Page 100 of The Love Destroyers

I don’t have enough words in my vocabulary for it.

But she said it was our once-in-four-years chance to be together, and she clearly meant it.

That’s probably for the best. I’m caught up on her, bad, and I know all the dark roads that can lead to. She knows I don’t want a relationship; I know she doesn’t want one, and particularly wouldn’t want one withme. Still, it sucks to go to bed with a gorgeous woman and wake up to a cold bed and a painful rib.

It doesn’t help that the bed smells like her. Or, once I get up with a groan that makes my bones shake, that the whole place looks like she went through it with a vacuum, a mop, and a Swiffer. A pad of Post-Its sits in the middle of the kitchen counter with a neat note inscribed on top. Brisk and so very likeher. I notice an imprint on the sheet, though, and I grab a pencil and rub it over, seeing the imprint of a heart.

Maybe it’s from one of Chuck’s notes. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if every single one of his notes is surrounded by cartoon hearts, but I smile at the thought that she might have drawn it, then ditched it. Even if it means she let her logical side win out.

I’m not feeling logical.

But my brother was right, I remind myself, more right than he probably knew. I can’t be with Emma because of who I am. Because of what I’ve done.

I pocket the note and check on the rabbit, who’s pacing his cage with a wild gleam in his eyes. “Guess it’s just you and me this morning.”

His response is to bare his teeth, which makes me laugh.

What do you know, I’m becoming fond of the violent little asshole. It doesn’t hurt that he’s the only one here. I pour myself some cereal I don’t want. What I really want is a cigarette, or maybe a pack, but I’ve been on a good streak of going without, and I won’t break it again. Not after telling my brother about it. My brother…

I pick up my phone as I start mindlessly eating and find a bunch of notifications. But there’s a string of texts from Emma on top that makes me quickly lose interest in the rest. I click through.

So, slight misunderstanding. I maced Chuck in the face. He’s fine, and we made cinnamon rolls. I gave him my blessing to pursue my mother. It’s sort of a long story.

Okay, actually it’s just an unexpected story.

He and my mom fell asleep watching Mary Tyler Moore, and he was sneaking out of the house to get ingredients for breakfast. I saw someone with silver hair sneaking around the side of the house and thought it was Jeffrey.

He was incredibly nice about it, which won’t surprise you.

Nicole is over here. She’s having me look through the files from Ellie’s phone, but she says she’s leaving now to pick you up for some “fun.”

I just wanted to say that you don’t need to do this, Seamus. The files we’re looking for were probably on her phone. We can look through Jeffrey’s stuff, too, but this feels like a better lead. He’s not the kind of guy who’d keep information that’s incriminating to him, especially not after what happened last fall. We can leave the two of them alone, and focus on searching these files. You did enough, and you need time to recover.

I don’t want you to get hurt.

I let my spoon clatter back into the bowl.

Too fucking late.

Because it feels a lot like she’s saying she’s through with me. While I can accept that she doesn’t think we should touch for another four years—logically speaking, the argument is sound—I can’t accept being treated as useless by the woman I care about…

I didn’t mean to feel this way about her. I don’t want to. It’s fucking horrible to care about a woman when you know it’s basically hopeless. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to chase herto the altar, but I want to be with her. I want to spend time with her and take her for drives on the Blue Ridge Parkway. I want to watch her kick ass and take names. I’d like to hold her drink while she does it.

I rub my temples, my head still dully aching, then type back:

Not quitting, Emma. I see things through.

After sending it, I head into my bedroom to change into a shirt I haven’t worn in years and then brush my teeth. Back at the table, I scroll through the rest of the noise on my phone—nothing from my brother, but lots of Honey Do notifications and whiny texts from Ellie. A text from Nicole pops up:

I’ll be there to pick you up in ten minutes, skipper. Look alive.

Good.

I glance at the rabbit, who’s giving me a death glare from behind the bars of his cage, and struggle to my feet to give him some of the kibble Ellie gave me. He attempts to bite me three times, so I spend the next five minutes on Google looking up how to tame pissed-off rabbits before heading downstairs.

My phone buzzes as I take the elevator down, and I check the screen before opening the door leading outside.

I know you do. So do I.

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