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“I did.”
“Oh.” There’s an awkward pause. “I didn’t hear back from you.”
For my own fucking sanity.
It’s a never-ending, vicious cycle. She breaks up with or is dumped by her flavor of the week/month/year. She reaches out to buddy Garrett who rides to her rescue with rom-coms, ice cream, and a shoulder to cry on. We’ll spend practically every day together, and I’ll get close to telling her that I’ve been in love with her since junior high.
Inevitably, when I’ve talked myself into finally admitting it, I’ll get the first text, canceling whatever plans we have. Her phone calls would stop next, followed by her texts. And I’ll be sent back to the minor leagues again.
I’d decided after the last time—when I’d been left waiting for her outside her house after she and Fucker had made up—fool me once, shame on me. Fool me again and again and again…well, I was taking accountability for my own hero complex. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t productive.
I wasn’t going to do it again.
And how’s that working out for you?
“I just—” Leaning against the back of my chair, I blow out a breath. “I’ve been…” The excuse that I’ve been busy sticks in my throat. I have been busy. But that’s never stopped me from making time for her before.
“I know—I—maybe I shouldn’t have called.”
The lack of confidence in her voice isn’t Ames. It isn’t even this new version of her—Mia.
“Everything okay with you, Ames?” I can’t stop the rescuer from popping up. He’s too much a part of my personality, too much a part of my relationship with her.
“Um, not really.” Her voice cracks, and I hear the muffled sob in her breath.
Sitting up, I grab my keys before I even realize what I’m doing.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“Seen what?”
“Tucker…” When her voice fades, red encroaches on my vision.
“What’s Fucker done this time?” I’ve never hidden the fact that I can’t stand him. Why start now?
“You really don’t know?” she repeats.
What the hell should I have seen?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” My frustration is mounting with this conversation that doesn’t make any sense.
“You have to be the only person on the planet who hasn’t,” she mutters.
“Amelia.”
She sighs. “There’s a video of Tucker and somebody he’s claiming is me.”
“A video?” I have a strong feeling I know what’s on the video, but I need her to confirm.
“A video of what?”
“They’re having sex. It’s a sex tape,” she huffs.
Is it possible for hearing to tunnel? Because that’s what’s going on now. The rushing in my ears complements the red haze in my vision.
But for half a second, jealousy rears its ugly head.
