Crushed (30 page)

I lift my eyebrows. “I thought you were a Texas lifer.”

She shrugs. “I thought so, too. But that vision always included Devon and a big house and a fancy college degree. That’s gone belly up. Maybe it’s time to change the vision altogether, you know? Try a new city. New friends. New Kristin.”

I think about this. I admit, despite the fact that I’ve always wanted “bigger” for myself than to plop home in Cedar Grove and start popping out babies before the ink dried on my diploma, I’d never considered Kristin doing anything other than that.

So I’m surprised. And also proud.

“Do it,” I say, nodding. “Absolutely do it. Go to Seattle or Denver or New York or Miami. Go
live
.”

“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip. “I think I will.”

We both fall silent, lost in our own thoughts.

“Well, anyway,” she says after a while, tearing at the tissue in her hand. “Sorry things didn’t work out with you and Michael. I guess he was only here to fuck with Devon’s life. Did he tell you that Tim was his dad?”

“Yeah. I knew.”

She shakes her head. “That’s
crazy.
I didn’t know stuff like that happened in real life. Can you imagine spending your entire life thinking your parents were your parents, and then learning they’d lied to you?”

“It would suck, for sure.”

She stands. “Totally. Guess that’s why he was always so withdrawn all the time.”

Sure. One itty-bitty tiny part of the puzzle maybe.

Because while I feel bad for Michael, I’m fresh out of oh-the-poor-guy sentiments.

I lost all of that right about the time he told me that he couldn’t love me.

In hindsight, I should have carried a knife out to that parking lot. He could have just stabbed my heart and made the whole thing a hell of a lot less painful.

“You gonna be okay?” I ask as she heads for the door.

She gives me a bold smile “Absolutely.”

“I leave early tomorrow,” I say. “Should I wake you up?”

She snorts. “Don’t even think about it.”

Then she sighs, turns back, and holds open her arms. “Hug.” It’s a command.

“Gosh, when you put it like that . . .”

But I hug her anyway, loving her, despite her prevalent wretchedness. She’ll grow out of it. I think.

She leaves, but before she closes the door all the way, she sticks her head back in. “Hey. You should totally find a boyfriend this year, K? One you actually like.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” I drop the tissue back on my dresser. “I find them just fine. Getting them to want me back is the problem.”

She winks, and it looks horrid with her puffy red eyes. “Then quit picking the idiots.”

Kristin shuts the door.

“You hear that, heart?” I mutter. “Quit picking the idiots.”

My stupid heart has only one response.

Michael.

Chapter 33

Michael

Three Weeks Later

The best part about my new job?

No godforsaken Cambridge polo shirt.

The second best part?

No longer living in a one-room basement apartment in no-nightlife Cedar Grove.

Not that my new apartment is a penthouse or anything. But it’s on the eleventh floor of a sleek downtown apartment building, and my bedroom has actual walls.

Oh, and the job?

Working for Tim Patterson.

The job Devon was meant to take before he went off to law school.

I’m well aware that I was Tim’s backup option, and for once, I’m just fine with that.

Because I actually like this job. I love it, actually. It feels good to put my finance degree to good use, not just because I feel like I should do
something
with it, but because honestly?

I’ve always pictured myself as the guy in the suit who knows numbers.

It took me awhile to get here, but . . . I’ve arrived.

And it feels damn good.

And if I’m lonely as fuck? Well, that
doesn’t
feel good. But it feels safe, and that’s enough.

Or at least it’s enough during the day.

At night, when I’m home alone, longing for long curly hair and sumptuous curves? Not as much.

But I’m getting by.

I’m three weeks into life without Chloe Bellamy, and I’m getting by just fine.

Sort of.

I drop my keys and briefcase by the front door, loosening my tie as I head to the fridge and pull out a beer.

It’s seven o’clock on Thursday, and the first night all week I haven’t had work-related dinner or drinks.

I tell myself I relish the free time.

The truth? The solitude fucking sucks.

I flip on the TV. The Yankees are in town playing the Rangers, so that’s something, I guess.

I’ve just pulled off the tie, dropping it to the back of the couch, when there’s a knock at the door.

I frown. Half the point of living in a fancy building is the doorman, who prevents drop-in surprises like this.

