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The dam bursts and Brando hugs me. I grip onto him as my whole body tightens. It only lasts a minute or two. I step back and scrub my face with my sleeve. Brando’s face is grim.
“You've got to stop doing this to yourself. When do you get to be happy?”
I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t. Bad things happen when I’m selfish.”
He frowns. “Your mom’s death wasn’t your fault. Maddox proved that even more.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He sighs and drops it.
“Thank you for sticking by me through this,” I say.
He shrugs. “You’d do the same for me.”
He turns and walks away, and I finish packing up my stuff. Jordy, Skye, Brando, and Mark are waiting by the front desk. Skye steps in front of me with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.
“Mom and dad would be so disappointed in you right now, Luke Reilly.”
Ouch. She’s not pulling her punches. I wouldn’t expect anything less. “You’ll understand one day, Bug.”
She crosses her arms. “Don’t you ‘Bug’ me right now. I’m pissed at you. You threw away something priceless. Who does that?”
“Someone who loves her too much to keep her.”
She rolls her eyes. “This isn’t like you, Luke.You’re just going to leave me?”
I pull her into a hug. “I won’t be far. You’ll have Jordy, and the others will be around. It’s only temporary. Just until things settle down.”
“You’re a stupid, stubborn asshole.” She’s angry, but she still hugs me back.
“I love you, Bug.”
She groans and pushes back. “I love you, too.” She looks at the ground as she speaks, reminding me of the fifteen-year-old version of herself.
Jordy catches my eye. Yep, he’s still pissed at me, too. “I’ll report to Mark,” he says in a clipped tone.
I nod and hold out my hand to shake. His lips press together, but he takes it. He’s still my brother. “Let’s get you home,” he says to Skye.
She sighs and we hug again before they leave.
“I’ll go pack.” Mark takes off.
“I’ll close up here,” Brando says. He hugs me with a weary sigh. “See you when I see you, asshole.”
I walk by myself to my car. I’ve been avoiding the condo. Liv’s stuff is still there, but I can’t avoid it any longer. The place seems haunted when I open the door. My feet grow heavier with each step towards the bedroom. I stop in the doorway and avoid looking at the closet.
But it doesn’t matter, because I walk into the bathroom and see her perfume sitting on the counter next to her curling iron and lose my shit. I grip the countertop as wave after wave of sadness and regret climbs up my throat and escapes my mouth in desperate sobs. It’s been three hours and I’m already regretting it.
The sadness turns to anger. My hands shake as I stare at myself in the mirror. I slam my fist into my reflection. It splinters into a spider web, a few chunks clatter into the sink.
I can’t be in this room. I walk to the kitchen and rest my hands on the counter. Blood flows from the knuckles of my right hand. I can’t even feel it. I grab the towel hanging off the stove and press it to the wound as I stare at the counter. My eyes catch on Liv’s boots by the front door, and I slide down the cabinet until my ass hits the floor. I try to breathe, but my lungs won’t work. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and ignore the blood that trickles down my forearm.
Once I can breathe again, I climb to my feet and grab the towel, wrapping it around my hand. I shove my feelings in a box and move on autopilot. I run to my room and throw clothes into my duffel. In the bathroom, I grab my razor and my eyes land on Liv’s perfume again. I gaze at it like it will magically turn into her. She only wears it when we go out. She wore it on our beach date, and to the veteran’s gala the night we made love for the first time. The citrus scent never fails to make me happy. I grab it and throw it into my toiletries bag so I can torture myself with it later. I’ll have Mark buy her a new one.
The door slams behind me on my way out. My dad’s words come back to me from when I broke down after Mom died and destroyed several dining room chairs in a fit of rage. I was angry at myself and the world. Much like I am now.It’s ok to get angry. Just make sure you pick up your mess after. But I don’t know how to pick this mess up. In the elevator, I pull my phone out to text Mark, but I have a text waiting from him.
Mark: The couch is ready for you.
Sometimes he surprises me with how well he knows me. I pocket my phone and sigh. Tonight, I’ll try to catch a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll work on picking up my mess of a heart, if that’s even possible.
