Sadie cleared her throat. “But have you heard the way we talk to each other? Because that might be a better indicator of where we’re at.”
“Do you love him?” she asked.
Sadie’s heart squeezed tight. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. Eli Garrett is the best man I know. The best man I’ve ever known. And you know, I realized he’s not that into me. Sure, it’s sort of been a die-hard crush, even with that in mind, but, pretty much the minute you showed up I knew I was screwed.” She smiled, the expression tinged with sadness. “Not in a fun way, either. But ultimately, I know I won’t be happy with a guy I have to coerce into a relationship. And I have a sneaking suspicion he won’t be happy without you.”
Sadie laughed. “Tell him that. He told me he didn’t want me.”
“He’s lying,” she said. “You realize that, right?”
“I don’t think Eli knows how to lie.”
“Well, maybe not on purpose. But he’s lying even if he doesn’t know he is. One benefit of watching someone more closely than you should, you get to know them. The way he looks at you? That’s special. If I were you? I wouldn’t walk away from that. I’d fight for it. And I’ll be honest, Sadie, I took you for kind of a badass, so...if you run now, I’m going to have to retract that.”
“I’m not a badass,” Sadie said. “I’m basically whatever is the opposite of that. And I’ve never pretended to be much more. I’m a runner. And it’s my cue to go.”
“That sucks, because I think if you stayed, and if we weren’t competing for the same guy, we could be friends. And I think if you stayed, and you married him, eventually, we would be friends. You know, after I got over my seething jealousy.”
“You don’t seem to be seething all that much,” Sadie said.
“It’s a quiet seethe. Like I said, I know he’s not mine.” She smiled a little more genuinely now. “Kind of bummed I never got to...”
Sadie coughed. “Yeah...that’s kind of... He’s good at the sex.”
Lydia cleared her throat, her cheeks turning pink. “I was going to say kiss him. But sure.”
Sadie winced. “Well, he’s good at that, too.”
“I can’t decide if it sucks to know that or if it’s gratifying to realize my fantasies were on track.”
“It sucks to know. Because I know it sucks that I know. Because it’s over. And I wish it weren’t.”
“So fight for it, badass,” Lydia said. “Fight for him.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to fight for.”
“Well, then, maybe you should go. Because I happen to think he deserves someone who will fight. I thought that might be you.”
“Maybe you should fight for him,” Sadie said, feeling mean, small and not at all in the mood to watch another woman fight for the man she loved. But not brave enough to go and get him herself.
Lydia looked at her sadly. “It was nice to meet you, Sadie. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for. And I really hope that you don’t realize it was here when it’s too late for you to come back.”
Sadie watched Lydia toss the brochures on her passenger seat and drive away and felt a whole hot ball of rage grow in her chest. Who was Lydia to tell her what she should do? Seriously. She hadn’t been there. She hadn’t heard the way Eli talked to her. What he’d said.
Lydia probably had no idea what it was like to be certain that the only way attachment could end was rejection.
And hell, he’d rejected her. Why subject herself to it twice?
Because for the first time, you felt complete. Because for the first time you want to stay. Really, really.
Well, it didn’t really matter. Because he’d pushed her away.
You’re just too pathetic to fight for him. Too afraid.
Yeah, well, because what if she was wrong? Sure, maybe Eli was as afraid as she was. Maybe that was half of why he’d pushed her away. Maybe.
She jerked the backseat door open and pulled out the pet carrier, depositing it on the porch, checking to make sure Toby’s food, water and litter weren’t disturbed.
Then she looked out into the forest.
The place she’d always gone to escape, before she’d run for real.
She took a deep breath of the pine and salt air. And then she ran.
* * *
The way Eli saw it, he had two options. The Connor option—really, the Garrett option—that meant drinking until you couldn’t remember why you were sad.
Or the handle-your-shit option, which was a lot harder.
He stared at the bottle of Jack on the counter and placed his palms flat on the marble surface, looking at the bottle. As if it might tell him what to do.
“Drink it and it might,” he said.
Then he shoved off from the counter and started pacing the room. What was he doing? He felt like hell. Or something worse than hell, whatever that was.
But he had order. He didn’t have a blonde whirlwind with a strange emotional connection to a cat. He didn’t have distractions. He had what he’d spent a lifetime cultivating.
