Page 76 of Just Friends

Out of ideas, he headed to the apartment complex to stay until she came home, and he would not break in. He could still pick locks with the best. Weasel drove around to the rear lot farther away and found her car. Swearing, he turned back to the front of the building.

Standing to one side, so she couldn’t see him out the peephole; he knocked and waited. The sound of the floor shifting from inside, and he knew she was there.

“We need to talk,” Weasel said, sounding calmer than he felt. It was a perk of the job.

The movement on the other side stilled.

“I know you’re there,” he called. “I deal with evasive people for a living, babe; I can do this all night…. Or I could yell our business to the entire building if you’d rather do this through a door. But if you’re gonna break up with me, at least have the decency to do it to my face.”

The click of the deadbolt lock flipped, but the door remained closed. Weasel turned the knob and door swung open.

“Rebecca?” She lay curled in the fetal position on the couch wearing jeans and a sweater, hair escaping in clumps from the clip. He stood across the room staring; now thathe was in front of her, he didn’t know where to begin. So many thoughts and emotions swirled through him. “What the hell is going on?”

She didn’t look up or speak.

Weasel took a deep breath and paced, the blood pounding in his ears. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to,” she replied, voice weak. She was crying, but Weasel had to ignore it.

“Bullshit.”

“I do,” she sat up. “I made a promise to my mom and— “

“And you couldn’t be honest with me,” he snapped. “I came home to an empty house.”

“I’d overstayed…we knew this wasn’t permanent.”

“You didn’t, and no, we did not.”

Rebecca rubbed both hands down her face. “I’d told you thatI’d always planned on leaving, and we said sleeping together was a one-time thing.”

“No, you said it. And then we did it a thousand more times. I thought, maybe we’d gotten to where you’d talk to me about what you wanted for the future. Were you ever planning on telling me you were moving back to Chicago?”

“Yes,” she replied, but he didn’t buy it. Torn between hitting his knees and begging her to stay with him and screaming and storming out, he wanted to punch something. He had pride damn it.

“You told Hannah that I freaked out when things got too domestic. That’s not true.”

“Sure you did… Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you were interested in a relationship. That’s not what you do. Your history proves that.” So that’s what she thought. She never considered him relationship material. He’d taken punches by huge men that didn’t hurt as much as this. He was not equipped to deal with the conflicting emotions flooding him, and he stormed out.

Twenty-Seven

At the gun range, Weasel emptied the fifth or sixth mag into the target; there was only a bullet riddled strip of paper left, and he didn’t feel any better when he turned to find Dalton there.

“What?” he dragged the shooting ear muffs down. “Why are you here?”

Dalton studied him for a beat. “Well, it makes folks nervous when you walk in and start emptying mags into one target in a rage.”

“They called you?” Weasel peered at the door leading to the front desk and faces scattered from the window. The range around him had cleared.Shit.

“How’d you screw it up with Rebecca?”

“Me? I didn’t screw up shit. She’s the one leaving. You automatically assume that I’m—What?”

Dalton nodded to Weasel’s hand, and he realized he was waving the weapon around. He swore again. “It’s empty.” Weasel dropped the magazine out and handed the weapon to Dalton.

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