Page 121 of Wanted You More

Marybelle used to sayonce a cheater always a cheater, which is ironic given her position now. Does that mean I can brush off the ugly feeling nipping at the bottom of my stomach? Not easily, but I’ll try.

Taking a deep breath, I smile tightly at the people I pass heading to Noah’s desk and stop a few feet away from the pair. Gripping the bag of food a little tighter, I clear my throat and wait for them to turn to me.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting. I guess I’m so used to the sour-yet-sweet smile that Bailey gave me all the time in the past, but she looks…sad now. Her eyes are red and puffy like she’s been crying, and her lips waver as she steps away from Noah.

There isn’t an ounce of smugness on her face when she swipes at her cheeks and glances from me to Noah and back.

It’s me who breaks the silence. “I wanted to drop off lunch for you,” I tell Noah, placing the bag on his desk and staring at them cautiously.

Bailey looks at the bag. “That’s nice of you,” she says quietly, her voice off from whatever has her upset. She looks to her ex. “I should get going. Thank you.”

Noah offers her a terse nod, watches as she swerves around us, and walks out of the office. He waits a few moments before letting a heavy breath escape. “I don’t want you to think that was anything,” he begins, pulling his chair out and dropping onto it.

As much as I don’t want to, I ask, “Is she okay?” It’s obvious that she’s not, and it’s not any of my business. Well, maybe a little since she came here to talk it out with Noah.

He scrubs a hand down his tired face. He’s got bags under his eyes, and I wonder how late he stayed up working on the case files he was given to review. They’re giving him busy work that nobody else wants, which doesn’t seem all that fair to me. But he doesn’t complain. Not even when I’m texting him random things that probably annoy him while he’s trying to focus.

“Her mom passed away unexpectedly yesterday,” he tells me, voice grim. “They were close. Peggy, her mother, was a good woman.”

I can tell it’s heavy news for him. How many times has he been around her parents? Spent time with them? Had family dinners? I’m sure there were times they thought they’d be around each other for the rest of their life if Bailey talked to them the way she did with everybody else. She’d been sure about him.

About their future.

Until me.

Nobody should have to deal with losing a parent. It’s a cruel, tragic reality, no matter how the person passed away.

Looking over my shoulder, I lower my defenses and tap Noah’s desk. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s wariness on his face as I turn on my heels and walk back toward the exit where Bailey disappeared. I search the street and spot her getting into a car.

“Bailey! Hold up.” I jog over once I catch her attention, seeing her body tense when I stop by her vehicle.

She sniffs back tears. “I wasn’t trying to get back together with him or anything. I’m not the type to go after somebody else’s man.”

I choose to brush off the undertone of her statement. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for your loss. It’s not easy losing a parent. I would know.”

Surprise has her eyes lifting to mine. I guess she assumed I was going to tell her off or something. She sinks into her seat and grabs a bunched-up tissue from the center console. “I said some pretty shitty things to you.”

I nod. “Yeah, but that’s in the past.”

Her head shakes as she moves frizzy hair away from her face that I don’t think she’s brushed today. I get it. When I was released from the hospital, I barely got out of bed. All I could do was sleep surrounded by Mom’s things to smell like her, knowing I’d never be able to again—knowing that, with time, that scent would fade. So do I get it? Yes. More than I’d like.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” I reiterate, stepping back from her car. “I know it probably doesn’t mean much since it won’t bring her back, but…” All I can do is shrug.

If she expects an apology for anything else, she’s not going to get one. In the end, I didn’t steal Noah from her. We both know to some degree that she never had him.

I guess she feels differently. “I’m no stranger to loss,” she replies, voice still a broken version of the one I’m used to. “But you’re right. This is different. This loss…it hurts on a level I never knew existed. Losing Noah should have hurt this much too.”

Her glassy eyes meet mine, not blinking once as they pierce my face. “But it didn’t.”

There is no real measure of loss. Or grief. Or pain. The things we lose in life, the people, are going to be felt no matter how much of an impact they made. But I understand where she’s coming from. The worst pain you can suffer is when love is part of the thing taken away.

I don’t tell her I’m sorry.

In fact, I don’t say anything to imply I am.

Lying does no good here.

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