Page 57 of What We Broke

“He’s different,” she says softly. “Still him, still sad, but he listened when I spoke to him, and he told me things he’s never mentioned before.”

I don’t ask her what he told her, because I’m not ready to hear it. I’m not ready to acknowledge that I may no longer be the person he turns to.

“You know he still loves you, right?”

“Fuuuck. No, I don’t know anything,” I shout, pounding my fist on the steering wheel. “I’m just so fucking mad right now. I saw him this evening, sleeping in our bed with his haircut that means so much, and I’m supposed to feel something other than all this rage.”

“What are you doing now?” she asks. “Do you want to come over?”

“No. I’m just aimlessly driving around. I think I’m going to find a bar and park myself on a stool for a couple of hours.”

“Jess.” It’s a warning almost, because she knows as well as I do, I don’t drink more than a beer at dinner, if that. “Be careful, okay? And if you drink as much as I’m expecting you to, please call me to pick you up.”

“I’ll get an Uber.”

“I’ll check your locations.”

This makes me huff out a laugh. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Before I hang up, I remember one more thing. “Thank you for today,” I tell her. “He probably doesn’t even realize how much he needed that.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Jess. I think you needed it more.”

* * *

The bar is pretty muchempty and I’m on my fourth whiskey when a tall, slim man with a buzz cut, a beard, and a familiar face appears behind the bar. I’m not intoxicated enough that I can’t walk or talk, but I can feel the buzz loosen my inhibitions just enough.

As if he can feel me staring, his gaze lands on me and recognition settles on his features. “Ahh, I remember you.” He starts walking toward me. “If you’re in here, does that mean there’s still trouble in paradise?”

My jaw clenches at the fact that this stranger and I have met twice and both times he’s alluded to knowing more about Leo than he should.

He glances at my drink and I watch him pour another and push it across to me. “Calm down, big boy. I’m just messing with you.”

Instead of taking it, I slide it back to him, refusing to accept his peace offering.

“Come on, it’s on the house,” he persists, trying to pass it back to me. When I decline a second time, he grabs the tumbler and raises it to his lips, throwing the amber liquid down his throat in one gulp.

He slams the glass against the bar top and keeps his eyes on mine for a few seconds too long before returning to restocking drinks and serving other customers. It’s unnerving being around him, knowing that he is just another person who isn’t me that Leo has confided in.

I debate leaving and calling it quits for the night, but the bartender returns, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “Is he okay?” he asks.

Confused as hell, I shake my head at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Leo,” he says. “He hasn’t been by since that night you picked him up, and I’m hoping it’s for a good reason and nothing’s happened to him.”

I hate the way his concern both dissipates and ignites my anger. It’s proof that Leo didn’t come here the night he got drunk and drove, but it’s also obvious that this manknowsLeo. “He’s fine,” I answer curtly.

“Well, if he’s fine, why are you here?”

Isn’t that the million-dollar question, and also, what the fuck is up with this guy?

“If you’re expecting me to pour my heart out to you, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I’m not expecting anything.” He leans in on his forearms and moves into my personal space. “I just don’t often get to see who my regulars are always talking about in the flesh.”

“Are you kidding right now?” He’s riling me up on purpose, wanting me to ask about Leo, and I’m one hundred percent taking the bait. “He isn’t one of your regulars,” I spit out. “He isn’t one of your anything.”

I’m being petty and territorial and he’s enjoying it.

“Relax,” he says nonchalantly. “No need to get so worked up. I know he’s yours and I don’t really shit where I eat, if you know what I mean.”

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