“I was in the neighborhood.” He grabbed my luggage. “Is that it?”
Yeah, that’s it. My whole life in a suitcase. Everything good, left behind.
We walked in silence to short term parking and he lifted my suitcase into a Chevy Malibu. “I never knew what kind of car you drove.”
“It’s my roommate’s,” he said sheepishly. “I borrow it when I need it.”
“I thought you were in the neighborhood.”
He pretended not to hear me as he merged onto 101. Just as well, I didn’t care.
I leaned my head on the glass, staring out the window at nothing.
“Did you have a good vacation?” he asked cheerfully.
“My father had a heart attack, Connor. It wasn’t a vacation.”
“Right,” he said. “Of course.”
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up to my apartment building and cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re going to be ok?”
“Why wouldn’t I be ok?” I snapped.
He shrunk and muttered, “No reason.”
And then I knew without a doubt why he picked me up, even though he had to borrow a car. My bitter laugh sounded like it was coming from outside my body.
Of course she called him. She was the only person who’d be considerate enough to make sure that I had a safe ride home after breaking my fucking heart. Of fucking course she did.
That meant Connor knew.
My head dropped onto the headrest.
“What did she say?” my voice sounded ground through a pepper mill.
He bit his lip remorsefully. “She said you probably shouldn’t be alone.”
I tried to feel righteous indignation at her for overstepping. I tried to storm out of the car. I tried to convince myself that all I needed was a hot shower, a handle of Jameson and my bed. I could sleep it off. Tomorrow, I’d go back to work and everything would be fine.
I was fucking fine, alright?
I tried, but I couldn’t muster the energy.
I ran my hand over my face in resignation.
She told him I shouldn’t be alone right now. She was the smartest woman on the planet, and she knew me better than anybody. She was probably right.
Goddamn it, of course she was. She was the only thing that had been right in my entire life, and I fucked it all up.
“You want to come inside?” My voice was a shell of itself. “I’ll order pizza.”
Ten hours ago I destroyed all hope of happiness by telling her I loved her. I thought her shocked face would be the most surprise I would ever see.
I was wrong. Connor’s face when I invited him in for pizza took the cake.
“Scratch that,” I said, “You order the pizza, and get some cake too.”
Chapter 35
Grace
“It was a relief to order a real pizza, without that vegan crap for Mallory.” Kate stretched the mozzarella, swallowing it with a generous sip of Malbec. When she’d opened the wine, she said we’d work our way up to the tequila. What the heck was she gathering the liquid courage to say?
“It took me nine tries to make edible vegan enchiladas for Mallory’s birthday. Nine. Alex would have said to forget Mal’s tasteless crap and make more for him.”
“Are we switching to the heartbreak portion of the evening?” Kate wiggled the second bottle, a fifth of Elysian tequila. Since Nick was a partial owner in the company, the Clarkes always had some on hand.
I dug around in my fridge for limes, already dreading tomorrow’s impending hangover but too curious to stop … and not wanting the pain of my impossible decision to crawl back in quite yet. I filled two shot glasses, we cheersed, and the tequila burned.
“This is a terrible idea,” Kate said with a wicked grin. “Let's do another.”
She waited as I took my second shot, then a hasty confession cascaded out of her mouth: “Nick Clarke and I dated and lived together in New York City before he got The Twelve.” Her face curled into a quick grimace. “I fell in love with him.” She took a swig of tequila straight from the bottle, slammed it on the table, then looked me straight in the eye. “And Mallory doesn’t know.”
Alex
Connor pulled into my dedicated guest parking spot. Of course he knew where to park, he came here regularly to pick up suits and shit, but never when I was home. Fuck, there were weeks he came here more often than I did. There would be weeks like that again soon.
