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I’m not surprised by her laugh. I don’t know how we’ve come out on the other side of this breakup better friends than when we were together. She exits the bathroom with an old makeup bag of hers.
“Clark, baby, you always have a day, but today was a day for you.”
Rex’s twin sister, Kaylin, works with Jen. She must have heard the fantastic news.
“Yeah, Rex was lamenting about his unfortunate new roomie for the weekend and then mentioned it could have been worse. He could have his archnemesis of twenty years. After I laughed my ass off over it for about ten minutes, I realize your weekend will be awful.”
She has a slight smirk on her face. “Sure, Jen. You’re so convincing. You look very concerned for me.”
“I don’t want to see you tortured, but it’s just…” She begins to snicker, this time. “A massive cluster fuck, and part of me would love to be a fly on the wall of your shared bedroom.”
I turn my attention to a curling iron in her hand. “Oh, you found it.” Though we’ve been officially broken up for three months, half of Jen’s stuff is still cluttering up my already too-small apartment.
“Yeah, it was pushed to the back of the cabinet I’d yet to clean. Thought it was time to finally say goodbye to this part of my life.” Her voice cracks at her words. We’ve both been clinging to the possibility of more, but we’ve tried several times in the past ten years. After this last breakup, we promised to never try again.
“Jen, you know if…”
Maybe we’d have a chance if it were a different time in our lives. But the bottom line is I won’t give up on my dream of New York for anyone. I wouldn’t change or adjust my working hours. With her challenges at the public defender’s office, we’ve never had the time to make our relationship work.
“I miss you, Clark.”
I step into her space but hesitate to touch her. The last thing we need in our friendship is to muddy the waters with yet another night of wild sex that will go nowhere.
“I’m right here, and I’ll always be here for you, Jennifer Laney.”
I often wonder—if Jenwas meant to be the one—if I would have adjusted my working hours, goals, and plans. I think if she was the one I’d been put on this earth to grow old with, I would have done all those things. But I’m just not willing to risk it for anyone at this point.
“Fuck, I’m just PMSing, that’s all.” She extends her hand to my arm, gently squeezing it. “You’re a good man. One day, you’ll find the right girlor guy.”
“Jen, you’re the one that will change a man’s life one day.” I used to think that guy would be me, but it’s not.
“I know.” She turns to place the curling iron and makeup bag in a box I’d not seen, with more items she’d left when she’d moved out.
“I better run. I finally have a day off tomorrow. And I plan to binge the next season ofYellowstone.” She leans up on her tiptoes, pecking me on the cheek. “If you find anything else of mine, just set it aside for me. I’ll be packing up while you’re in Tofte and I’ll set your key on the table as I leave.”
“I’m always here for you, Jen, you know that, right?” I’ll miss seeing Jen sitting at the coffee table in the mornings, drinking her coffee or cuddling on the couch with a book and a glass of wine. Even if it’s been a while since she officially lived here, saying goodbye to her in this way will be hard.
Her deep brown eyes and the chestnut hair that frames her oval face along with her large heart makes her the most beautiful person I’ve known. I’ve willed myself to give it all up for her in the past two years, but my heart won’t listen. What a fucking bastard.
“Same goes for you, Clark, and don’t ever forget it.”
She’s out of my door and out of my life. It may hurt, but it’s the right thing to do. Fuck, I hate doing the right thing sometimes.
11
XANDER
It’s six minutes past noon, and there’s no sign of Farmer anywhere. The asshole has been showing me up for years, for so many fucking years. He’s not better than me, but he walks around the building as if the long hair and tats aren’t annoying as fuck. I grimace at the thought of his appearance and how he openly represents our law firm. Fucking asshole and a pain in my ass.
I’ve backed in next to his old pickup truck to watch for the man, who isnowseven minutes late. He’s had that clunker on wheels since he was sixteen years old. It was almost twenty years old when he was in high school. Now I can’t believe the piece of shit still runs. I know his salary or thereabouts. I’m sure it’s similar to mine. It’s nothing near what I’d make at Lynol Inc, but I can live off it without pulling from my trust. My car was a gift when I graduated from law school, and my apartment was paid for by Lynol Inc. I live more than comfortably, barely touching my income as a lawyer, investing it so that one day I’ll have enough to be named partner in our firm. The old man will hate that, but men like him never die. He’ll be around to make my life miserable until the dayI die.
The point is, Clark has the money, and I can’t believe the man hasn’t invested in something better and safer. But as the hippie with the long hair pulled back in a man-bun makes his approach toward me, I should know better than to think he cares about how the world views him.
I roll down my Lexus LS 600h L window. “You’re late, Farmer.”
From our first introduction, he understood I hated to be ignored. His eyes roam over the gray chrome of my vehicle, and he ignores me just to spite me. And he does it so well.
“Pop the trunk,” he orders, and he pulls a suitcase about as old as his truck from the cab of his clunker and moves it to the back.
