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“I know you’re still mad at me, but…am I at least allowed to say happy birthday?”
My head swings in his direction. “Who told you?”
“I overheard your dad talking to someone on the phone about the kind of birthday cake to serve at your dinner.” Jack holds my gaze. “I get why you didn’t want to make a fuss. I mean, Lee, right? But I’m glad you had a good birthday.”
He takes a step forward, arms coming up slightly as if he’s going to hug me.
“Don’t,” I warn.
But he walks to the doorway instead, where he pauses for several seconds, his expression growing more and more tormented.
“What can I do to earn your trust back?” he asks.
Sadness washes over me. “I don’t know.”
“Then it’s over? Just like that?”
“It? What exactly wasit, Jack? Were we together? Were we ever even headed for a relationship? Because the way I see it, you didn’t care that I was seeing Nate— ”
“I cared,” he interjects.
“—and you didn’t define anything. And now I know why. Because it wasn’t real.”
“It was real, Abbey.” His voice is husky.
“I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Then let me prove it to you.”
“I…” I blink to keep the tears at bay. “I can’t. You’re asking if we can go back to that relationship place when I don’t even know if we can fix the friendship part.”
He gives me a pained look. “Don’t say that. Wearefriends. That hasn’t changed.”
“Go, Jack. Please. I need space. I’ve barely had a minute alone to sit with this since I found out the truth. So just let me be, okay?”
He exhales. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Okay.” He steps toward the doorway, then glances over his broad shoulder, his blue eyes veiled. “Happy birthday, Abbs.”
After he’s gone, I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. With a cranky wail, Hugh jumps up beside me and proceeds to swipe at strands of my hair while I do my best to ignore the agony clamped around my heart.
It serves me right that I’m lying here alone with an obstinate cat that’s one tantrum away from chewing my throat out and making its nest in my entrails. A girl should know better than to hang her hopes on a man.
Or two, for that matter.
FEBRUARY
44
Nate: I hate this. I miss talking to you. I miss everything about you.
Me: I’m sorry.
Nate: You don’t miss me? Not even a little bit?
Me: You know I do. But we’re not seeing each other anymore, and I can’t be your friend right now. Not while I still have feelings for you.
