Finding Me (8 page)

“Or an excuse.”

My jaw clenches as I glare at Kitty. Mentally, I’m throwing a tantrum, screaming at her.

“Even if you’re able to establish a theory or definition of what causes them, or how to prevent them, it’s not going to bring him back, Harper.” Her words soak into me slowly, too slowly. I don’t know how she has so much control over my emotional responses, but it feels like she knows exactly how to play me to make me talk,
and
to listen
.

“Your dad loved you, Harper. I know this without ever knowing him, because you make it very apparent with your pain in getting over his death. I know that you had a very special relationship and you loved him very much, as well.” Her chin drops as she stares at me. It isn’t in a challenging manner, but like she’s waiting for me to be able to take in everything she has just said.

“I want you to spend some time over the next week considering what he would think if he knew that you were over here, away from your sisters and mom. Away from all of your friends. I also want you to consider what he’d say to you spending all of your time feeling guilty over something you shouldn’t. You couldn’t have stopped him from dying, Harper.”

The door is barely visible as I pull it open and leave. I know our time isn’t over, and that this is the second time that I’ve walked out on her and she can technically inform my professor, Dr. Kahndri, and my school that I’ve done this and it would force me to start taking required counseling sessions, but I don’t care. I need to get the hell away from her and allow some of these raw areas of my memories and heart some reprieve.

I consider calling in sick to work. The last thing I want to do is discuss how things went this morning with Kitty, and I know that Fitz will ask; he always does. However, knowing that calling in will only wave an even bigger red flag, I go.

Although I’m fifteen minutes late for my shift, the lab is empty when I arrive, so I take a seat and pull out my phone to reply to a text Kendall had sent me last night. Returning to Delaware after Christmas was difficult. Saying goodbye to all of my sisters once again had started to make me feel the emotions that I had somehow managed to avoid with my initial trek across the country.

Me: Sorry, I was asleep early last night. How are you?

Kendall: I was worried U wld B. Sorry :( Where should I send ur album?

When I moved my sisters had bombarded me with questions about where I was living. It wasn’t in the “let’s talk about designing your bedroom” sense. It was “we’re coming to get you now,” and I fought it by not responding to their calls and messages. They could have found me; it wouldn’t have been hard. They all knew where I worked, and I’m sure someone would have helped them as soon as they saw one or all of them, since they likely would have shown up with the entire cavalry. Now they seem resigned to the fact that this is something that I am going to do, and even if they were to show up tomorrow, I know now that I wouldn’t allow them to sway me into going back. I need to do this. Kitty convinced me of it this morning. I need to understand things and prove to myself that I can do this on my own. It’s not for anyone else. It’s for me that I need to do this.

I text her my address as Fitz enters with a white bag stained with grease and a drink tray.

“Muffin, muffin?”

“Those are some really greasy muffins.” I say, warily eyeing the bag.

Fitz gives me a wide grin. “Yeah, they’re way better than muffins. I got donuts!” He sets the bag down on my desk, along with the drinks, and anxiously rubs his hands together. “These are the best donuts you’ll ever eat. They sell out like every day. I stood in line in the snow with twenty other desperate people for these delicious delicacies.”

It’s freezing outside. I’ve never experienced this kind of cold where it feels like you can’t physically breathe and your face and hands burn. I thought the Thanksgiving Day parade was cold. It wasn’t. I enjoyed the snow’s appearance for the first couple of days, and have since been working on not considering it as a strong reason to return home.

I pull out a donut covered in coconut flakes and take a big bite. I don’t know how Fitz manages to stay so thin because he seems to know where all of the best desserts and treats are in town.

“Amazing, right?”

I nod in agreement because it is. It’s light and airy with the right amount of sweetness in the dough, and an ever-so-slightly crispy shell, and the most delicious raspberry filling I have ever tasted. It’s not a glob of thick raspberry jam that you usually find, but a still warm and slightly runny center that tastes like fresh raspberries. I feel slightly dazed by it. “Seriously, I might be convinced to go stand out in the snow too if they’re all this good.”

Fitz’s smile is filled with relief as he passes me a coffee. “They have really good coffee too. You’re so going to get acclimated to this weather.”

I feel my first laugh of the day flow out of me with ease, relaxing my muscles that I didn’t realize until now were still taut.

“How did things go this morning?”

“They were good. I think it made me realize that I’m here for the right reasons. I’m here for me, and accomplishing things that are important.”

Fitz nods a couple of times, holding a chocolate donut shining with icing and enough sprinkles that no one would be able to turn it down.

I don’t explain to him how I came to this conclusion. If I told him what Kitty said to me, there’s no way he’d allow me to explain my revelation without attempting to play devil’s advocate and asking me three thousand questions about if this is really what I need. And right now, that’s the very
last
thing I need.

“Don’t worry about failures, worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try.”

–
Jack Canfield

T
he following Monday, Fitz suggests—of all things—that I go with him to a local sports bar to watch a pay-per-view boxing match that’s supposed to be a big deal in that world. My distaste for fighting hasn’t lessened, but since returning home after Christmas, I find myself craving interactions so I don’t hesitate, or even complain.

The bar is already crowded when we arrive. Fitz makes a point of looking around to all of the busy tables and then back to me, solidifying the fact that this fight is in fact a big deal.

We wander through the darkly-lit space, packed mostly with men, until we find an empty table near the back. We then proceed to shed our heavy layers, balancing them in a heap on one of the vacant pub chairs. Fitz selects a seat that provides him with optimum viewing angles of the fight. I sit facing him so my eyes won’t betray me and wander to the screen when something happens and distracts him.

