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Abbie
He left.
I cleaned up the broken glass as quick as I could, careful not to cut myself. I put the glass in the trash can and cleaned up the wall with a wet dishcloth before tossing it in the sink.
I yanked open the fridge and pulled out the first thing I could find. A bottle of wine.
Fine, worked for me.
I set it down with a thud on the counter and blinked away the tears blurring my vision while digging around in the drawers for a wine cork. I yanked the cork out with a pop and tossed it in the sink—I wouldn’t be needing that again, thank you very much.
I’d known, known, stepping over that line with Lucas was the worst thing I could do.
Falling in love with your best friend was a damn cliché, and here I was, collateral damage because of his career.
I poured myself a full glass of wine and gulped half of it down as I looked at the Christmas lights still twinkling in the corner. I set the glass on the counter and looked towards the door he’d walked out of. He didn’t have his wallet, and I know he didn’t have his keys, but he could use the code to get in.
He’d be fine.
Me, on the other hand.
I didn’t want to know he saw me that way. So...meaningless.
So flighty?
I picked up my glass and the bottle and retreated back to my room, afraid he’d come back and I’d still be where he’d left me in the kitchen. I didn’t want to have a continuation.
I was glad in a way it had happened on our last night there.
Because really, what was the point of this farce continuing on any longer, right?
Nope, pull the Band-Aid off as quick as possible.
I shut the bedroom door and locked it tight. I turned my rock music playlist on my phone and set it to the highest volume. I didn’t want to hear him come back, and I doubted he’d try to talk, anyway.
I needed to pack. I needed to drink. I needed to forget Lucas and his words as fast as I could.
And most of all, I never, ever wanted to lay eyes on him again.
27
Lucas
From the moment I walked back in the house last night, hearing her angry rock play list had told me all I needed to know. Getting her to listen to me was going to be the most difficult thing ever.
She’d ignored me from the moment I saw her, lugging her own suitcases down the stairs and setting them near the door.
She did everything she could not to be near me.
The flights home were awkward and silent.
We sat beside each other both times, although I was sure if had there been an open seat somewhere, anywhere, she would have asked to take it.
She wouldn’t even look at me. Anything I tried to do to get her attention was profoundly ignored. I even started to text her in line at the airport, then decided she’d probably turned her phone off just to ignore me further, so I’d hit delete on the apology I’d just written out a few feet away from her.
As soon as she sat down, she put her earphones in and closed her eyes. At least, I could hear her music so she wasn’t faking that. I wanted to take them off and make her listen to me, but I didn’t want to cause a scene and get us—or rather me—kicked off the flight.
Abbie was worth creating a scene for, but I knew she wouldn’t like the attention.
