Page 15 of Second Chance Ex
Me: Hey bro, did you get her in a cab?
I receive a text back no more than a few seconds later.
Ryan: Dude, you are so far gone it’s not even funny anymore. At first it was cute. Now it’s fucking annoying.
Me: Don’t be a dick.
Ryan: Yes, Joey. I got her in a goddamn cab.
I consider my response, hating myself as I type out the words, but can you blame me?
Me: Alone or with someone?
Ryan: Alone.
I grin, satisfied. But then my phone vibrates with another text.
Ryan: But I lined up some dude on Hinge for her to pick up on the way.
I glare at my phone. Fucking dick.
Me: Hilarious.... Did you give the cab driver her address or her folks?
Ryan: OMG, JT… I gave the cab driver her parent’s address. Happy?
Before I can reply, I get an immediate follow-up text.
Ryan: You good, or you gonna keep cock blocking me? Wifey is seriously death-staring the shit out of me right now…
I chuckle, shaking my head at my oldest friend.
Me: Thanks Ry.
He sends me athumbs upin return, and I release a sigh, tucking my phone back into my pocket.
Dragging a hand over my face, I turn and head up the stone steps to my house. My huge house. The house with six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a cinema, a state-of-the-art gym, a fucking wine room even though I don’t even drink wine. She does.
I bought this house during my rookie year. For us. It’s the house I imagined I would live in with my girl. The house I thought we’d start a family in. And yet, here I am, all alone, with no one but my own sorry ass. Not even a fucking dog. Maybe I should get a dog….
Last night is a bit of a blur. A blur not even a long hot shower followed by a double shot iced latte can clarify. After my run in with Joey in the bathroom at the party, I spent the rest of my evening doing all I could to avoid him. All while wearing his suit jacket that smelled of him, and tricked me into feeling as if he was constantly there, draped over me in the most delicious way.
And, of course, I dealt with my melancholy the only way I know how. I got drunk. And unfortunately I got so drunk that I couldn’t even give my congratulatory speech to Madison and Ryan. Heather gave it on my behalf because I was drunk, perched in a darkened corner of the back yard, away from everyone, with my head in my hands, hating life. I don’t even know how I ended up back at my parents. An Uber, I presume, but I certainly didn’t order or pay for one via my app. For allI know I could have gotten into a car with Ted Bundy himself last night. I am never drinking again.Yeah, right.
As I sit on my bed in my old bedroom, I carefully study Joey’s Tom Ford jacket for any sign of imperfection. Thankfully it appears to be stain-free and in one piece, unlike my dress which is currently in the trash.
I don’t really know what to make of last night. What to make of my encounter with Joey. When he and I ended our relationship, I, being the mature, grown-ass adult that I was, went and not only deleted him, but also blocked him from any and all social media. We have a lot of mutual friends, and I didn’t want to see him tagged in posts and pictures, and I sure as shit couldn’t risk drunkenly stalking him during one of the emotional breakdowns I regularly endured. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to handle finding him living his best life while I was absolutely shattered.
Sure, it was me who ended things between us. I was the one who broke up with him. But it was merely an act of self-preservation; Joey and I were doomed from the very beginning. It’s a shame it took us so long to realize. When I finally did come to the realization, it was almost too late, and I ended it because, at the time, there was no coming back from what we’d been through, and nothing he or I did was going to mend the wound that the heartbreak had caused. However, it appears he’s happily moved on if the pretty little blonde from last night is anything to go by, and if I’m honest that hurts worse than I could have ever prepared myself for. I know it’s been two years, and it’s stupid of me to think that he wouldn’t have moved on. Butseeing it with my own eyes is like salt in my unhealed wounds.
So, yes, Joey has moved on. Obviously. But what I can’t seem to get past is the moment we shared together in the bathroom last night. I know I wasn’t imaging it when I saw that look in his eyes. Even if it had been fleeting, Joey looked at me,reallylooked at me, like the last two years never happened. Like we were right back in the thick of it, when we were just Prue and Joey. God, I didn’t realize how much I missed those days until I stared into his eyes last night.
I shake my head free of my thoughts and, with a sigh, I grab Joey’s jacket and head downstairs to the tune of Bob Dylan crooning from somewhere in the house, accompanied by the sound of something hissing violently in the kitchen. Walking through the archway, I find Dad tinkering with something—possibly pieces of an old clock radio—at the kitchen table, while Mom swats at a pan of bacon sizzling and spitting from the stovetop.
“Good morning, Prue Bear,” Mom shouts over the cacophony of sounds. “I didn’t know you were coming back here last night.”
“Neither did I,” I mutter, scratching at the back of my head, still confused as to how I ended up here. “Hence the getup.” I tug at the slightly too small One Direction tour t-shirt I found in one of the boxes at the top of my old closet. Teamed with an old pair of skinny jeans I’m shocked still zip up, I look like I stepped straight out of 2012.
“What time did you get in last night?”
