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No one wanted me.
Sure, I could find a play partner for a night, though I’d gotten tired of that scene awhile ago. But no one had really wanted me for me.
Tris had, for a night. But that almost made it worse. He’d wanted me for a single night, but I wasn’t worth staying for.
What the hell made me so undesirable? Why did everyone always leave?
Carrie had asked for the divorce, though she’d left way before that. I hadn’t had any serious relationships before or since my ill-fated marriage, but every attempt had been met with evidence that I wasn’t worth staying for.
It definitely took a toll on a guy’s ego.
My phone buzzed on the counter in front of me, where I’d left it during my demonstration with Carter. The bulge it made in my leather pants was not the one I wanted showing onstage.
As I stood up and leaned forward to check the caller ID, I heard Carter stir behind me. Fabric rustling told me he was likely getting dressed and preparing to head back into the main club.
Then I noticed the caller.
Fuck my life.
After a glance back at Carter and a returned wave as he exited with sincere thanks and a sweet smile, I turned to face the music, swiping at my phone to answer the call.
“Carl? What are you doing calling at this hour?” I was in no mood to placate him.
His sigh was louder than it needed to be. “I . . . look, I’m sorry for calling so late. But I figured that since you owned a bar, you’d probably still be awake.”
He had me there. I deflated, but only slightly.
“Anyway, I wondered if you wanted to meet for lunch sometime? I thought we should catch up.”
I blinked, even going so far as to move the phone away from my ear to check the screen. Not sure what I thought that would do, but maybe my bone-deep exhaustion from my angst over Tristan was getting to me. “Y-you,” I sputtered, “you want to meet for lunch? Seriously?”
He chuckled, but it sounded more self-deprecating than anything else. “Yeah, it’s been awhile.”
“I’ll say.” I didn’t mean to bite that out so sharply, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
“I just . . . I just wanted to talk to my oldest friend.”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes, hope fluttering in my chest, but a small voice inside said, Be careful. He’s done this before.
Right.
I cleared my throat, straightening my spine though he couldn’t see it. “Okay, Carl, let’s meet up. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?” Best to get this over with.
He blew out a sigh into the phone, his relief nearly tangible. “Really? Thanks, man. That would be great. Just text the address of where you want to eat, and we can meet at noon. My treat.”
My eyes shot wide, and I caught the way my shoulders tightened again in the long dressing room mirror. Alarm bells were starting to clang in my head, but what choice did I have? He needed me in his life. “That’s nice of you, man. Noon tomorrow is great.”
“Awesome! See you then.”
By the time I hung up, I was so drained I fell back into the metal chair, barely able to keep my head up.
On the surface, this was good. Carl was offering to pay for my lunch, and someone who knew less about the situation would think that meant he was starting to get his life together, trying to pay me back for all the times I’d helped him out.
But we’d been down this road before. He lived his life in cycles. First, he fell apart, needed help, and he’d call me to bail him out. Which I always did, to my chagrin. Then he’d seem to start doing really well, and he’d reach out to try to “pay me back” or some shit, but the story was always the same. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he told me he found this great new job that he was starting Monday or that the perfect woman for him had dropped into his lap, and he was moving in with her next week. Actually, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t tell me one of those things.
Why did I allow him to drag me into his drama every time? I was grateful I’d learned a long time ago when to moderate financial help so I didn’t fall into trouble myself, but the emotional toll was worse. Because I knew how this would play out. He’d show up tomorrow, expect me to be happy that his life was turning around only for him to call in a week, or a month, or a few months, begging for my help again. And I’d cave, just like I did every single fucking time.
An unexpected but unsurprising burst of anger rose up in me, and I tossed my phone on the counter.
