Page 61 of Tulips and Lost Time

“It’s not her fault my heart hurts.” Sliding down the wall, I lower to my ass and wrap my arms around my legs. “It’s completely my fault. And what you and I did last night makes it so much worse.”

She finishes with one shoe and moves to the other with a shrug. “So don’t tell her. Did you miss that part where I said it’s to never be spoken of again?”

“You can’t build a relationship with a lie like that.” I press my chin to my knees and groan. “I can’t not tell her. Not if I want us to be together eventually.”

“Are you together now? Like… in a relationship?”

“No.”

“So is this a bit like Ross and Rachel? Are you on a break?”

“No. We’re… we’ve never actually been together. And I’m pretty fucking sure she’s dating someone else right now.”

“So you’re in the clear. That’s like me worrying about some future, potential boyfriend I don’t even know yet. We’re not together, so it’s none of his business who I’ve spent time with. And if your chick is with someone else right now, do you think she’s waking up each morning wondering if she should tell you she slept with someone?”

No. Fuck. It’s not like she called to tell me about Ten.

And I can’t even be mad about it. I told her to go!

“No.”

“Exactly.” She finishes her second shoe and pops up to stand, swaying on her feet and pressing a hand to her stomach. “I’m never drinking again.”

“No shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale until my lungs ache. “Fucking hell. I’ve made a mess.”

“No mess.” She wanders to the makeshift bed and bends to grab her phone. Keys. Chapstick. “We’re both single—even if you’re heartsick for someone else. We’re both legal, consenting adults. We have mutual respect for one another. And neither of us will leave this shitty house today with bad feelings toward the other.” She straightens out again and pushes long, raven hair behind her ear. “And thank god, I’m heading back to the city tomorrow. I won’t have to see you again until Christmas, and by then, we’ll both be sober enough to not want to puke on the floor. This is gonna be fine. You just need a shower and a breath mint.”

“I can’t take you home.” My head pounds, like heavy bass drums in the back of my skull, and just to be extra annoying, my heart thunders to the same beat. Painful in my chest. Throbbing, because I screwed up. “I drank way too much to ride right now. It’s not safe.”

“It’s okay. I’m still too drunk to sit on the back and hold on.” She grins, like maybe she really is still a little on the tipsy side. “I’m gonna walk. The fresh air will be good for me. But I’m going to the bathroom first.”

She sways as she walks, making her way to the toilet we’ve used a million times over the years while pseudo squatting in this house. The girls and the band have supplied the place with toilet paper and hand soap. There’s no electricity here, but there’s a flushing toilet and a tap that still, somehow, has water supply.

“I need to clean my face before I go anywhere,” she calls back. “And I suggest you wash yours before you step outside. You’re still in your underwear and you have vomit on your chin.”

“Fuck.” I look down, though I know I’m still in my boxers. Because the November air bites at my skin and yet, I don’t shiver the way I should. I think it’s shock. Perhaps trauma. “If I tell this person what we did, I’m gonna have to use your name.” Grunting, I push along the wall until I’m standing tall once more. But I continue to lean for a beat. To find my bearings. “I have to tell her, Brat. Keeping the secret wouldn’t be right.”

“Suits me. But ask her to keep it between you two. My brothers don’t need to know about this. In fact, Jess and Laine don’t need to know, either. It will make life so awkward.”

“Britt—”

“Is she likely to kick my ass?” She pokes her head back through the door, half her makeup gone as she clutches to a wad of moist toilet paper in lieu of a face wipe. “Will she try? I’m not afraid, but I’d like a warning, so I know to watch my back.”

“No.” I draw a heaped breath and work to replace the fumes of liquor with fresh air. “She won’t hurt you, but she’ll probably kill me. And even then, she won’t forgive me.”

“Sounds like you’re making the wrong move, then. The secret is safe.” She steps back into the bathroom to continue cleaning up. So while she’s gone, I dress. Pulling on my jeans. Shrugging into my shirt. “There’s no rule that says you have to confess to this. Especially considering you and I are the only people on the planet who know, and I’m not saying shit to anyone.”

“But it’s about integrity, right?” I reach up and run a hand through my hair, then down over my face until the stubble on my chin crackles. “If I want to be an honorable man, she deserves the truth.”

“If you say so.” She comes out of the bathroom, looking like her usual beautiful and innocent self. Gone is the dark makeup. The panda smudge under her eyes. Even the lipstick I hadn’t really noticed she was wearing, since it was only a shade or two off her natural color. “I think it’s important to remember that you and her are not together. And that she’s dating someone else. This isn’t Ross and Rachel, Luc. This is…” She wracks her brain for a moment, only to bring her shoulders up in a shrug. “This is Claire, Jamie, and Randall. When she was married to Randall, she didn’t know Jamie. And when she was with Jamie, she thought Randall was gone from her life forever. Claire shouldn’t feel guilty for the things she did in those situations.”

“I don’t even know who the fuck you’re talking about.” I fasten the button on my jeans and draw the zipper up. “And this isn’t about me searching for a loophole. If I tell her, it’ll be because I chose to. Not because I got caught out.”

“Okay, well…” She turns toward the door. “As long as you’re not expecting her to return the sentiment and tell you about who she’s dating. If you’re not together, then you’re not together. You don’t get to get pissy about her dating someone else.”

“Do I look pissy to you, Brittany!?” I stomp across the room and grab my shoes, proving to us both that I am, in fact, pissy. “I know she’s dating, okay?” It was the fucking deal I made when I broke her heart and sent her away. “I’m trying to be the better man,” I sigh. “She deserves better than me. Which is why we’re not dating in the first place.”

“So…” She stops by the front door and turns back to wait for me to fix my shoes. “She wants to date you, but you don’t want to date her? But she’s dating someone else, and now you’ve slept with someone you probably shouldn’t have, so as a result, you feel guilty enough to consider confessing what we did to the someone you’re not dating?”

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