Page 89 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“That isn’t true!”

“It’s not?” He threw his hands up. “I saved your ass and you didn’t talk to me forweeksbecause you didn’t like that I told your dad you were drunk!When you were feckin’ drunk! I can’t take it anymore, and I come over here and you blamemyass for you doin’ stupid shit, actin’ like if I’d justfuckedyou, none of it woulda happened. My fault, Myla?Mine?”

My throat grew tight as I stared at him in horror.

“I’m on my way back here, because I can’t fuckin’ leave it like that. I wanna work shit out. I need to get this shit straight. Because even though you’re mostly wrong, again, I want towork this shit out with you,and I get a call from Saoirse.”

“Cian,” I whispered.

“And you show up at the motherfuckin’ hospital!” Grabbing the can of soda off the counter, he tossed it against the wall, where it exploded. “And I’m fuckin’ gaggin’ for it all over again! So goddamn relieved you’re there. So fuckin’ thankful that you’ve decided to forgive me again for shit that wasn’t even my fault in the first place!”

I wasn’t sure when I’d started crying, but by then, the collar of my sweatshirt had grown damp against my neck.

“I can’t do the back and forth anymore,” I said softly, my breath hitching.

“Then stop fuckin’ doin’ it!”

My mouth snapped shut.

“Jesus, why am I even here?” Cian mumbled in confusion. “What’s the fuckin’ point?”

“You’re my best friend,” I whispered.

“No. I’m not.”

The noise that came out of my throat, painful and raw, froze us both.

“I’m the man that loves you,” Cian said simply. “But I’m done walkin’ on eggshells for you. Back and forth? Christ, Myla. You’ve had me for years. If you woulda pulled your head outta your ass, you woulda fuckin’ realized it.”

He left me standing in the kitchen, reeling.

I was still standing there, trying to sort through everything he’d said,trying to silently refute everything he’d said, when I heard the front door close behind him. Seconds later, I heard him lock the deadbolt.

Making sure I was safe.

My knees went out from under me and I slid down to the floor.

I should’ve stopped him.

I should’ve apologized.

I should’ve spoken to him instead of Lou and Frankie.

I should’ve told him that I wasn’t mad that he hadn’t come to see me when he got into town. That I understood. That I’d decided I wanted to get off the roller coaster before that, and the time apart had only strengthened my resolve.

No. No, I shouldn’t have said that. That part didn’t matter.

Did I freeze him out?

I thought back to our arguments. When he said shit I didn’t agree with. When he’d acted like an ass. When I was in a bad mood and he didn’t want to deal with my shit. When I was a bitch.

I’d thought of it as giving each other space. It never lasted long. Sometimes a day. Sometimes two. Sometimes it was only a couple of hours before I reached out again, hoping he would forget it ever happened.

He always did.

He always let me lead, let me act like everything was fine, let me dive right back in even if I’d been the one who’d caused the problem in the first place.

“Shit,” I whispered, resting my head against my knees.

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