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“It’s been months,” I say defiantly.
“Fuck, Mia. I don’t know what to tell you.” I think he knows more than he’s saying, and I’m an asshole for trying to push him. I am so desperate for any shred of news that I am willing to put him in the middle.
“I love him.” The words tumble out of me effortlessly and they hang suspend in the air between us.
“You love Jack too, and that’s the problem.” His words sting, and my eyes prick with tears again.
“I saw him,” I tell Wade.
Wade cocks his head to the side.
“Jack,” I explain. “At the Whiskey.” I honestly can’t remember if it was days or weeks ago. They all blur together.
Wade listens quietly as he takes a seat on the bed next to me again. He places a grounding hand to my knee that won’t stop bouncing. I feel the need to explain myself, and having Wade understand means everything to me.
“It was awful.” I put my face in my hands.
“You didn’t deny it, Mia.” I can’t lie to Wade, just like I couldn’t lie to Jack.
“I chose Cash,” I tell him. “I married Cash.”
“And you fucked Jack.” My eyes widen at Wade’s unabashed statement.
“That was a mistake,” I admit, shaking my head
“Cash deserves more than being second choice!” Wade raises his voice in defense of his friend… our friend.
“What do you want me to do, Wade?” I rise from the bed. “I turned Jack away. What more can I do?”
“Is that why you’re here? Wallowing in your own pool of self-pity?” He motions to my pillow stained with tears.
I turn away from him. Drugs didn’t help, drinking didn’t chase away the pain, and neither did fucking Keelin. The thought of it sickens me.
“I don’t want to be me anymore.” My shoulders sag in defeat. Wade stands behind me and I turn around so he can pull me into his arms. I bury my cheek into his chest.
“Shhhh.” Wade rests his chin on the top of my head and we stand in the middle of my uninviting motel room, holding each other. I have never felt more disgusted with myself.
“Tell me what to do,” I sniffle. “Tell me, how I can make this right?” I only wish it were that easy, but I ask anyway not expecting an answer.
“Time,” Wade whispers into my hair.
There’s a commotion outside my room and then the door bangs open.
“Do I need to call the coroner, the rehab center, or the police?” Adam bursts into the room, holding the pointy end of an umbrella towards us.
Wade releases me and stalks over to Adam, pushing the umbrella down. “What do you think you’re going to do with that?”
“You left me unprotected, and this was the only weapon I could find.” He swings it around dangerously and Wade grabs it from him.
“Close the door before some random crackhead thinks this is a squat.” Adam listens and pushes the door closed.
“Sweet Jesus.” Adam surveys the room. “Rehab, I’m guessing?” he eyes the garbage can overflowing with vodka bottles.
“Were you guys on your way to a club?” I ask, ignoring his comment, because Adam’s wearing leather pants with leopard print boots.
“No, why?” he asks innocently and then follows my eyes to his footwear. “Why is she staring at me like she’s never seen fashionable footwear before?” he asks Wade.
Wade rolls his eyes. “Can we just stay focused on getting you in the shower and out of this dump?”
