Page 64 of Troubles

“Lis, honey, what happened? Come here.” The sound of her voice, here at the door of this apartment—Gracyn ushers me in and when my back hits the wall, I slide down to a heap on the floor. Down into the misery of another broken heart. Down into the familiar place of despair and confusion.

I let the sobs wash over me and cling to Gracyn. Just barely registering when she hisses, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

I cry.

I sob.

I fall apart tucked into Gracyn’s side. And once again, a wad of tissues is thrust into my hand as my best friend soothes my hair out of my face and rubs my back.

“Hey, come on, Lis. Tell me what happened. Where’s Aidan?”

All I can manage through the hiccupping sobs is to shake my head. I can’t say the words. I can’t. I want so much for this not to be real.

“Oh shit.” Kate huffs out as she walks out of my bedroom—her bedroom. What am I going to do? “Do we know yet if this is a chocolate cry or are we going straight for the tequila?”

“I sure as hell need some tequila, maybe a dull steak knife to castrate the bastard,” Gracyn grits out. “I warned him—I told him I’d cut it off if he broke her heart. Jesus.”

It should bother me that Gracyn and Kate are talking about me like I’m not here. But their murmured threats and plans to take care of me, protect me, calm my sobs to a steady stream of tears.

“C-can I stay here tonight? I can’t go home, G.” Kate’s face is filled with sympathy as she pushes up off the floor and heads down the hall. “Sorry. I don’t—I can find somewhere else.”

“Why would you do that?”

Glasses clink in the kitchen before Kate comes back around the corner. Dropping a t-shirt and leggings on the back of the couch as she passes, with her hands filled with tequila, my bottle of bourbon, and a couple shot glasses.

“Go get changed, Lis, we’re gonna need the whole story.”

After changing into Kate’s clothes and scrubbing my face, I shuffle back into the living room and drop down in the corner of the couch. Gracyn hands me a box of tissues and a tumbler of bourbon while Kate finishes sending a text—from my phone.

“What—did he send a message?” I hate the hope bleeding through my question, my voice still thick with tears.

“You let him know that you’re spending the night here.” Kate glances down as my phone pings. “And he says he wants to talk in the morning. You ready to spill?”

She powers my phone down and sets it in the kitchen.

“This whole day can eat a dick.” I gulp down half my bourbon and revel in the warmth as it slides down my throat. “I was leaving the reception to catch up with Aidan, and Maryse had some shit comment about him running off and that she heard all about his emergency and?—”

“Wait, he left you at the reception? What the hell?” Gracyn plops herself on the other end of the couch.

“Yeah, he had a bunch of texts and missed calls. Francie was blowing up his phone. Said there was an emergency and he needed Aidan at McBride’s immediately. So, he left and, the things people will say—unreal.”

As bad as the wedding was at the time, relaying the horrors of it are far better than thinking about what comes next. I know the wait is killing Gracyn, but she gathers all her patience and fills my tumbler while I tell them about Tyler at the church, the comments at the reception. I even laugh at some of the shit people thought it was okay to ask me.

“But why did he leave you, Lis? What was the big issue at McBride’s?” Gracyn pushes me, knowing I’ll avoid this as long as I can.

It’s not cold in the room at all, but I pull the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it around me. When I have that settled, I reach for a throw pillow still feeling far too exposed. Hugging it to my chest, I blow out a big breath readying myself for opening the scabs and scars on my heart.

“I walked into McBride’s and he was bent over a pregnant woman with his hand on her belly, crying.”

I almost can’t get the words out. Tears stream down my face again, the little details I couldn’t process at the time are all I can focus on now. The way they held hands, the soft way she looked at him. The sweet lilt of her voice as she talked about this baby—their baby.

“She’s Irish, I heard her talking, shushing him while he cried over her. Telling him…” I have to pause. I grab tissues from the table and wipe my tears.

I’m so sick of crying.

“Telling him what, sweetie?” Kate folds her long legs into the chair across from me.

“…that they can get through this together. That everything will be okay, now. They were both folded into each other, crying and holding on to the baby between them. This is worse—so much worse.”

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