“No fucking way!” Fitz says with a laugh, scooting his chair back so he can stand up. My gaze turns to watch him as a heavily tattooed guy embraces him. They each pat one another on the shoulder as guys do, and then break apart, still smiling at one another.

“What in the hell have you been up to, Maxwell?”

I watch Fitz smile warmly at the guy and turn to look at him again. He has two large dimples that seem to enunciate the quick smile he wears that looks like a permanent fixture on his attractive face. His eyes are a bright blue, lighter than Max’s, which are a brilliant cobalt. He looks about six feet tall and appears strong as I watch his forearm muscles bulge as he gives Fitz’s shoulder another firm pat. If I didn’t already know that Max is the single most attractive male on this planet, this guy would be a contender.

“Danny, this is Harper Bosse. Harper, this is Danny Hirsch.”

“Nice to meet you, Harper.” Danny turns his smile on me, revealing slightly-slanted bottom teeth. The imperfection makes him even more enchanting. He reaches forward to shake my hand, and my eyes quickly register that both of his ears are pierced with small gauges and his right forearm is covered in a flame patterned tattoo.

His skin is so warm against my own that it distracts me from all of the noise surrounding us, and my eyes look down to see his hand wrapped around mine. “You too,” I reply, meeting his eyes and quickly realizing I’m not having to remind myself to smile.

“Grab a chair! Are you here with anyone?” Fitz asks, gesturing to the empty seats.

“Frank’s in here somewhere, but you know him,” Danny replies. He lifts a vacant chair and moves it so he’s sitting between Fitz and our cold weather gear. “I’m on a break until next week and wanted to see the fight with a crowd. See what I’m up against.”

“Danny’s a pro fighter,” Fitz explains. “He and I used to have a mutual acquaintance.”

“How is Miguel?” Danny asks before a waitress wearing a white T-shirt with a deep V-neck approaches us. Her reaction is instant, confirming that she either knows Danny or recognizes him as she gives him a big smile and practically touches her chest to his bicep.

“Danny! Oh my God, I can’t believe it! Would you sign my shirt?” It isn’t a question, but a desperate plea.

Danny turns his attention to her, and I watch as he flashes her his easy smile and nods, keeping his eyes level with her face. At first I’m impressed by the fact that he seems completely undeterred by her impressively large assets as he signs the shoulder of her shirt, then it dawns on me. Miguel is one of Fitz’s exes. Danny’s gay too. It sends a tremor of humor through me that the first guy I’ve deemed attractive since Max, other than Fitz, is another gay man. I’m sure Kendall would be going out of her mind with hysterics about this situation, but I slouch slightly with the relief that fills me.

Danny hands our waitress her Sharpie back, and turns to us as though this is a completely normal practice. “What’s your poison?” he asks.

“I’ll be the DD. Have whatever you’d like,” Fitz says, passing me a drink menu.

“But first we’re having a round of Patron,” Danny announces with his smile still present. “I’ll also take a sidecar.”

“Jameson neat, please,” I say without reviewing the menu as the waitress looks to me. She jots it down on her notepad and then retreats.

“So what’s new with you? Are you still in the medical field?” Danny asks, leaning slightly closer to Fitz. “Is that how you guys know each other?”

Fitz nods. “Yeah, I’m actually working at a medical lab now. Harper’s my assistant. Lucky for you, I’m pretty much the only person she hangs out with. She’s new here, from California.”

“California, really?” Danny asks, turning his smile on me. “I can see that whole LA scene going,” he says with a nod.

“I know. She is pretty hot, huh?” Fitz says rhetorically as he eyes me with a teasing smile. I’m not sure why, since they’re both gay and their compliments are completely benign, but they make me blush.

“Here you go, handsome. I added a pitcher, on the house,” the busty waitress says as she places five shot glasses on the table along with a pitcher of beer and three tall mugs. Fitz slides my whiskey over along with a shot of Patron as the waitress makes eye contact with Danny. She smiles seductively at him while chewing on her bottom lip—something few people are able to pull off and look sexy—but I can tell she’s practiced this look.

“Normally I wouldn’t do this, but…” she trails off, moving the drink tray she’s holding so it’s secured to her waist with her elbow. She pulls a pen from her apron and reaches for a drink napkin and then begins scribbling across it. Dropping her pen back in her apron, she lifts the napkin and blows on it provocatively. My eyes widen at the deliberate message she’s sending him, and I reach for my whiskey as she slides the napkin in front of Danny. “In case you want to have some fun.” She winks and then turns without acknowledging me or Fitz.

“It’s good to know that some things never change,” Fitz says with a grin as he takes his shot glass. “I think she’s lying to you about not doing that very often though, D. That looked like a well rehearsed move.”

Danny crumples the napkin in his fist and laughs in agreement.

“A toast to Miguel,” Fitz says, raising his glass in the air. Danny raises his shot glass to meet it.

“I have something against toasting to things and people I don’t know. It’s bad luck.”

“I know Danny because of Miguel,” Fitz explains simply, nodding his head toward Danny.

I’d like to point out that I connected those two dots, but sigh quietly as I raise my glass as they wait for me. “Okay, to Miguel.”

I wince as the alcohol burns my throat and warms my breath.

“Have you spoken to Miguel lately?” Fitz asks, setting his glass on the table.

“No,” Danny shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him since he met Grant when we were in New York last year.”

“I heard that ended badly.”

I know little about Miguel other than that he’s a trainer and a Greek God reincarnated. At least, that’s what Fitz assures me of.