Page 5 of No More Words

“Excuses, excuses.”

“You’re the one coming up with excuses,” Blaze counters. For the first time since his arrival, he sounds more bitter than confused. “You’re looking for a reason to end us. You’ve been looking since the day we hooked up again.”

“We never should have gotten back together.” But he’d just completed her remodel, and he’d been generous about paying attention to details, making sure there weren’t any mistakes and that she was pleased with his craftsmanship. Then on that last night, when he brought over the job completion order for her to sign, he stood in the middle of her brand-new kitchen and shyly asked her out to dinner. For a guy who wasn’t the least bit timid, she could tell he’d been working up the nerve to ask her, afraid she’d say no. He’d smiled, and Olivia saw the boy she remembered from all those summers ago. She felt safe. Accepting his invitation felt right, because once upon a lifetime ago they’d fit.

“See? That’s your problem,” he argues. “You assume the worst of people. You don’t trust anyone, so everything you touch or do blows up.” He mimes his head exploding.

“Not true,” she bristles. Not everything. She was enormously successful as an illustrator at an upstart high-tech company that went public. Thanks to that venture, she “retired” two years ago at thirty-three and moved to San Luis Obispo and into the house her dad sold to her for one dollar as a college graduation present. Dwight had owned the house for years and used it as a rental until she came of age. The place was a dump from several decades of tenants rotating through. But she has since remodeled the house and pursued her dream project: to write and illustrate her own graphic novel series. She’s proud of her accomplishments.

Relationships, though? Hers never end well, so best to end this one before it dives further south than it already is.

“Everything’s about you,” he accuses. “What about me? You’re kicking me out, for Chrissake. At least hear me out.”

“Too late.”

“Come on, Livy. Just last night you were begging me—”

“Shut up!” He doesn’t need to remind her how wonderful he makes her feel, not when she’s trying to end them, as he so eloquently put it, before he can do any more damage. Her scars already run deeper than the lake they used to swim, holding hands while they floated on their backs, squinting into the sun. She yanks the cord to Blaze’s McIntosh turntable from her receiver.

“No! No, no, no.” He drops his PUMAs and shoves her aside. “Don’t touch my MTI.” He carefully lifts the turntable off the shelf and balances the component in his arms before turning to her. “Grab those.” He gestures with his chin toward the milk crate of vinyls on the floor.

Olivia heaves up the records and follows him out the front door, her gaze on his backside. He does have a nice ass. She’s going to miss looking at that, and him. Too bad she can’t trust the man, or anyone for that matter. She’s tired of being betrayed. It’s like she’s walking through life with a neon sign on her forehead:SCREWMEOVER. Picking up the pieces after they break her is exhausting. A part of her is left missing every time. She hasn’t felt whole since she broke up with Blaze in high school.

Correction. She hasn’t felt whole since her brother, Lucas, ruined their summers at the Whitmans’.

“Don’t throw my collection,” Blaze tosses over his shoulder.

“I won’t.” She isn’t that much of a bitch.

“Hey, Blaze.”

“Oh, hey, Amber,” he says when he walks past Olivia’s best friend. Amber lounges on the porch steps, making her way through a bottle of pinot noir.

“Thanks for coming,” Olivia says to her friend.

“Ah, well, I guess the end was inevitable.” As it always is with Olivia’s relationships.

Olivia cringes, embarrassed she’s such a failure in this area.

Amber smirks. “For the record, I was holding out hope for you guys. But since it’s come to this, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

This isn’t Amber’s first Olivia breakup rodeo. Olivia called Amber right after she’d hung up on Blaze. After that incident several years back that left her with a fat lip and keyed car, she never kicked out a boyfriend without a friend on-site. One day she’ll learn to stop inviting men to make themselves at home.

Blaze sets down his turntable on the walkway and Olivia drops the crate alongside. “Careful,” he snaps, pulling out his phone. He approaches Amber. “You slept with Shane. Tell Liv this isn’t me.” He enlarges the photo on his 11 Pro Max.

“Good god. Put that thing away.” Amber covers her eyes.

“Screw you, Amber.”

“No, thanks. Already got Mike for that.” Amber drinks her wine like she’s washing down the taste the photo left behind.

Blaze shoves his phone away and turns to Olivia. “What’ll it take to convince you there’s nothing between me and Macey?”

She glances away. She can’t go through this again with him.

“This is it then.” Blaze shuffles his feet. His boot heels scrape on concrete.

“This is it,” she concurs, ignoring the inkling of remorse churning inside her stomach. She fooled herself into believing they could keep their relationship light, firmly seated on the fun level. She’ll miss him like family because at one time, he was family. But she doesn’t plead for him to stay. She bites her bottom lip hard so she won’t apologize and admit she might be making a mistake.

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