I couldn’t breathe.
“I-I’ve… uh—I’ve got to go,” I stammered, making a frantic grab for my purse under the bar.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll close up,” Tish hurriedly added. She frowned at Scott, but he didn’t notice since he was still watching TV. I couldn’t blame him. I’d told only Tish the sordid details of my breakup with Blane.
“Thanks.” I managed a grateful smile before beating a hasty retreat outside. I heard Scott calling a belated good-bye to me as the door swung closed.
Once I reached my car, I leaned against it, my arms cushioning my head.
Just breathe.
I drove on autopilot, replaying the images of Blane in my head. It made my chest hurt and my stomach turn into knots. I regretted even the small bite of French fry I’d eaten as nausea clawed my throat.
I thought by now it would have been easier to see him with someone else.
It wasn’t.
Tigger met me at the door. My two-story apartment building was in a section of Indy where police sirens were a nightly occurrence, but I hadn’t had any problems as long as I’d lived there. At least, no problems that were because of the neighborhood.
I changed into shorts and a tank, opening the windows to give my AC, and my electric bill, a break. Light filtered in from the streetlamps, so I didn’t bother turning on any lights in the apartment. After pouring myself a vodka tonic, I curled up on the couch, absently petting Tigger as I stared into space.
It was late, but I knew that if I went to bed I wouldn’t sleep. And even if I did, nightmares plagued me more often than not. The ordeal I’d endured a few months ago at the hands of human traffickers had left mental scars, though physically I was fine. So I didn’t sleep a whole lot.
My stomach churned and I resolutely took another drink. I did not want to puke, I hated throwing up, but I needed the numbness the vodka was so adept at providing. I needed not to feel anymore.
I thought about what Tish had said and wondered when, if ever, I’d feel like myself again. Normal. When I’d look forward to waking up every morning rather than dreading each new day as something to get through. When the ice inside me would melt.
I was angry with Blane, that much was true. He had believed his uncle’s lies instead of me, his fiancée. He hadn’t trusted me.
But I was devastated, too. Blane had devastated me, and part of me hated him for that, even as I ached to see him, talk to him. The newscast tonight had been bittersweet to watch.
I finished my drink in one long gulp, pushing Tigger aside as I got on the floor and started doing sit-ups. When the liquor didn’t work to quiet my brain, I exercised, trying to get as exhausted as I possibly could. Sit-ups and push-ups when it was dark outside, running for miles when it wasn’t.
I was in great shape. I wish I cared.
Running always made me think of Kade. Kade Dennon. Ex-FBI agent. Assassin-for-hire. Blane’s half brother. I hadn’t heard from him in months, not since the night he’d kissed me and told me I should be with him, not Blane.
I hadn’t counted on how much I’d miss him no longer being in my life.
I glanced at my cell phone as I lay panting on the floor, my abdominal muscles screaming at me. I hadn’t been able to make myself delete their numbers, so Blane and Kade were still listed in my contacts. I should get rid of them, and I would. Just not tonight.
A warm breeze flowed through the open window, bringing with it the familiar scent of a summer’s night. At the moment, no sirens wailed and I could hear the occasional car pass by. I wondered what Blane was doing, and if it included Charlotte.
Sunlight streaming through the window and a marmalade lump of feline woke me up Saturday morning. I’d fallen asleep on the floor and now my back ached. Tigger used my stomach as a pillow, his clawless paws kneading my flesh.
“Give it a rest,” I grumbled at him as I sat up. He meowed a complaint about his loss of pillow and followed me into the kitchen, where I started the coffeemaker. I went for a run and showered before bolting down some caffeine. I had homework to do and had agreed to meet Clarice for lunch today.
A few hours later, I was winding my way behind a hostess as she led me through a local restaurant to the patio tables. I was glad about that. I’d be able to leave my sunglasses on. Lack of sleep left a toll that makeup couldn’t always cover.
Clarice was waiting for me. She stood to give me a hug.
“So good to see you!” she said.
“You, too.” My smile was genuine. I’d missed seeing and talking to her every day.
“You look great,” she added as we sat down.
“Thanks, so do you.” And she did look fantastic. Being in love agreed with her. She wore a long, flowing skirt with a sleeveless top and sandals. She’d been divorced for some years and had two kids. Right before Valentine’s Day, the high-school science teacher she’d been dating had proposed.
“So how is Jack?” I asked, scooting my chair into the shade from the umbrella. I’d worn a spaghetti-strap sundress and didn’t want my arms or shoulders to get burned.
“Jack’s great—kids are good, too,” she replied. “They’re so excited for the wedding.”
“Just them?” I teased.
She grinned. “Okay, me, too.”
We laughed. “Two weeks,” I said, “and you’ll be Mrs. Jack Bryant.”
“I know. I can’t wait.”
Clarice looked so happy, it practically radiated from her. It was wonderful to see and I was so glad she’d found someone who made her feel that way. She certainly deserved it.
The waitress came by and we paused to order. Clarice joined me, indulging in a glass of cold chardonnay.
“Your dress fitting is Thursday afternoon,” she told me. “Can you make it?”
I was also one of her bridesmaids. “Sure,” I said.
We chatted for a while about the wedding plans and where she and Jack were going on their honeymoon—Hawaii. It sounded wonderful. The waitress brought our salads, and it felt nice and normal to be having lunch with a girlfriend.
“So, how are you doing really?” Clarice asked after we’d exhausted the topic of her impending nuptials.
I stiffened. Clarice and I always refrained from talking about Blane or the breakup. I refused to let her. Since she was his secretary, I didn’t want to put her in a bad position, and I didn’t want to be tempted to quiz her about Blane. I’d told her he’d broken off the engagement and that was all.
My smile was forced. “I’m fine. Just takes some time, you know?”
“I know, but I worry about you,” she said. “You’ve lost weight—it seems you hardly eat anymore. I mean don’t get me wrong, you don’t look bad, but I can tell you’re unhappy. It’s written all over you.”
“Well, I can’t say I recommend the breakup diet,” I admitted. “But I’ll be fine. I just… want to move on.” I paused. “It certainly seems he has.” I could hear the bitterness in my voice and knew I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t want to know, didn’t want to hear about Blane. But I also really did, and after seeing him on TV last night, I couldn’t help hoping Clarice would tell me something, even though I knew it would hurt and I’d regret hearing it.
She hesitated, then carefully said, “I don’t know about that.”
My breath seemed to freeze in my lungs. “What do you mean?”
“He’s not the same at all. I mean, yeah, he’s dating other women, but it’s like it was before. Blane’s always been real professional at the office, but he was happy with you. I could see it. Now, I never see him crack a smile or a joke. He’s just constantly on the move, pushing himself. He never slows down.”
I swallowed and readjusted my sunglasses while I digested this. I knew what Clarice meant about it being “like it was before.” Blane had been a playboy for years, always a different woman on his arm. I think the time he’d spent with me was the longest he’d been with someone in quite a while.