Page 21 of I Still Love You

I pick up a baseball I keep on my desk for when I need to turn my attention elsewhere. For when I need a distraction. Squeezing it once, I toss it to my other hand, my eyes darting back and forth from the movement. “We don’t have anything,” I tell him. “We had history. I don’t need to face Layla to move on.”

“Cut the shit, Luke,” he chides, his voice icy enough for me to fuck up my catch, the ball falling to my lap. “All I’m saying is maybe you should talk to her about what happened. It would benefit both of you if you could be cordial.”

I’m quick to respond, tossing the ball into the air again and catching it. “I’m already aware of what happened. No need to rehash it.”

I wanted to give her everything. She bailed. Case closed.

“And you’re allowing your feelings to override it all. You’re still doing it. You punched a dude in the face on vacation because he kept trying to pick someone up. You can’t even talk to her without being an ass. If you ask me, that’s reason enough for some dude to approach you and aim for your throat.”

“How would you know?” I flick my gaze to the screen and catch the last second of his eyes rolling. “You’re not here. How could you possibly know I’m any type of way to her?”

“I was with you at the hospital. I saw how you acted, and chances are you’re still being that same way. You don’t…” he pauses for a long beat. His face twists into a frown, the gloom jumping through the screen and pummeling me. “You’re not yourself. You haven’t been for some time. You think I don’t know that the bar fight was about her?”

If I was wearing my ball cap, I would pull it low to cover the shame in my eyes. Instead, I drop my chin to my chest and mull over Mason’s words. The normal me—the one who existed before Layla left—wouldn’t be acting how I’ve been. Maybe someone should throat punch me and knock me on my ass.

Because this isn’t me.

I don’t treat women like shit on the bottom of my shoe. Still, I don’t admit that to Mason because, damn it, remorse consumes me—as it should—and I don’t want to confirm he’s right. I scrub my hands over my face. “Fuck.”

There’s a knock on my door, making me toss the ball back on my desk. I lift a finger to Mason, saying, give me a second, and look over my propped-up phone toward my door. “What’s up?”

Rebecca cracks the door and sticks her head in, her flaming red hair falling in front of her shoulder. “Your next patient has arrived.”

I nod. “Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

The door closes. “Work calls. Talk later?”

“Always, Luke.”

“Mase?” I slide my tongue over my teeth. “Thank you.”

He nods and I end the call. As I make my way out to my next patient, my thoughts linger on one, and that’s how I’m supposed to move forward when I still feel like I’m drowning in the pain of the past.

9

Layla

“You should totally come,” Sierra says, standing in the doorway of the nurse’s lounge while convincing me to spend a Saturday at the farmer’s market with her and my ex. The thought alone twists my otherwise calm stomach into a raging twister.

I pop my locker and reach for my belongings. My shift wasn’t awful, but I’m spent and looking forward to heading back to my rental for much-needed time alone to recoup. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Monica, another old classmate who works the evening shift, puts her lunch in the refrigerator before turning to me. “Why not?” Her black-as-night hair and olive-skin tone remind me of her Italian roots and how her mother catered the graduation party for our nursing class. She made spaghetti and meatballs, chicken parmesan, and whipped together her family’s famous cannoli recipe.

To this day, it’s still the best Italian food I’ve ever eaten.

“Because Luke and I aren’t at that point yet,” I tell them honestly. To others, we might be fake dating, but to him and me, we’re nothing more than neither of us wanting to give the other the satisfaction of caving. “We haven’t been back together long. I’m worried that it’ll be too overwhelming. Besides,” I continue, lifting my lanyard with my badge over my head. “I don’t even know if it’s going to last.”

Luke’s sizzling glares burn, and let’s not mention the conversation in that broom closet. I know he’s holding on by a thread because I am, too. I’m hoping that we can fade out, that the hype will die down so we can get back to living our own lives. It’s either that or him coming to terms with breaking it off.

Though I think pride is getting in both of our ways. I can’t bring myself to break it off again, not when he’s just beyond reach—no matter how nasty he’s been. And I imagine he doesn’t want the responsibility left to him since he’s not the one that caused it.

Monica quirks a brow, her green eyes zeroing in on me as I place the badge into a protective pouch in my bag. “Too overwhelming for him…or you?”

“You’ll never know if it’s going to work unless you try,” Sierra points out as soon as Monica closes her mouth. She pushes off the doorjamb and heads to her locker, a few down from mine. “You two are like Ken and Barbie, but so much smarter and good-looking. Sure, it got screwed up once. But it has to work this time. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Do I want to make up with Luke, for him to forgive me for what I did? I’d give anything for it. Even if it still turns out he doesn’t want a thing to do with me.

Sierra yanks the lock free. “You know what I think?”

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