Page 60 of When We Meet Again

“I need to talk to Rome before I agree to anything. It’s only fair.”

His face falls. “I understand. That’s a good idea.”

CHAPTER 30

ROMAN

This past week has been hell. I’ve tried calling Patrick and he won’t return my phone calls. Not that I would either. I essentially swooped in and took hisfiancée.Waverly called me and asked me if she would mind if Patrick stayed in the apartment with her. As much as I was tempted to voice my concerns, I knew she was in a tough situation. I’ve been getting calls and texts from her making sure that I’m okay. Well, I’m really fucking not!Not one part of me believes she would step out on whatever we have going on between us. Logical Roman knows this, but emotional Roman? He’s losing his damn mind.

The thought of them laughing and cuddling on the couch, falling into old habits. Not that they did much of those things anyway, but maybe their dynamic changed. He has a second chance at life. I know I’d certainly do shit differently. That thought hurts my head. It literally gives me a headache.

I pop open the bottle of ibuprofen and down some with big chugs of water. I’m a firm believer that the faster I get the pills down, the faster they will work, and this headache will dull along the with the ache in my chest.

I fill the Mr. Coffee trough with water and add my freshly ground coffee beans into a filter and switch it on. Caffeine has been my go-to vice as of recently.

Sleep has been non-existent. Every night that passes I can’t help but wonder if that's the night Waverly will realize that I amnotthe better choice, and she’ll let Patrick touch her and woo her in ways I can only dream of.Again.

Another ache in my chest. I dig my fingers along my sternum to negate the pain. Like any other almost twenty-five-year-old, I could stalk Waverly or my brother on social media, but they are part of the generation where they feel the need to document every waking minute on the Internet for the world to see is a waste of time. I agree wholeheartedly, but it would also be a lot easier to numb my brain. Just put me out of my misery already.

CHAPTER 31

WAVERLY

This week has dragged me through hell and back. Actually, I’m not sure I ever left hell. Patrick has taken over my Lovesac. He says he’s looking for a place to live, but I have yet to see him actively trying. He’s been spending a shit ton of time in front of the TV, eating all of my food, and acting like I’m not living here, too.

I haven’t been able to come home from work and unwind because right now, snuggling with abandoned dogs is significantly less stressful than repeatedly rewatchingThe Summer I Turned Pretty. Unheard of.

I haven’t seen or heard from Roman. I’ve texted and called repeatedly over the first few days until I realized he is avoiding me. I could go over to his house, but the idea of him rejecting me and my feelings toward him, despite Patrick being back, really fucking hurts.

“I sure could use some food,” Patrick snaps from the living room.

“We could go to the diner down the street. It’s still open.” The least I could give this man is some time. We need to have a discussion—or multiple discussions—that we’ve both beenputting off.What is going on right now is most definitely not sustainable.

Patrick throws his hands over his head, leans back into a deep stretch, and groans. “I was actually craving your homemade chicken and potatoes.”Oh God, here we go. I am a terrible fucking human being. I don’t want to cook for this man. Quite frankly, I don’t want to cook for any man right now. Much less be in the presence of this one. I’d rather just go to bed. Hibernate and pray this is all a dream…er—anightmare. Perhaps I’m just angry at myself…but why? I’m mad at him. No. I’m irate toward this entire situation.

“I don’t feel like cooking tonight, Patrick. I know you just got home from…dying? And I’ve had a tiring week at work” If I could pay someone to slap me right now, I would. “But I just… I’m exhausted.” I find my shoulders slumping, feeling defeated.

I stand to grab a bottle of water from the fridge when he decides to have the audacity—in my house—to say, “You weren’t too tired to have your tongue down my brother’s throat.” He moves into the kitchen, sitting down at the table like he truly thinks I’ll cook for him after that declaration. My peaceful bubble has been busted.

“Excuse me?”The fuck?Slowly, I turn to stare at the man who once had my heart.

He slams his hands down on the table, startling me. “Damnit, Waverly. I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in.”

Patrick’s right. If the roles were reversed, I’d be irate. I would probably throw things, hit people, I’m not sure. The least I could give him is some grace. “That was uncalled for, but I get it. I’ll make you your favorite meal.” I walk over and wait for him to look at me. His gray eyes finally find mine. I take a long hard look at him. He looks different. Exhausted.

“We have to have a conversation. It’s been a week, and I’m finally home. But we should do so on full stomachs.” I offer him a smile and he reciprocates.

“We can do that. You mind if I watch some TV while you cook?”Yes. Yes, I do.

Not waiting for me to answer, because I was actually going to ask him to peel the potatoes, he grabs the remote. I can hear my Lovesac crying from the foreign ass print that’s being embedded in my spot.

I graze the neon yellow peeler across the potato a little more aggressively than I should. Why am I not happy? This is how happy Iwasn’twhen he proposed.

Back to bending at his every wish. Constantly trying to keep the peace around him—walking on eggshells.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

“Goddamnit! Ouch!” The peeler falls to the floor along with fresh drops of dark red blood.

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