Page 87 of Endless Love

Duffy, the other person I could confide in, was also out of town on business. However, the day he got back, he texted me and told me to meet him for drinks. Despite my sorry state, I agreed.

I met Duffy at our regular hangout, the neighborhood pub. As usual, he was there first and had a Guinness waiting for me. At the sight of me, he furrowed his brows.

“Hey, man. You okay? You look like shit.”

He was right. My eyes were glazed from lack of sleep, I needed a haircut, and my beard was unkempt from not taking care of it. A mixture of sadness and stress was written all over my face. I was fucking depressed. A total train wreck.

I took a long sip of my cold, frothy beer. Except for quenching my thirst, it did little to help my state of being.

“I feel like shit,” I mumbled.

“You sick?”

Yeah, I was sick. But not that kind of sick. I was suffering from another kind of disease I knew too well. Heartache. Duffy continued.

“There’s a nasty bug going around. Half the office has it.”

I took another chug of my beer as Duffy rambled on.

“Hey, I meant to tell you that my glowing review of The Firebird got over a million hits. Willow is something.”

Wassomething is more like it. Setting down my mug, I just blurted it out. Got it off my aching chest. “She left me.”

Duffy’s eyes widened like saucers. “What!?”

“She went to Paris with Gustave.”

“That prick with the brick dick? She’s fucking him?”

“No, but they did. And she still has an obsession with him. Dancing The Firebird last week awoke her need to dance. He’s making her a principal dancer and asked her to come with him and his company to Paris. Then, they’re going on a world tour.”

“Man, why didn’t you go with her? There’s nothing holding you back here.”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t think I could handle it. You know, with Allee dying there and everything.”

Pressing his lips thin, Duffy nodded. “I get it. How did you leave things?”

One word: “Badly.”

My buddy’s eyes stayed on me, squeezing me for more information.

Hedging, I ran my fingers through my unruly hair. “We had a big fight. I walked out on her.”

“And…”

“The next day, I went over to her dad’s deli to talk to her and try to work things out, but she’d already split for Paris.”

“Did you try to call her? Text her?”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying. But my messages go straight to her voicemail and she hasn’t responded to my texts. She probably never wants to hear from me or see me again.”

“Bullshit. Don’t jump to spurious conclusions.”

“Duff, I don’t know what to do.” My voice lowered. “I love her.”

“Then, tell her that.”

“I don’t know how to. She’s unreachable. Even her father doesn’t know how to get hold of her.”

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