Page 92 of When Stars Collide
“Bad night.”
“I can see. Got any coffee?”
She tilted her head toward the kitchen, which was as tidy as the rest of the place. He grabbed a souvenir mug of the Sydney Opera House from the shelf, filled it, and took a sip while she stood in the doorway watching him.
The coffee was undrinkable. She’d forgotten something when she made it. Something important like coffee. He leaned his hips against the counter. “I take itsitzprobedidn’t go well last night. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I can’t see you anymore.”
It took a moment for her words to register, and when they did, something ripped open inside him. He slammed his mug on the counter, its undrinkable contents splashing over the rim onto his hand. “And here we go again.”
“It has to be over, Thad,” she pleaded. “It’s been wonderful. More than wonderful. But we’re breaking up now.”
He hardened his heart against the glint of tears in her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“I can’t do this any longer. You’re too big a threat to me.”
That made him furious. “Threat?”
She waved her hand in a jerky, arbitrary motion. “I keep setting these deadlines and rolling right past them because I don’t want it to be over.”
“Yeah, you do have a thing for deadlines,” he said, as coldly as he could.
She tugged on the bottom of her pink T-shirt. “This one has expired.”
He’d had enough. “Great. I’ll see you around.” He stalked out of the kitchen and grabbed his laptop.
“The thing you have to know,” she said to his back, “is that I’ve fallen in love with you.”
That stopped him cold. As he turned, he saw a whole universe of emotions smeared all over her face. Helplessness, pain, resolution. “Jesus, Olivia, you’re not in love with me. You’re— We’re...” He stammered for the right word. “We’re teammates. We don’t love each other. We have goals. Ambitions. We think the same. We’re teammates, that’s all.”
She pressed her fingers to her throat as if she were choking. “It won’t do, Thad. Some part of me wants to give up everything for you. To refocus my life. Put music in second place. Give up mysong! I can’t do that.”
“Nobody’s asking you to.”
“But I can feel it. Wanting to be in your world—to cut out on a rehearsal early to give us more time together. To trim my schedule so I can watch you play ball. To stop getting on planes. To cook dinner for you!”
“Goddammit, you can’tcook!”
A tear hung on her bottom lashes but refused to fall. “Don’t you see? I want to prioritize you over my career, just like I did with Adam. It’s a pattern. And that pattern is going to destroy who I am. What I live for!”
“You and your goddamn drama.” The words came spewing out, propelled by fear, by pain. “You create drama. You live for it. And I’ve had enough of it.”
He’d meant to hurt her, but what he’d just said wasn’t true. She didn’t love the drama that had been foisted on her any more than he did. He tried to think of a way to tell her that. To take it back. But she’d gone cold on him.
“Yes. Of course, you’re right. And now you understand why this is for the best.”
The words he didn’t mean to say spewed out. “Damn straight it is. We’re done.”
He stalked to the door and left her alone, just as she wanted to be.
***
None of Thad’s friends had ever seen him drunk, and as they looked at each other over their table at Spiral, Coop’s old nightclub, they weren’t exactly sure what to do about it. Thad wasn’t either a mean drunk or a happy drunk. He was a dead-silent drunk. In the end, Clint volunteered to take him home. “But if he throws up in my car, I’m making him buy me a new one,” he told Ritchie.
Clint knew Olivia was responsible for Thad’s current state because when he’d asked where she was, Thad had snarled, “How the hell would I know?”
Clint drove Thad out to his own house in suburban Burr Ridge and dumped him on one of the brocade couches in the living room. When he was sure he wouldn’t roll off, he headed for the kitchen to get a bag of chips. Right from the beginning, he’d liked Olivia, but now he wasn’t sure. Thad was his teammate, and no matter how big a pain in the ass he was, Clint loved the guy, and he’d always have his back.
