Page 58 of Healing You
“Is Nick in my living room?” she whispered—no, it wasn't even a whisper. It was barely words.
“He drove us home in my car. It was late and I was too tipsy to drive him back, so he stayed on the couch. I told him I'd give him a ride back this morning, but I wanted to wait until you were up.”
Yvonne should be grateful, she supposed. But mostly, she just didn't want to see a man... any man at the moment. Not even her father would be welcome today.
“Can I get you something? Eggs, toast, coffee?”
“You got anything stronger than coffee, but weaker than cocaine?” Yvonne said, throwing the covers off her legs to find that her dress was only halfway down her waist and she was still in her strapless bra.
Kyra's chuckle was quiet, but it was nice to hear, all the same. “Espresso coming right up. I'll drop Nick off and grab some from Lex's on the way back.”
“You don't have to come back just for that—”
“I know.”
“Seriously, Kyra, go home—”
“Not a chance, Sarzacki. You're stuck with me today. I borrowed some clothes.” Yvonne always considered herself curvy, but Kyra in her T-shirt and running shorts turned the outfit from sporty to downright pornographic. And she looked hella hot in them.
Yvonne shook her head. “I wear those clothes every day and on me they're ratty and gross. You put them on and all of a sudden you're like Sporty Spice.”
Kyra held up two fingers in the peace sign. “Girl power,” she said with a wink. “I'll be back in a few.”
Yvonne laughed, but it sounded choked. Raw. Like a hollow echo of the woman she felt herself becoming with Steve not even twenty-four hours ago. When she heard the front door close, she forced herself to get out of bed. A hollow echo of the woman I was? Who the hell was she kidding? That was definitely not who she was. She was not going to be the girl who fell apart when her boyfriend broke up with her. She was not going to sit around all day wallowing like a lovesick teenager. Not this time.
Mind reeling and heartsick, she gulped down more water. She already missed him. Missed the way he could make her feel like the only woman in the room, even if she was surrounded by supermodels. Missed the way he would hold her and his silly little under-the-breath one line jokes.
Gatsby, Daisy, and Ruckus each came up to say good morning. True to form, Ruckus barreled through the room, nearly knocking her over, while Daisy and Gatsby seemed to notice something different. They looked up at her with spirited brown eyes, mirroring her sadness.
Yvonne closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Steve's scent was all over her. She could smell his cologne mixed with the sweet smell of his skin and aftershave.
Even though her stomach turned and her head pounded, she turned on the shower and peeled the yellow cotton dress off of her body, stepping into the steaming spray of water. The same stream of water where she and Steve had had sex for the first time in over a decade. A rush of tears stung the back of her eyes, her heart pounding and hand shaking as she reached for the soap. Yes, it hurts, she thought as the thick misery spread over her body like sticky molasses. And it will probably keep hurting for a long time, she said to herself, giving her brain and body a much needed pep talk. But what the hell was she gonna do? Never shower again? Move? No. She was going to be fine. She had healed once when he walked out on her. She would do it again.
She thought back to her therapy sessions that she went to after the accident. Talk it out, her doctor would say. If your voice can't find the words, then write them in a letter. Get the feelings out however you can. Maybe she could have talked through those feelings if she wasn't so raw. If she wasn't so shaken by depth of her feelings for Steve and so vulnerable at the fact that history was repeating itself. Maybe she deserved him dumping her thirteen years ago after the accident. Well, 'deserved' was a strong word... but maybe she could understand it. Understand how and why he could blame her so adamantly for the accident. But this time? This time, she did nothing wrong.
Yvonne shut the water off and after a quick towel dry, she slid into shorts and a tank top, not even bothering to look in the mirror.
There was a quick rap on her front door and Yvonne stole a quick look at the clock. That was fast, she thought. Then again, Giuseppe's was only a five minute drive and Lex's was within walking distance. “It's open, Kyra,” she called out, flipping her head over and tying her hair into a ponytail.
Only, Kyra didn't walk in. Still bent over, she watched through her legs as Steve entered. And he looked nearly as wrecked on the outside as she felt on the inside. His eyes met hers and their connection radiated between them, buzzing alive like some sort of short circuited wiring.
Yvonne flipped her head back, her ponytail lashing like a whip, and she felt suddenly unsteady on her feet. A mix of day-old Limoncello and panic roiled in her stomach as the silence shimmied between them, only serving to make her all the more livid. “No,” was all she could manage to choke out, but she couldn't move. She felt pinned by his pained stare.
“Yvonne, please,” he said, breaking the moment and taking a step toward her. The dogs rushed to greet him, completely unaware of the new situation. Hearing her name from his lips stirred something both achingly sour and sweet all at once. Like having that last piece of chocolate before lent and knowing it would be a long, long time before you had it again.
“What are you doing here?” she muttered. And damn him. She hated that him being there caused little fireworks to pop off in her belly. She hated how good it made her feel. But just as quickly as she felt the rush, her heart tweaked, then dropped in her chest, leaving it a hollow cavity.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said quietly.
An itch crawled up her spine like a line of ants making their way toward her head. A crazy laugh exploded from her lips. “You wanted to make sure I was okay?” she repeated, the cynicism bitter on her tongue. “I'm fine, Steve. I'm still standing. I'm not curled into a ball in a fit of tears. So, you can ignore those feelings of guilt you have. Flick Jiminy Cricket off your shoulder... your conscience is clear.”
Steve's eyes narrowed, hot and tender, and she could feel him studying her, assessing her and the situation. “You should know me better than to think this visit is about my conscience.” She tried to swallow past the tightness in her throat, but it wasn't much use.
“So what was it, then? Couldn't handle seeing me on such a constant basis? The living embodiment of your life's biggest mistake? Or was it that you couldn't handle seeing me because you know as well as I do that that accident was more my fault than anyone's.”
“Don't put words in my mouth, Eve.”
“Then give me an explanation. Give me anything.” she pleaded.
