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For a split-second, I felt sorry for the guy. He’d have to go back to his boss and face whatever the big man’s wrath might be. I hoped the guy would at least go easy on Mike. It wasn’t his fault, after all.
He just couldn’t compete with Joanne.
Nobody could.
Once I had realized—with Naomi and Luca’s help—what that feeling was that had made my stomach clench, that had made me stress and worry, laugh and smile, cry and wonder—there wasn’t a choice left to make. It had become crystal clear, and nothing could change my mind.
It wasn’t nerves. It wasn’t anger, or resentment or grief. Those things were still there, of course, but none of those feelings mattered in the end.
All that mattered was love.
Love.
I loved Joanne. I laughed out loud as I started my truck and revved the engine. It felt good to think about love. It was going to feel even better to say it when I finally was face-to-face with Jo again.
I was done being stupid. Done waiting. Done being a dick.
The problems that money could’ve solved would wait. I could—would—figure those things out another time. If I couldn’t have basic happiness—love—in my life, did anything else matter anyway?
I’d fucked things up with Joanne at every turn, but I was ready to ask—tobegif I needed to—for forgiveness.
I just hoped Joanne would understand. She’d have to, right? I was gambling on love, so love had to win.
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Joanne
I opened my eyes, turned my head to look at the clock, checked my phone, then closed my eyes again.
It was a process I’d been repeating pretty much continuously since sometime the day before, only interrupted by a mostly-silent dinner with my mom and a few hours of restless sleep.
I’d feigned sick when I had come home from the flower shop the previous morning, and luckily—for once in my life—my mother hadn’t pushed it. Hadn’t tried to force-feed me the little orange Airborne tablets that she seemed to have an infinite supply of. Hadn’t even suggested-but-really-demanded that I make an appointment with the doctor.
She’d just let me do my own thing—maybe using some top-level mom skill to pick up on the fact that I needed some space—and I was grateful for that small reprieve.
Adele was wailing through my earbuds and had been pretty much nonstop since I’d last spoken with Brady. It just felt right, like she was singing the soundtrack to the past couple of months of my life. A little melodramatic, maybe, but I didn’t care.
She gave a voice to the hurt and pain I was feeling like nobody else could, and for now, for the moment, I just wanted to wallow. In grief, in self-pity, in pain and confusion.
I’d normally do my best to suppress those kinds of feelings, to push them aside with a smile and a shrug, a sarcastic comment and a wink.
Not today, though.
A pounding on my bedroom door cut through the music and nearly made me jump out of my skin.
“Joanne!”My mom’s voice boomed out as I scrambled out of bed. “I know you’re in there. Hurry up and come out here.”
I opened the door a crack and frowned. “I told you I’m not feeling well, Mom. Can it wait?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid it can’t. Your friend Brady is here to see you, and I told him you’d be right out.”
I sighed. I hadn’t told her about the fight with Brady—hadn’t even hinted at it. I just didn’t have it in me to talk about it with her yet… and I especially didn’t have it in me to talk about it withBrady.
“Tell him to go away,” I said, flatly. “Tell him I’m sick. Tell him I’m dead.”
I tried to close the door again, but my mother wasn’t having it. She wedged her foot between the door and the frame, then pushed it open wider, furrowing her brow.
“Joanne Massey, sick or not, you need to get out here this minute. Brady is your friend. And yourboss. You can’t justignorehim.”
I rolled my eyes and flopped back down on my bed, wondering briefly if a person could strain an eye muscle from rolling them too much. Or a… tendon, or whatever. I was definitely at risk of eye-whatever-strain, though, and—not surprisingly—my mother hadn’t budged.
