. “Two days ago, you brought me the most gorgeous flowers and a romance novel and today you apologize for inappropriate behavior? How is that fair? In case it slipped your mind, I was a willing participant that night. So, what, was all of it—everything you said, everything we did—was it all lies? It was New Year’s Eve, and you were lonely, looking to get laid, and I was an easy target?”

A flash of pain crosses his face. “Abbey, no⁠—”

“Does this have anything to do with Coach?”

His brow furrows. “Coach? What are you talking about?”

“I saw the email. ‘She’s something, all right.’”

“He was asking if you were ready for a promotion! And how did you see my email, anyway?”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t matter. So, am I ready?”

“Of course you’re ready. I would never hold you back, no matter how badly I want to keep you for myself. Shit, no, that didn’t come out right.”

I hold up my hand to stop him from saying more. “Forget it. Forget I asked. And don’t worry, I won’t be coming after you for your ‘inappropriate behavior,’ you asshole.”

I know I could get fired on the spot for calling him that but at this point, I do not give one iota of a shit. I turn and walk away before the tears start. I won’t let him see how much this is tearing me apart.

TWENTY-FIVE

“STANDING OUTSIDE A BROKEN PHONE BOOTH WITH MONEY IN MY HAND” BY PRIMITIVE RADIO GODS, 1996

ABBEY

A few days after our sidewalk breakup—not that I should call it a breakup if we were only together for such a short time—Wil doesn’t show up for his opening shift. The roads were slick on the drive in and the snow’s picking up. My traitorous heart seizes with worry, hoping that something hasn’t happened to him.

When a car pulls into the lot at 6:15, it’s not Wil. It’s Jeremy. He struggles to unlock the inside metal gate. “Fucking fuck,” he mutters.