Page 84 of Coco and the Misfits

“Isn’t there? You want me to believe this meant nothing to you?”

I draw a breath. Then I make myself look up and say, “It meant nothing.”

“No…” She stares at me, eyes wide, face paling. “Is this… Is it about Bridget?”

“Bridget?”

“The concierge. She never liked me, and I’ve seen her gaze at you. Is there something between you two? Is this what’s happening?”

“There’s nothing between me and Bridget,” I bite out. “I didn’t even recall her name, she…” I shake my head. “Just wash up. I don’t have all night.”

She blinks. “I see.”

Does she? Can she see through me, detect the lie, the act, see what I really feel, what I really want?

And I keep pretending. I pretend not to see the two tears rolling down her cheeks, then the determined lift of her chin. The fire in her eyes as she pushes off the window and marches past me.

Heading to the bathroom.

I stuff my hands into my pants pockets, listening to the faint sounds of her washing up. No sounds of crying. No sobbing.

My heart fucking aches. She’s so strong. She will be fine. She doesn’t need me. I have to believe it.

She’s probably never coming back here, and I wouldn’t blame her. Or she will, because she needs the money, which is even worse.

How the hell do I untangle this mess I’ve created?

We usually make the short walk to her building in companionable silence as I try not to stare at her and look like a creep.

This time, the silence is like a knife between us.

She marches as fast as she can, hands clenched at her sides. She’s trying to outpace me, but of course she can’t, her legs are much shorter than mine. After a moment, I let her have that small victory anyway, slowing down, letting her overtake me.

She’s angry.

That’s good. That’s my girl. She should never take shit from anyone. She’s amazing and deserves the best. The best man. The best alpha. The best pack.

Not someone like me who has failed everyone he has ever cared about.

Too soon, her building comes into view. She stops at the entrance and turns around. Her cheeks are red, and so are her eyes. It makes me want to howl, seeing her like that.

“Listen, I don’t want…” She stops. “I can’t work for you anymore, Atticus.”

Ah. There it is. I knew it.

“I understand. I’ll find you another job,” I say gruffly. “I promise.”

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t want any more of your charity, either. I’ll find a job on my own, thank you.”

This is all my fault, but I frown because I can’t imagine not taking care of her. “I can find you a job easily. I’ll talk to the?—”

“I said, no. That’s enough.” Her voice cracks and it’s a slap to my face. “I don’t want to see you anymore, and I don’t want your help.”

This is what I had been striving toward. To push her away. Make her see what an asshole I am. That she doesn’t need me. Doesn’t want me. Still, it hurts.

This is fucking crazy. I caused her pain and now I’m hurting, too.

“Goodnight, Atticus.”

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