Page 125 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
The easier it comes, the easier it goes. The truly valuable things and people will always test your mettle, but every bit of pain will be worth it in the end. Don’t give up when something is difficult. Dig in your heels.
“I have to dig in my heels.”
Everyone says, “What?”
“It’s a long story. Listen—I love you guys. Thank you so much for worrying about me, and thank you for being my friends. But I think I know what I need to do. And Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not totally off the hook, but making this phone call goes a long way.”
When he says, “Thanks,” he sounds dejected.
“What’s the matter?”
“Um . . . I sorta liked the idea of the dress.”
I say goodbye and hang up before the conversation can take any more unexpected turns, then dial Matteo’s number.
I’ve got some heel digging to get to.
THIRTY-FIVE
MATTEO
I see her number on my phone, and it feels as if I’ve been shot through the heart.
No one ever told me this love business would be so painful.
I take a deep breath and hit “Answer.” “It’s you.”
“It’s me. Please don’t hang up.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good. Because I need to say important things, and I need you to listen.”
Frowning at the strange tone of her voice, I stand from the chair I’ve been sitting in for the past hour and feeling sorry for myself. “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes!” She sighs, going from enthusiastic to wistful. “But not because I needed liquid courage to call you. Because I was depressed.”
That makes two of us. I stare at the flames crackling in the fireplace, wishing my chest wasn’t so tight so I could breathe.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” I lower my voice. “And I don’t like the idea of you drinking alone.”
“Cut me some slack, Count. It’s not every day I get dumped by the man of my dreams. And before you ask, no, I didn’t get drunk after Brad left me at the altar, and no, he wasn’t the man of my dreams. He was a fantasy I made up in my head who ticked off a bunch of boxes that didn’t matter because they weren’t real. You’re real. You’re what I was looking for all along, only I was too busy dealing with all my disasters to realize it.”
She pauses for a moment. “Though I have to admit that you’re incredibly irritating when you want to be. I’ve never met anyone who can do smug better than you.”
That roar in my ears is my pulse. I can hardly hear her voice above it. I’m not sure how much of what she’s saying is the alcohol, how much is the truth, or if I want to know the difference. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
She laughs. It loosens some of the tightness in my chest. “You get a gold star for effort, that’s for sure.”
My mouth wants to turn up into a smile, as it always wants to when I hear her voice. Or see her face. Or think of her.
But I meant what I told her earlier. She needs time. I won’t be a rebound. I can’t be—not for her.
