Page 12 of Lucky Star

“I’m sorry, Cameron. What do you want me to say? Do you want my declaration of undying love? Do you want me to sit here in tears telling you that you broke my heart?”

Yes, I wanted her to tell me she loved me. But I was a coward and didn’t want to hear all the ways I’d broken her heart, so I remained silent.

“No, I didn’t think so.”

“I just want to talk,” I repeated, trying to hold myself together.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” she asked, her tone so saccharine sweet it could have launched me into a diabetic coma.

Unable to control my mounting frustration, I punched the dashboard—and instantly regretted it. The moment my fist came into contact with the hard plastic, I lurched back and howled in pain. Holding my hand tightly to stem the pain that was shooting up my arm, I clenched my teeth in agony.

Sarah moved to comfort me, but then thought better of it and pulled away. Instead, she sighed and asked, “How bad does it hurt?”

I mumbled something that sounded a whole lot like “it-hurts-a-whole-fucking-lot-how-the-hell-do-you-think-it-fucking-feels?” but I may as well not have spoken for all she paid attention.

“Say, for instance,” she continued, “do you think it hurts as much as it did when you walked out on me? Do you reckon a broken hand compares to a broken heart?”

Sarah wanted me to suffer because she’d suffered.

I’d done that to her.

I’d done it to us, and it made me the worst sort of asshole imaginable because it should never have been this way. If I hadn’t overreacted, we could have moved on from that night. If I hadn’t panicked, I could have laid my heart on the line.

Sarah started the car, effectively her line of questioning. After all, what more was there to say?

Apparently, plenty.

“You can get out, or you can come with me. Right now, I don’t care either way. The decision’s yours.” Since I didn’t want this to be the end of things, I stayed put, and she nodded. “Fine, have it your way.”

Once we were on the road, she said, “After the day I’ve had, I just want to go home and sink into a nice, hot bath with a bottle of my favorite wine. But I can’t do that. The last time you were in my house could have been one of the most amazing nights of my life, but instead, it ended as one of the worst. And now everywhere I look, all I see is you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, even as I realized I needed to stop apologizing and start explaining.

I’d planned on telling Sarah we should forget that night, but it was clear to me now she’d never be able to.

I also feared she’d misinterpret my words. It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted to be with her; I just didn’t want a drunk, quick and dirty fuck to be the foundation upon which our relationship rested.

Instead of heading into the Hollywood Hills where she lived, Sarah took the ramp toward Santa Monica. Since it was after midnight, there was hardly anyone on the road. She rolled down her window and let the cool night air swirl through the car as her arm bounced on the current.

“I gave you an out, but you stayed. Why?”

“You’re my best friend. What did you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to be my friend,” she spat. “I expected you to act like a fucking adult.”

“I understand you’re angry.”

“Do you, Cameron?”

“Yes,” I answered emphatically. “For Christ’s sake! You know me; you know what kind of a man I am. Do you truly believe I would ever hurt you on purpose?”

“Maybe I don't know what kind of a man you are. Before that night, I would have said you’d never use me like that.” Her eyes flicked to mine briefly before going back to the road. “You ran out on me without so much as an explanation.”

“You think I used you?” I asked, my voiced laced with pain.

“Didn’t you?” She stole another quick glance at me.

“No.” I gritted my teeth. This was even worse than I’d feared.

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