I think about ignoring it. But the knock comes again. Louder.

“Shit,” I mutter, setting the beer on the table.

I open the door and promptly feel all the oxygen sucked out of the room.

For a moment, I don’t move. I can’t move.

And then I do. I don’t care that it’s not the manliest thing in the world.

I hug my best friend. I mean, it’s one of those back-thumping, man-hug affairs.

Which he returns.

“Ethan fucking Price. What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles that old familiar golden-boy smile. “You sounded like shit on the phone a few weeks ago.”

I motion him in. “So you fly from New York to Dallas and hunt me down at my apartment like a motherfucking stalker?”

“I did. Actually.
We
did.”

A tiny brunette appears at his side. She’s wearing a black leather dress with girly platform sandals. Her dark hair is a bunch of feminine curls, but her dark eye makeup is tough as nails.

She’s . . . an enigma. A cute one.

She sticks out a hand. “Stephanie Kendrick. You must be Mikey?”

“Mikey?” I mutter as she moves past me. Nobody’s called me Mikey . . . ever.

I knew that Ethan was seeing a new girl, but this girl is not what I would have expected.

Ethan clamps me on the shoulder before following Stephanie into my apartment, but before I close the door I realize that when Ethan decided to swoop in, he brought the whole damn cavalry.

“Liv.”

Olivia Middleton is exactly like I remember her. Tall. Slim. Perfectly put together in black pants and a white sleeveless turtleneck. There are pearls in her ears, her hair swept into a low ponytail, her face as beautiful as it is in my dreams.

No.
Was
in my dreams. I don’t have dreams about her anymore. The new star of my dreams is curvy, curly, and no longer a part of my life.

I push the painful thought aside.

“Hey, Michael.” Olivia looks nervous. I don’t blame her. The last time we saw each other, I professed my undying love, and she, well . . . didn’t.

I wait for the old gut-searing pain at seeing her. I wait for the sharp stab of want, the tormented longing.

It never comes.

I’m glad to see her. Damn glad to see her. But I don’t . . . want her. I don’t love her. Not like that. Not anymore.

I open my arms and she comes into them, her hug warm and friendly and everything I’ve missed.

I’ve missed her. I’ve missed
them
.

“Hi,” she says into my neck.

I put my hand on her hair. “Hi.”

Then I see him.

Tall.

Huge.

Scowling.

I release Olivia immediately.

She turns around, and the smile she gives this guy is, well, let’s just say that once I would have given anything to have that sort of smile directed my way.

Now, however, I’m more concerned that the big guy looks ready to kill me.

“Michael, you remember Paul.”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “
Great
memories of this guy.”

His lips twitch just the slightest bit, calling attention to his asymmetrical face. One side looks like a Hollywood action poster. The other has three pissed-off-looking scars.

He steps into the apartment, and after checking to make sure that this is the last of my surprise visitors, I shut the door. He surprises me by sticking out a hand. “I don’t think I ever said sorry about the way I set you up when we first met.”

I ignore the hand. “You mean when you stole Liv’s phone, texted me pretending to be her, and tricked me into going to motherfucking Maine to make a fool of myself?”

He withdraws his offered hand, instead rubbing it over his dark blond buzz cut with a sigh. “Yup. That’d be the time.”

I study the guy. Study the way Olivia moves to his side and looks at his face longer than necessary. Like she can’t get enough of him.

I sigh. “Whatever. Water under the bridge, whatever.”

“Great!” comes up a droll voice from behind me. “But forget about the water. How about booze?”

Ethan’s girlfriend begins unloading a grocery bag I hadn’t realized she was carrying. Vodka, white wine, bourbon, and scotch.

I move to the kitchen to get glasses. With this group all in the same room, we’re going to need every last drop of what she’s brought.

But then something weird happens. Just as I’m trying to figure out how to ease the awkwardness in the room, I realize it’s not awkward. The four of them are chatting like the best of friends, which makes absolutely no fucking sense. Olivia is raiding my pantry, pulling out a bag of chips. Paul is checking out Olivia’s ass, even as he and Ethan discuss the game that’s still on in the background. Ethan has an arm on his girlfriend’s butt, even as said girlfriend is hollering at Olivia to “search for chocolate.”

I rub my eyes, and Stephanie catches it.

