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“I do.” I throw my hands up in the air, and then I try to hug her but she backs away. “I’m not going to change my mind in an hour or a couple of days. If you need some time to think, then I understand. Just know that it’s you I want to spend my life with.”
“I wish I could believe you,” she
says, her voice barely audible. “When we first met, I would have, but I’m stronger now, strong enough to know I deserve better than to continually be put second to a woman you’re still in love with.” Her warm hand presses into my cheek. She stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses me. I open my mouth and her tongue slides over mine. The kiss is soft and gentle. The emotion in the kiss sweeps through me and as her lips leave mine and she turns without a word, I realize, the kiss is goodbye.
Watching her walk out the door, and out of my life, brings on a rush of unbridled anger. Before I know it, I tear through the loft, knocking pictures off the walls and tipping furniture on its side. Glass after glass from the bar explodes into sharp chunks against the wall, spraying the room with splintered fragments. I follow the glassware with bottles of alcohol that don’t shatter until they crash into the wood floor. Clear and amber liquids mix, spreading in different directions like the fingers of a lake.
Demolishing the loft isn’t enough to tame my rage and without thinking, I rear back and slam my fist through the sliding glass window. Razor sharp edges slice easily through the skin and tissue in my hand, scrape over bone, and shoot pain all the way to my gut. The pain numbs the anger, but it will return, and when it does, it may very well kill me.
Warm blood seeps out of my knuckles and trickles down my arm as I hold it in the air and walk to the kitchen for a towel.
“Fuck!” I scream until my throat closes up and I can’t breathe. How many times have I been down this road with Tori, let her hurt me? What the fuck is wrong with me that I continually drop everything for her, knowing she’ll never stick with me? That I’m not the guy she wants to be with. It’s like I’m addicted to the heartache I feel every time she puts me through this shit. She doesn’t want me. She loves Brady. And for once, I don’t want her. I love Maria and I’m furious I let her walk out the door.
The sinking feeling in my gut that I’ll never see her again brings me to my knees, and I have no idea how to convince her that it’s her I want in my life. I know she’ll change her mind. She’ll put that ring back on her finger. Believing she loves me enough to forgive me one last time is my only hope.
She asked for two days. I don’t want to give it to her, but I know she’s devastated and pressuring her will only push her further away.
Before I fully unwrap the towel on my hand, I grab my keys off the counter and leave the loft for the Emergency Room.
As I drive to Tori’s house, I’m nervous about the conversation I’m about to have with her. After receiving forty-two stitches in my hand, I spent the rest of the night on the internet, researching what women can go through during pregnancy, which ranges from mild depression, to really freaky things, like eating dirt.
After reading over the section on when to seek medical attention, I decided Tori needs to see a doctor. It’s not just her erratic emotional behavior, but her sleeping habits and not taking care of herself. The suggestion of a doctor visit isn’t what’s going to set her off though. It’s her husband arriving in a few hours because I called him and told him everything that should ensure she doesn’t speak to me for a long time.
I rang his phone a half a dozen times, and with each call it went straight to voicemail. The phone was obviously shut off or the battery was dead. I finally phoned Gabe and found out Brady came down with the flu last week and spent three days heavily medicated with an IV.
When he came to, he had some kind of vocal hemorrhage, and their manager isn’t allowing him to talk. The same manager who was supposed to fill Tori in on the situation and evidently send flowers daily until Brady could phone her. His manager is looking for a new job after Gabe took his phone into Brady’s room so I could explain that his wife needs him.
They have six shows on the East Coast in ten days. He wasn’t sure he could get away until I told him what happened last night. Six shows have now been cancelled and he’s coming home.
The woman in the kitchen is not the same one I left last night or the one I’ve spent a lot of time with the last few weeks. She’s happy and smiling, and as I glance around the room, I know why. There are a lot of roses, like they had to deplete several florists inventory to the fill the order, a lot of roses.
She runs to me and throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you,” she squeals. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Her gaze falls to my hand covered in gauze, mostly to hide the menacing appearance of the stitches. “Oh, my God, what happened to your hand?”
“It’s nothing,” I say nonchalantly. “You should see the other guy.” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. “I’m kidding. I may have been pissed and punched a window.”
“Jesus, Tug! Are you all right? Do want some ice?”
“No. I’m fine and I don’t want to talk about it. I take it you heard from Brady?”
Her features soften slightly. “You know I did.”
“Good. I’m happy for you.”
“Tug, what happened last night … what I said … I.”
“You don’t have to explain. I know you love Brady, but for the record, I choose Maria. I fucking love her, Tor. I can’t be here for you all the time. It’s not fair to her.”
She nods her understanding. “Does that mean she forgave you?”
“Oh, no. She’s furious with me and staying at Liv’s place this weekend.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I shrug. “We’ll work it out. I’m more concerned about you. You need to talk to your doctor. I think you’re depressed again, maybe even a little manic.”
She looks truly offended, but I’ve seen this look before, and I’m not letting it go.
“What are you talking about? I just missed my husband, but I’m fine now. I couldn’t be happier actually.”
