Page 87 of Wish You Would

“You look like shit.”

I glared at Luke as I walked into the kitchen the next day. “You better have coffee made if you’re going to throw insults at this early hour.”

He arched a dark brow. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

I glared harder as I sat in my usual spot. “Coffee,” I repeated.

Luke put his hands up in surrender and crossed to the counter, getting a fresh pot started. “So,” he said as the kitchen filled with gurgling. “I take it you’re not throwing me a welcome home party?”

“You were gone for a week.” I pulled his plate across the counter and picked up the sandwich he’d made. “I barely noticed your absence.”

“Ouch.” He watched me bite into his lunch, then walked to the fridge, pulling out ingredients to make another sandwich. “Nine days, but whatever.”

I harrumphed around my bite, barely tasting the turkey and tomato and cheese. A shame, really. Luke made killer sandwiches. “Good trip?”

“It was fine.” He sliced a tomato, perfectly thin and symmetrical, and glanced up. “You, on the other hand, are not fine.”

“What makes you say that?” I grabbed the napkin he’d sat next to his plate and wiped my mouth. “I’m great.” But even as I said it, my insides were tender and raw. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. It hurt to exist.

“Liar.” Slathering mayo on a slice of bread, he eyed me, assessing and critical. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” I picked up the other half of the sandwich and looked it over. Glistening red tomato, lush green lettuce. The perfect balance of turkey to cheese ratio. Goddamn, it really was a good sandwich. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy it.

Setting it back on the plate, I wiped my fingers on the napkin. “Is it too early for a beer?”

Instead of answering, Luke plopped a soup mug of coffee down before me. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I grumbled, cradling it between my hands. Despite my desire for something stronger, the heat from the coffee soothed my frazzled nerves enough to at least drag in a full breath for the first time in hours.

“She dumped me.”

I didn’t mean to say it. Hadn’t even formed the words in my mind. Yet, there they were. Out in the open. Bouncing aimlessly between Luke and I like a drunken bumblebee. Saying it aloud stung like an entire nest of the fuckers. Wincing, I gripped my mug tighter.

New sandwich complete, Luke sat across from me. I looked up, eyeing the fixings still scattered on the counter. “You’re not going to put that away?”

He shrugged, as if he hadn’t spent the first five minutes of every meal we’d ever shared putting everything away before he sat down to eat. “It can wait.”

“Shit, I must really look bad.” I took a sip of coffee, not even wincing when it burned my tongue.

Luke picked up half of his sandwich and bit into it, watching me as he chewed. I stared back, what little I’d managed to eat turning to stone in my belly. He was waiting me out, I knew. Waiting for me to tell him what happened. But…I wasn’t even sure what happened.

One moment, I was on top of the world, adrenaline and adoration coursing through my veins. The next…well, the next was the exact opposite.

I’d sat on the bench outside of Heathcliff’s last night, staring after Parker long after she was gone. Willing her to come back. Begging my feet to move, to chase after her. Neither thing happened. Parker was gone, and I’d let her leave.

At some point, Vaughn came outside, finding me there. I knew he’d come to congratulate me, to tell me how good he thought I was onstage. But when he saw my face, he pivoted. Silently, he sat beside me and stared into the distance with me, until, finally, I faced him. And, finally, I broke. Told him things with Parker were over. I’d cried. And he’d let me.

Thinking about it now, I blinked back a fresh sting of tears. I could feel Luke’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look up. If I was going to talk, to tell him what happened, I’d need to do it while staring at the reflection in my coffee mug.

“Turns out,” I started, “I really want to perform again.” My hands tightened around my mug. “I also really, really love Parker.”

It was the first time I’d said that last part out loud. Maybe if I’d said it out loud last night, maybe if I told her how I felt about her, she would have stayed. She wouldn’t have—

“Forgive me for being confused,” Luke said, jolting me from my thoughts. “But aren’t these good things?”

“You’d think so, right?” Taking a huge gulp of still-steaming coffee, I grimaced. “Except, no one knows how to fuck up a good thing better than yours truly.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his finger against his chin. “How’d you fuck it up?”

Eyes glued to my mug, I winced at the playback in my mind. The tears in Parker’s eyes, taking them from a cloudless summer day to the kind of storm that ruined picnics or children’s birthday parties. I hadn’t known what I said then, what I did to put those tears there, to summon the storm.

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