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Jaymee had found a good one.
And I cried some more — mourning all that I thought I’d had, for dreams that’d shattered and disintegrated.
I guess there was nothing more cathartic than snotting all over your friends, knowing that they would love you no matter what.
Now I just needed to find a way to kick Roger from my stupid heart so I could move on and forget that awful chapter.
I also needed to find a new coffeehouse.
Except Santa Cruz was a small town, and I was bound to run into the jerk-off at some point. How would I handle myself? How would I handle seeing him arm-in-arm with someone else? Would I crumble, or would I look right through him?
If I had to place a bet at this very moment, my money was on crumpling.
As much as I wanted to hate him (and a part of me did), I still loved him, too.
The knowledge burned my brain and made me writhe with embarrassment.
Strong women weren’t supposed to pine for the shithead men who broke their hearts and trashed their trust.
Strong women were supposed to pick up the pieces like a boss and walk away with their head held high, and their dignity clutched fiercely to their bosom.
They weren’t supposed to sob into their pillow, wishing things were different.
Wishing they hadn’t seen what they’d seen.
Wishing their hearts didn’t weep blood from the cracks.
Wishing the person they’d loved so profoundly hadn’t stabbed a knife so deep in their soul that their descendants could feel it in the future.
Wishing they didn’t miss the feel of his arms wrapped around them, the smell of his skin, or the timbre of his laugh.
If all of those things were true…I wasn’t a strong woman.
Not at the moment.
Maybe not ever.
And I didn’t know what to do about that.
Thankfully, I didn’t need to figure it out just yet because Phillip rose and helped both Jaymee and me to our feet, declaring, “This is a night that calls for carbs, chocolate, and movie night. The boxes can wait.”
I didn’t argue.
Sometimes you just had to say, fuck it and do whatever felt right.
