Page 108 of Wine & Whiskey
“No. Marta’s trying her best, but you know how he is.”
Yes, she knows. Stubborn, protective, loving. All the things that make her love him and him hate himself.
“I was hoping you would try to talk to him. He might listen to you.”
If that were true, she’d be with him. Helping him recover. Making sure he doesn’t push too hard. Instead of here, alone and miserable. “He said everything that needs to be said yesterday. He doesn’t want me.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“I'm not sure of anything anymore.”
He blows out a deep breath before standing up and bending over to hug her. “I’d better go. I’m sorry about all this.”
Her eyes sting with tears as her voice is stolen from the sob bubbling in her throat. “Me too.”
“I guess we’re not good?”
She shakes her head. The one thing she knows for sure. “We’re always good. You and I are still friends, no matter what.”
He nods and closes the door behind him. She presses against the headboard, fearful it’s the last time she’ll ever see him. Anger courses through her. Nick’s blind stubbornness hurts all of them. She has to get through to him. Grabbing her phone, she taps on the screen.
Can we please talk? We can work this out. I want to be with you. I love you.
I love you too.
Her breath catches at his response. A sliver of hope swells inside her.
Then please talk to me.
Nothing left to say. We don’t belong together.
She refuses to give up. They have too much to fight for.
Yes, we do. You’re all I want.
No. Anyone but me.
Nausea rolls through her stomach at his suggestion.
Really? That’s what you want? Me with another man?
Yes. Marry Evan like you were supposed to.He’s the man for you.You’ll be safe and happy.
Not happy. I’m miserable without you.
You were never mine to love.We shouldn’t have been together.You know it’s true, or you would have told me you loved me.
The phone slides to the floor before she curls into a ball, the last flicker of optimism smothered by his accusation. The fervor of their relationship finally extinguished by her needless hesitation to tell him the truth.
“What the hell?” Carrie’s voice comes from the doorway. “I could hear you sobbing…” The mattress dips from her friend sitting down. She picks up the cell and glides her finger across the screen, scrolling through the messages. “That son of a bitch.”
Carrie’s fingers pound the keys. It doesn’t matter what message she sends. His came through perfectly clear.
* * *
The French doorcreaks as Max opens it, but neither of them looks over. Nick sprawls on the lounge chair, an almost empty bottle of whiskey resting between his legs. Marta leans over him with a sandwich in her hand. “Eat and feel better. No good all drink.”
Alcohol and mothering never mix well. He’ll be the babysitter for a while. “I’ll take over from here, Marta. Why don’t you go back inside?”
