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Stop thinking about her.Impossible. Don’t wanna do it. Don’t wanna be in that hellscape.
I’m gonna keep thinking about her, but I can’t spend another hour torturing myself with social media and bad thoughts.
As quietly as I can, I slip out of bed and sneak into the bathroom. Shutting the door softly, I flip on the lights. Pristinely clean as hotel bathrooms should be, I hop up on the counter and push aside Xander’s dopp kit.
I dial a number. He might be awake.
“Bro,” Oscar answers on the second ring. “You’ve been missing the fuck out.”
I smile. “Nah, I like where I am.”Just wish I was in her room tonight.
“Did San Francisco hijack my best friend? Last time you were on the West Coast, you said it smelled like snot and sad dreams.”
“That hasn’t changed much,” I say casually and pick up a complimentary mini bottle of hand lotion. “Where are you?”
“Hospital. All hands on deck for when Redford leaves with the Husband and Baby Number Two. Get this, Gabe and MK.”
I start to grin. “Our Gabe?”
“Gabe Montgomery,” Oscar confirms. “Our big rookie buffoon. He was feeding herice chips, Donnelly. While she was in labor and delivery. Redford saw it with his own two eyes.”
“They’re together?” I ask, opening the lotion bottle and sniffing. Smells good, like citrus.Luna smells better.
“Dating. Early stages is the rumor. They didn’t know how to tell Maximoff and Farrow, so they’ve kept it to themselves.”
“He was dating her while she was nine-months pregnant,” I realize.
“It’s juicy. I love it.”
“Stamp.” I grin more, no judgment from me. “That’s the big thing I’m missing out on?” I pick up a mini bottle of bath wash.
“Besides holding Cassidy, there’s not much else. Just miss you, bro. I’m surrounded by way too many temp guards. SFO isdownfor the count around here. Akara and Banks are in Costa Rica. Thatcher’s suspended. You took my baby bro and Frog to California.Gabe is throwing heart eyes in MK Land. Redford is all I’ve got, and I love that motherfucker but he’s not you.”
“Knew I was your favorite,” I smirk. “You gonna let me tattoo you now? Been perfecting the cock and balls since elementary school.”
“You ever try tattooing a dick on me, I’ll have my husband dig up the ugliest footage of you from background clips of WAC and spam-post them.”
“He’ll be digging forever.”
“You wish you were that pretty,” he slings back.
“Luna thinks so,” I say more softly.
Oscar goes quiet for a beat. I glance out at the shiny glass shower stall. These hotel rooms don’t have the bathtub combo with flimsy plastic shower curtains. Just snazzy black tiles and premium soaps. After the pause, he asks, “How are you two?”
I’ve replayed our last conversation a dozen times. Can’t figure out where I went wrong. Seeing her cry is a knife slowly sinking in my gut, and the raw sorrow in her eyes before the door closed on me—I can’t shake that. Her pain is my pain, and I’ve never been fastened to another person’s emotions this way.
“She’s going through a lot so…” I pop the mini bottle top. “I just wanna be there for her.”
“You are there. No one is expecting you to be a motherfucking magician and summon her memories.”
“Yeah, I know,” I breathe. “Just wish I could make it easier on her in the meantime.”
“Highly doubt you’re making it harder on her. She’s like your cling wrap, suctioned to you.”
I see her shut the door on me, and the bathroom seems emptier. Lonelier. “Makes sense. I’d fuck the whole Saran wrap box.”
“Fuck you for that visual.”
