Page 83 of Mine to Love

On another night at another time, I would thoroughly enjoy pissing my brother off by being the third wheel. Not tonight. Not when I want–need–to know why Reese lied to me. I polish off the rest of my beer and toss the empty bottle in the recycle bin.

“Thanks for the beer. I’m gonna leave you two lovebirds alone.”

“Mom and Dad would love to hang with you, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” I’m not about to tell my brother I got dissed by our parents as well. Three strikes. Maybe I should have stayed in Texas.

I take an out of the way detour on the way back to my parents’ place and drive by Reese’s condo. It isn’t to stalk her, and I most definitely am not looking for another man’s car in her driveway.

I spot her car and no others and continue down the street. She’s home. Alone. Maybe. Hopefully. Now what?

She clearly has no desire to see me this evening, and possibly not all weekend. I can understand if she wants to break the cycle of me staying with her every weekend. She needs her space, her independence. I even respect that.

But to lie to me? That isn’t okay. She prides herself on being brutally honest. Today she has been anything but. I pull over and type out a text. The right words don’t come. They never do.

This is why I don’t do relationships. This and because I have no time. I can talk about finance and the stock market with ease. When out of the work environment and alone with Reese, I can flirt. It comes easy to me when I’m with her. Everything is easier when I’m with her.

“Shit.” I toss my cell on the passenger seat and pull a U-turn in the road. Pounding on her door on a Friday night when she already turned me down will be crossing that thin line she drew.

I don’t care. I’m not playing games. My time is precious, and I don’t want to waste it thinking the worst. In four long strides, I reach her front door. I ring the bell and knock. And wait. And wait.

And wait. The television is on, as are the kitchen lights. I wait another minute, then knock again. “Reese. It’s me. I just need a minute to...ask you something real quick.”

Direct and to the point, that’s what I’ll be. Now I need to figure out what I’ll ask. Are you sleeping with anyone else? Do you want to be my girlfriend? What am I, fifteen? I run a frustrated hand through my hair and hear the click of the lock.

The front door opens and all I can see is Reese’s silhouette. She has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her hair is a mess. When she steps in front of the door, my words get stuck in my throat.

She’s wearing ratty sweatpants and a shirt that would hang on me. Her face is scrubbed clean like Emerson’s had been, only Reese’s skin is ashen and splotchy. She has purple bags under her eyes, and dry, cracked lips. She folds her hands across her belly and hunches over as if in pain.

“Reese?”

“What are you doing here, Logan?”

“Are you okay?” What a stupid question. She clearly is not.

“Sure.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m not sick.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“That, yeah.”

“Is something wrong? Johnny? Mariah?” I step up onto the threshold and gently nudge the door open slipping between the door and her.

“They’re fine.”

Once inside and I can see her better, I know she isn’t fine. The light from the television in the dark living room doesn’t hide the mess on the coffee table. A bottle of ibuprofen, a glass of water, a jar of peanut butter, and a bag of something.

“You are sick.” I close the door behind me and grip her elbow, guiding her back to the couch.

She falls on it as if exhausted from the walk to the door, and curls into a ball on her side.

“Reese.” I rub her leg through the blanket then move my hand to her forehead to see if she’s warm.

“I’m not sick.”

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