Page 23 of This Memory
When we left the pub, Gavin dropped his hand and started down the street, where his car was parked. We drove back to Moose Village in silence. It was nice, initially, allowing me to settle my thoughts…but the longer he stayed quiet, the madder I got. And I knew I had no right to be mad. I was, in fact, jealous. Not mad.
“You looked like you knew that bartender.”
“I have known Lynn for several years. I wasn’t flirting with her if that’s what you’re implying. She wouldn’t be interested even if I was. She bats for the other team.”
“She’s a lesbian?”
He glanced at me. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. She was so pretty, and the way she was touching you, I just assumed.”
“She wasn’t touching me,” he bit back.
Gavin pulled into my driveway and parked the car but didn’t turn it off. I needed to apologize for my behavior.
“Listen, Gavin, I—”
“This isn’t going to work, Brystol.”
Surprised, I asked, “What isn’t going to work?”
He motioned between us. “This whole friend thing. Clearly, you have a very poor opinion of me, and I don’t think that’ll ever change.”
I shook my head, but he kept talking.
“I’ll try and stay out of your way during this pregnancy.”
Before I could even say anything, his phone rang. Cindy’s name popped up on the display. I expected him to decline the call, but he just looked at me.
“Right,” I said as I got out and started down my sidewalk.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
How could I possibly have thought we could be friends? I couldn’t move beyond our past. How pathetic on my part.
I typed in the code to my door and opened it. I shut it with force and then leaned back against the surface. Closing my eyes, I slid down to the floor, buried my face in my hands, and cried.
Gavin
I hit the punching bag as hard as I could, over and over, until my arms and legs burned with fatigue. I was using the gym at the police station and was glad to be the only one there.
At least, IthoughtI was the only one there.
“If you hit that bag any harder, you’re going to bruise the hell out of your hand,” Declan said, as he walked over and held the bag for me. I hit it a few more times and finally took a step back.
“It’s the only way I can get my frustration out and clear my head.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Once I got my gloves off, he handed me a towel and I wiped the sweat off my face.
“Brystol Duggan is what’s wrong. I swear to God, she’s going to drive me insane.”
He frowned. “What happened?”
I sat on a bench and wiped my face and neck. “I tried to do a nice thing for her yesterday, and she ended up calling me a manwhore.”
“She called you a manwhore?” Declan asked, surprised.
“Well, not in so many words, but she suggested it in that way she does. Asked me how many women I’ve slept with, then suggested it was over a hundred. Then she assumed I was hitting on the bartender at the pub I went to while she ate lunch.”
