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“Whoa, there.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Not for that shit, man. I’m not that fucking stupid. I just need to talk to her.” Territorial fucking assholes, all of us. A sober Karma would know better than to suspect that I wanted to do anything more than to talk to her, but the drunk version standing in front of me isn’t so keen on the idea.
“It’s okay.” Patting his chest, Lindsey plants a kiss on his lips. “You know I can kick his ass.”
“Doubtful, sweetheart,” I snort. “But seriously, K, I just need to talk to her. I need some advice, so I could use some of that brain shit she does.”
Lindsey eyes me warily, doing that assessing shit she’s good at. “We’ll be right back.”
Begrudgingly, he fucking releases her.
“You stay where I can see you,” he warns. Lindsey smiles at him before moving toward me. Grabbing my arm, she leads me over to the edge of the area we were congregating together. The music is still loud, but low enough that we can still hear each other.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she faces me, narrowing her eyes. “All right, what did you do now?”
“There’s this girl.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, TK. It’s always about a girl.” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Please don’t tell me you fucked some chapter president’s old lady and he’s hunting your ass down, because that’s a problem for my uncle, not me. I can’t talk your way out of that.”
“No,” I rasp. Is this how my club sees me? A manwhore without a conscience? Jesus, how stupid do they think I am? “It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like? Because you coming to me first is weird. I’m not some patron saint of fuckboys.”
“Jesus, just let me tell you.” I start from the beginning, from the first time I saw Cora at the bar, and finally end with what had recently transpired. Lindsey listens to me rattle on like one of her patients, taking in the full story with keen interest.
“And she heard what you said? You’re sure of it?”
“If you’d seen her face, you wouldn’t be asking me that.” The image of it lingers clear as day in my mind.
She’s quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful. When I think she’s about to give me some meaningful words of wisdom shit, she throws her head back and laughs. “Jesus, TK. You’re so fucked.”
“That’s not helping, Lindsey,” I snarl, my jaw tight. “I need to know what to do to fix this.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, continuing to laugh. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you this hung up about a girl before. That’s not at all your MO.”
I scrub my hands over my face in frustration. Maybe coming to her was a mistake after all. Her absolute joy at my embarrassing predicament is not what I came to her for. I came for advice, and all she’s doing is ridiculing me.
“Okay,” she barely gets out through her howling laughter. When it finally dies down, she takes a deep breath, settling herself. “If you were one of my clients, I’d probably advise you to reflect inward about why you said something so disgusting before talking to her. But I know you. You think going in there headfirst is going to fix it. It’s not. If you’re right that she has some baggage, you’ve re-opened a wound for her.”
“So what do I do? I’m asking honestly here, Lindsey. This is all new to me.”
“That depends. We’ve only got a few more days here. If she doesn’t mean anything to you, just walk away. That’s the simplest course of action.”
“And if I don’t want to do that?”
“Then you’re fucked, plain and simple. Rebuilding trust is going to take time, and calling her what you did—which was a fucking dick move, by the way, and I should kick your ass for that—is not just going to magically go away by saying sorry. Women don’t forgive easily. Look at how long it took me to forgive myself for all the things I did, for things that Karma did. It took years, and you have days at best.”
Days to do what Lindsey said could take years. She’s right, I am fucked. Maybe walking away would be the easiest thing to do for me, but for Cora? What I said could change a lot for her and affect her more than I care to admit.
“What would you do?”
“If you like her, fix it. That’s the only way you’re going to be able to live with the pain you’ve caused her.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, meaning it.
“For what? It’s kind of my job.”
Not true. Lindsey and Blair may have gone to school to help others work through their mental health issues, but they’re so much more than their education to this club, to their men, and to me. I feel ashamed for not realizing it until now.
“For being you.” I squeeze her shoulder. “You better get back to your man. He’s eyeing me up and down again.”