“Weird, right?” she asks, her white teeth beaming at me. “All of us being besties?”

“Don’t make it weird, Steph,” Olivia says, searching for a bowl to put the chips in. That’s so Olivia. No eating out of the bag for her.

“Shut it, you,” Stephanie says, heading to the freezer for ice. “You don’t get to chime in here.”

“Why not?” Liv asks, eating a potato chip.

“Because you’ve made out with every hot guy in this room. It’s damn unfair. So
I
get to do the talking.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter, all but diving for the whiskey.

Olivia looks unperturbed. Ethan and Paul are still chatting like old friends.

What.

The.

Ever-loving.

Fuck.

“So,” Stephanie says, pouring herself vodka on ice and then adding some club soda she found in my fridge. “You want to know how we all became friends?”

Paul puts a hand on the tiny brunette’s head as his other hand pours some scotch. “I don’t think he cares, Steph. He’s got bigger things on his mind.”

“Indeed,” Olivia says, watching me over a glass of white wine. “Ethan says you’ve got girl problems.”

“Actually, hold up,” I say. “I really do want to know how the hell this is happening.”

Ethan spoke up. “I told you. You sounded like shit when we talked. And then your texts became increasingly seldom and surly. And I realized . . . you’re still my best friend.” He shrugged. “So I came.”

I hold his gaze.
You’re still my best friend
. It’s incredible how good those words are to hear. And yet . . .

“Okay, I get how you might come,” I tell Ethan. “And how you’d bring your new girl.” I gesture at Stephanie, who winks. “But you two . . .”

I break off and raise my eyebrows at Olivia and Paul.

Olivia glances at her boyfriend. “Well, Paul is, um, atoning, for being a complete shit the past year. Ethan and I have been sort of trying to repair our friendship, and when he mentioned he was coming down here . . .”

“She made me come,” Paul said.

Olivia nodded. “Pretty much.”

I rub a hand over my neck. “Yeah. Look. I appreciate you guys coming, and I appreciate that the four of you inexplicably overcame a really fucked-up past, but you’re telling me that two exes and their new significant others are not only civil, but friendly to the point that you travel together? To Texas?”

Olivia touches my arm, just briefly. “We came for you, Michael.”

“Right,” I mutter. “Because the story wasn’t weird enough before, might as well throw in the fifth wheel who was the catalyst for the entire mess.”

Stephanie makes a tsking noise. “It’s true. You really should have kept your tongue out of your best friend’s girlfriend’s mouth.”

“Nah,” Paul says, helping himself to a handful of chips. “Then they’d still be together.”

“Right.” Stephanie says, clicking her glass against Paul’s. “So really we should be
thanking
Mikey here for being a home wrecker.

Ethan glares. “Don’t push it.”

I glance at him, worried that his forgiveness has limits, but he’s smiling.

I scratch my forehead. “Okay, well, I’m glad you guys all worked out your shit, but I’m guessing you didn’t choose Dallas as a top vacation destination.”

“No, but I am planning to get some cowboy boots,” Stephanie muses. “And maybe a cowboy to ride.”

Ethan growls and Olivia stands up straight, setting her glass aside and clapping her hands like a kindergarten teacher. “Okay. Enough chatter. Let’s get down to business.”

Stephanie stands on her toes to stage-whisper in Paul’s ear. “What do you see in her?”

Paul’s ravaged face looks at Olivia and practically devours her. “Everything.”

Stephanie makes a gagging motion.

“Anyway,” Liv says. “Ethan filled us in on your colossal fuckup, Michael.”

“Whoa,” I say, my eyes going to Ethan, who looks barely guilty.

“Sorry, dude,” he says. “That night when you called, you sounded . . . well, like shit. And then you started ignoring my calls—”

“And we decided we didn’t want you to start sliding backward,” Liv says. “We want you to be happy. All of us.”

“Oh, yes, me especially,” Paul mutters.

His girlfriend shoots him a look.

“Guys.” I pour more bourbon. “I appreciate it, I do, but I think you’ve misread the situation. It’s not what you think.”

The room is silent for a moment, and to my surprise, it’s Paul who speaks up first, his gaze direct, his voice leaving no room for bullshit. “It’s simpler than you’re imagining it to be,” he says.