Page 33 of Famous Last Words
“We broke up six months ago when I found he was sleeping with an agent at another brokerage.” She shakes her head as if she’s suddenly remembering something horrible, trying to rid it from her mind, and I feel an incessant gnawing at the back of my neck.
“He mostly leaves me alone at work. But every now and again he’ll call me late at night when he’s drunk, asking to see me.” She grimaces, holding up her phone right as it starts ringing again. “Case in point.”
“Does he want you back?”
She laughs out loud, but it’s a bitter sound, void of humor. “No. Tadd wants—” She pauses as if to consider her words. “Tadd wants someone gullible enough to put up with his shit. He doesn’t realize that I’m no longer that person.”
“Did he ever hurt you? Put his hands on you?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
She scoffs. “Hands? No. Words? Yes.”
I study her as she stares down at her wine. “What did he say?”
She shakes her head. “Your ass is too big. You shouldn’t wear dresses that tight. If you lost a little weight, you’d be so much prettier. I only went out with you because I felt sorry for you. Who’s going to want you now? You know, the usual.”
I don’t even know this guy, but I hate him with every fiber of my being. Who the fuck actually says those kinds of mean things to someone?
“Does he know about me?” When she looks at me again, I offer her my cockiest smirk despite the rage searing my insides.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but I’m almost certain I catch a flush tinge her cheeks as she looks back down at her glass. “He saw that I got a box of roses delivered at work.” She looks pointedly at me. “And he saw photos of us on the internet tonight.”
“There’re photos of us already?”
The screen on her phone lights up with yet another fucking call from this guy, and I can’t help but smile because talk about timing. I snatch the device from Keller and hit answer.
“Robbie!” she hisses, covering her gaping mouth with her hand.
With the phone against my ear, I listen for a moment, not saying a word.
“It’s about time you came to your senses,sweetheart,” a low voice says, smacking with smugness.
“I ain’t your fuckin’ sweetheart,bud.”
“I—” I imagine him glancing at the phone, checking he’s dialed the right contact. He clears his throat, suddenly sounding very authoritarian as he demands, “Who is this?”
Frankly, I don’t like his tone. “Who the fuck isthis?”
Keller’s eyes are wide as she stares at me, cheeks paling.
“Oh, you must be the hockey goon,” he says with a derisive scoff.
Goon? I swear to God, I clench my jaw so tight I’m sure I feel a molar crack. “And you must be the irrelevant ex who can’t seem to take no for a fuckin’ answer.”
“Put Fran on the phone,” he responds with a bored tone, but I cantell the irrelevant ex comment really irked him by the way his words are spoken through seemingly gritted teeth.
I glance at Keller to find her watching me with wide eyes. I flash her a reassuring grin, waving a hand placatingly. “No can do, bud. She’s fast asleep. On my chest.”
“Put her on the goddamn phone.”
“No, I won’t,” I say slowly. “But I’ll tell you what I will do.” He goes to speak, but I cut him off. “If you don’t stop calling, or texting, or harassingmygirl—” My gaze flits to Keller to find her hanging onto every one of my words, and I wink at her. “Me and my hockey stick’ll stop by for a visit, and I’ll show you just how much of a fuckin’ goon I can be. I’m from Dorchester, motherfucker. We don’t play nice, so don’t fuckin’ test me.”
He’s silent.
“You got that,Chad?”
“It’s Tadd.” He’s positively seething.
I scoff. “Nah, bud. It’s whatever the fuck I tell you it is.” And before he can say anything more, I end the call, smirking down at the black screen as I imagine the fucker’s face.
