Page 37 of Holding On

Damn Tricia. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? He's been doing great the past few months. He hasn't even talked about her. And now, he's thinking about her again, feeling sad and depressed.

We sit there quietly, me stewing with anger over that text, and Mike longing to see her again, wishing she'd come back. I wish he could see that she's not the girl for him. Yes, they have a long history, but a girl who leaves the guy she supposedly loves when he's injured, both emotionally and physically, needing her more than ever, is not the girl he needs in his life. Mike is too good of a person. He deserves better.

"Part of me still loves her," he says, staring at the TV.

"I know." I loop my arm in his, my head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mike. I'm sorry things didn't work out."

"I am too."

He needs to meet someone else. Someone who can see what an incredible person he is. Someone who's just as kind and compassionate as he is, who can share his passion for helping others.

"You can go to bed," he says. "I'm going to stay up a little longer."

"Why don't we find a movie to watch? I'm not really tired enough to sleep."

Actually, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I don't want Mike sitting here all alone, thinking about Tricia. And I definitely don't want him having a weak moment and texting her back, or calling her. Doing so would just give her what she wants. To know that Mike is still thinking about her, wanting her back. She doesn't deserve that. The best thing he could do is ignore her text, and if she sends another, to ignore that one too.

We fall asleep on the couch, then wake to piercing, high-pitched sounds blaring all around us.

Mike bursts from the couch, holding his hand out to me. "It's the fire alarms. C'mon. Let's get out of here."

"I'm sure it's not a real fire," I say, scrambling to find my shoes. At least we're still in the clothes we wore last night instead of pajamas.

"We don't know if there's a fire or not so hurry up." He's already at the door, wide awake and looking like he's ready for the day, his short dark hair neatly in place. As for me? I can't get to a mirror but I'm assuming I'm a mess with smeared makeup and tangled hair. I use my fingers to try to brush it out.

"Are you seriously worried about your hair right now?" Mike says as we go out in the hall.

"It's a mess," I tell him, still trying to detangle the knots.

He holds my arm and leads me to the stairwell. "Nobody cares how your hair looks. It's not like you're going to run into your boyfriend when we get outside."

"Ethan's not my boyfriend." I shoot him a look to stop teasing me.

He grins. "I was just talking generically, but it's interesting your mind immediately went to Ethan."

"That doesn't mean anything."

Shit, maybe it does. Why did I assume he meant Ethan?

Once outside, we join up with our fellow tenants, most of whom are in their pajamas and bathrobes.

"I don't see any smoke," I say.

"I don't either. Maybe it was just a false alarm."

"See? We should've stayed in the apartment."

"You can't risk it. If it's a real fire, you don't want to end up trapped in the building."

I check the back pocket of my jeans. "Crap, I forgot my phone. Do you have yours?"

"No. I left it on the table."

I turn to him. "You didn't text her back, did you? Last night? After I fell asleep? You didn't text her, did you?"

"No. But I wanted to." He seems sad, and I hate seeing him sad. He's almost never sad, but then one stupid text from Tricia brings his mood down.

"You need to delete her text. Otherwise you'll keep reading it and be tempted to text her back."

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