Page 60 of Wes

Her eyes brim with tears but she doesn’t allow them to roll down her face. “Oh, but there is an undeniable one.” She pauses, her nostrils flare for a couple of beats with her sharp intake of air. She murmurs, “You were wearing this fucking thing.” She slaps the logo on the front of my jacket.

But it’s the pain in her voice that crushes my heart.

“That is just not possible. The photos have obviously been modified.”

Suspicion drips from each of her words when she spits them out, “She made a point of calling my attention to your jacket. How else would she have known what it meant to me? Or what I thought it meant to us?”

At a loss for words, I gape at her.

She grunts. “Exactly. You can’t gaslight me or charm your way out of this one. A picture is actually worth a thousand words.”

Her limo pulls up to the curb in front of us.

When Jim opens his door to get out of the car, she snaps at him, “I’ve got this. Keep the engine running.”

Swinging the car door open, she plops herself onto the seat and grabs the handle to close it.

I grip the top of the damn thing, prying it wide open and propping a foot on the floor of the car to get inside.

She kicks my shin, demanding, “Get out. Just go! I can’t look at your lying face for even another second.”

I retreat and plant my foot on the pavement. But I bend at the waist and bring my nose to an inch of hers. The grief in the depths of her eyes and the determination on the hard line of her jaw match mine.

Despite the clogging in my throat, where the slivers of my broken heart slice a thousand tiny cuts, I rasp, “I fucking love you! Doesn’t it count for anything?”

“No!” She shoves my chest with both hands.

Caught by surprise, I stagger backwards giving her room to shut the door. Jim pulls into traffic, speeding away.

I ball my hands into fists, drop them to my hips, and stand on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, like a broken lamppost. Feeling just as useless, oblivious to my surroundings, and stunned by what has just happened, I groan. I watch the red taillights of the black car disappear around the corner, two blocks down the street.

I drag my stare down to my feet, blinking as I try to jumpstart my brain. I’ve got to do something, but what? How can I convince Maria she’s mistaken? I have to show her she’s been played. How do I do that?

“First things first. We’ve got to get you home, my friend.” Nick’s slightly amused voice sounds in my right ear.

I snap my head up to find his smug expression pointed at me and his arm around my shoulders.

I frown. “How did you–? What are–?” I huff and squeeze my eyes shut to focus. When I feel more like myself, I gaze into his green stare. “What do you mean by ‘first things first’?”

He smirks. “I came out of the restaurant to meet my driver and found you mumbling to yourself like one of those poor souls who wander around pulling battered supermarket carts.”

I let my shoulders sag. “Oh, fuck me. You’ll never let me hear the end of it, will you?”

Nick grin lights up his face like a Christmas tree. “What? That Wes Baron makes the best impression of a vagrant? Nah!” His driver pulls the door of the limousine open and Nick nudges me toward the car. As we climb inside and settle on opposite seats, he adds, “Now, are you asking me whether or not I’ll cut you some slack because your girl has ripped your heart out? Then, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. I’d never kick a man when he’s down on his luck.”

I turn my face to the right and look out of the window as we cruise the streets of Richmond toward Anza Vista where we both live. At three in the morning, the city resembles some dystopian movie where a mysterious extinction-level event wipes out most of the population leaving behind empty structures and vehicles.

Tired of the dull view, I throw my head against the back of the seat and shut my eyes. Nick’s assessment is on point. Maria’s behavior left a burning chasm inside my chest as if she’s slashed it open and grabbed my heart out, stomping it under her foot. Not because she didn’t even consider my explanations. But because she believed I could betray her like that. That notion consumes all the oxygen in me, leaving me exhausted, empty.

When the five-minute drive ends in front of my house, Nick pats my knee. I straighten my back and open my eyes again to find my friend slanting his head toward the open door.

“C’mon, let’s move this lively conversation to your living room.”

I groan. All I want to do right now is climb into bed, curl up in a ball, and stay there forever.

Forcing my body to produce sounds that people outside my head can hear, I grumble, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” I get out of the car, spin around to wish him goodnight, and collide with his chest.

He grabs my arm and propels us both ahead. “Sorry if I gave you the impression you had a choice.” Over his shoulder, he addresses his driver. “Thanks, David. You have a good night, now.”

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