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This shouldn’t be so hard.
“She’s pissed at me, Wyatt,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “Nevermore, I mean. It’s my fault. I deserve it and I haven’t figured out how to apologize yet. I don’t even know if I should.”
I pause, hanging my head.
“After seeing what you’ve been through, should I risk it?” I whisper. “My plan was to let her down gently, but what’s the point if it’ll just bust her up again? The best thing I can do is stay the hell away. She’ll get over it in time. I’m just one more asshole who tried to break her heart.”
19
Darkness There (Dakota)
“Go ahead, call me an idiot. I should have trusted my instincts. There was no way this fake engagement fling was ever ending in anything besides disappointment.”
Eliza looks at me like she knows that’s a massive understatement.
Disappointment is when you go to Sweeter Grind and ask for a Regis roll, but come home with a bear claw because they’re sold out.
Disappointment is when your fiancè decides he needs to follow his dreams the morning of your wedding.
Finding out that this thing with Lincoln was always a game? That’s not a disappointment.
It’s an ax blow to the heart.
Eliza hands me a coffee infused with so much vanilla sweet cream it smells like a scented candle.
“He put on a good show, didn’t he? The man sucked you in. It’s not your fault. And are you sure he didn’t just freak out? You typically don’t push in some stabby moron’s face over a girl you don’t care about. The cold shoulder could mean more even if it definitely means F-you at the moment.”
I shrug and sip my drink.
I desperately want to believe her. Pathetic hope flutters in my chest.
“...but if that’s it, then why haven’t I heard from him?”
Her mouth forms a rigid line.
The hope unfurling in my chest hits a cavernous pothole and dies.
“See? No good explanation.” I sigh.
The oven dings and makes me jump.
“Ready or not, here comes brownie therapy.” She walks over and pulls out a tray of colossal fudge brownies. “Give them ten or fifteen minutes to cool.”
“This is my fault, Eliza.” I prop my head on my hand glumly.
You know it’s bad when godly brownie fumes can’t dispel bad thoughts.
“Nope, and I don’t want to hear it again,” she says sharply. “When you’re under my roof, you don’t get to beat yourself up.”
“Technically, we share the same roof.”
“Whatever! You told Jay Fuckboy five million times to leave you alone. He didn’t listen and got himself in a world of hurt. You aren’t responsible for how he reacts or the bosshole, either.”
“Have I been too passive?” I ask.
“What do you mean?
“I don’t even know what I saw in Jay. It was a small town and he was like the first guy who appreciated words to come along and show interest, so I just rolled with it. Somewhere along the line, I got serious and he didn’t. I never should’ve opened myself up to that abuse. God, I even replied to his weak attempts to make up—”
“Wrong. You told him to get lost and blocked his number when he turned into a stalker nut. He could’ve stabbed you, Dakota. What else were you supposed to do? If the guy who won’t take the hint starts brandishing a knife, that’s not your fault. Ever.”
I laugh dryly because she’s too right to argue back.
“Well, it turned into my problem and someone else’s by letting it fester. I played along with Lincoln, too, without enough thinking. I just let him sweep me off my feet, and he dropped me like a feather.”
She goes quiet for a minute.
“He didn’t give you much choice. What were you supposed to do? Beg him to change his mind in front of everyone you work with? Right after a dude came at you with a knife? Dakota, you’re not responsible for his stupidity or anyone else’s.”
“He’s definitely no Honest Abe.”
“Have you been to the office since it happened?”
I look down at my drink. “It was just a couple days ago. I couldn’t stand showing my face after that. Cheryl had the driver bring me home, thank God. Otherwise, I would’ve been a sobbing mess in front of everyone. Not to mention useless for work. I called in sick.”
“Will you face it tomorrow?”
Ugh, don’t remind me.
“I don’t know that I have a choice. I’ve only worked there a couple months. No huge pools of PTO banked besides what they give you starting out...”
“It pays more than your last job, right?”
What’s the point? To prove Lincoln may not need me, but I still need him?
“Yeah,” I say miserably.
“Could you ask for a week or two off even if it’s unpaid?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Probably. Since he’s had me working two full-time jobs, I’ve been making way more than my old salary and working too much to have any time to spend it. I can totally take unpaid time off if they’ll let me.”
