When the plane lands, Mom and Nora insist they will be driving me home. I refuse, because I don’t feel like renting a car to drive back out to LAX to retrieve the car I already own. It’s stupid. Mom will drive with me while Nora drives her own back.
I feel like I have a police escort. It’s like they know I want to drive immediately to see Fox.
I drag myself down the jetway and into the airport. I’m exhausted and can’t believe I’ve only been gone a little over a week. I also can’t believe I’m not pregnant anymore. As if it wasn’t bad enough I’ve had to go through the stress of realizing my lady parts are trying to close up shop, I also have to go through multiple tries of baking a kid in my oven. That is, ya know, making a kid. Not legitimately cooking a child in my actual kitchen appliance. I’ve said too much.
I’m so tired.
But even with the miscarriage a million miles from home and having to go through the experience alone—at least, at first—having my girls show up like that was both a relief and a stress. Stress because I feel guilt over them shelling out thousands of dollars just to babysit my sad ass. Nora insists that she had a million travel miles and paid for one of the tickets with those, but I’m not sure I believe her.
In any case, I’m relieved to be home. And too anxious to see Fox. They are right on that.
I haven’t even called him yet, but the urge to hear his voice has only intensified since I first realized what was happening to me and our baby. Our baby. That might be pushing it.
As I pass a couple reuniting and subsequently making out like one of them just came home from war, I want to cry again. It’s one thing to be hormonal, but this cry on a dime shit is for the birds. Thank goodness Nora sees this and firmly guides me past them quickly before I stare and bawl at the same time. It could get really fucking awkward really fucking fast, and then security might be called… it’d just be a mess.
Despite the quick-handed intervention, I still find myself wishing Fox is waiting for me in baggage claim, relieved and happy to have me home and in his arms.
But I haven’t heard from him for more than three weeks. He’s been strangely distant. No, that sounds too nice. Absent. He’s been completely absent.
In a second, I decide that I’m going to head to The Post and find out what’s up his ass. I can’t go home first because once I sit down I won’t get back up until morning. Between jet lag and recovering from an international hospital stay, I’m surprised I was able to walk off the plane at all.
Customs is thankfully easy, albeit slow, and I find my car in the garage quickly enough. The combination of things makes me feel optimistic about seeing Fox, and I smile a bit as I make the turn down Middlebelt Road to drop off Mom. There was absolutely no way I was getting out of having someone drive with me. I am exhausted, so I guess that’s the safe decision, too. Luckily for my glutton-for-punishment ass, Mom’s house is even closer to The Post than mine is, so I drive to the bar knowing in my gut that he’s hanging out there tonight. He’s always there on Thursdays.
As gravel crunches under my tires, I’m clotheslined by overwhelming anxiety. What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if telling him everything ruins what we have? I can’t go back if I put it all out there.
Hold up, I tell myself. You’re here to find out why he’s been avoiding you. That’s all. And maybe to tell him about the miscarriage. Not to mention you don’t have much of anything at all right now. Blow it all up!
Right, I nod. To myself. At myself. Whatever.
I know I’m not going to get any more motivated, so I nearly fall out of the car. Before I walk to the door, I straighten myself and take a deep breath. This is probably a bad idea, because I’m exhausted to the point of pain, but I want to try to avoid sleeping for at least a few more hours. I’m going in.
Inside, it’s deceptively dim—it looks like it should be quiet or at least chill, but it’s more like a melee of dancing and drinking. The patio out back is full, but not super crowded, so I figure he’ll be out there.
When I first see him, my body warms. The smile that swings onto my face is crooked and only lasts a second. My warm feeling sours, turning into chagrin and foolishness.
The leggy blonde that sidles up next to him is the epitome of cheap. Plastic tits, enough makeup for a clown convention, and clothes small enough to question whether she’s wearing any at all. It feels like a trick, like this can’t possibly be happening. It’s too cliché! In almost every way! But no matter how many times I blink and rub my eyes, she’s still there, rubbing those literal beach balls on his arm.
My stomach lurches and I’m thankful that I haven’t had anything since the in-flight dinner. I could probably manage to yak up some water, but that’s neither here nor there. As my body wars with my mind, itself, gravity… I decide this was a stupid move and prepare to hightail it the fuck out of here. But before I can force my feet to move, Fox spots me. He visibly freaks, sporting the guilty eyes. He shoves the blonde away, at least far enough so she can’t hump his leg anymore. I watch his hand jump to his fly to check his zipper and I know. They just came back from the beach. Where they surely had sex. Classic Fox. Classic Stupid Sophie.
“Sophie!” he calls from only a few feet away, but the music on the patio is still loud.
“Yeah, hi,” I say, mustering everything I can to sound relaxed and not heartbroken. Not that I am. I mean, I don’t care. Nope.
“How’ve you been?” he asks.
I immediately hate him. It’s the most unnatural conversation I think we’ve ever had.
The audience groans in clear agreement. Every one of them has a stomachache.
I can’t answer. I can’t fake this. “I’ve been better. I just got back from the UK—”
“Oh, right. That work trip. Fun time, right? I went to London with Samson once,” he starts, like I don’t know the goddamn college story he’s told a thousand times. God forbid he listens to the rest of my sentence. Whatever. He’s only proving to me he wants nothing to do with whatever I’m going through. Not to mention, I know for a fact I look like hell. Nora confirmed it.
“Yeah, great,” I say flatly, but he either ignores it or doesn’t catch it. I’m betting on ignore.
“Good. Are you sticking around for a beer?” It doesn’t sound like he wants me to. Part of me wishes I had the constitution where I could fake it right now just for spite. I have the spite down pat, but I’m minutes from collapsing—especially with this latest fake blonde development. “Oh, wait, preggo. No booze for you!”
“No, of course I’m not,” I say. My stomach twists and I want to throw up, water or whatever. Maybe I’ll choke down his beer just so I can vomit in his face. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Not to mention, I’m sure you don’t want a cock block hanging around since ‘Bang All of Bodhi Beach’ is back on.”
Deer in the headlights. “Wh-why, um, what?”
“Excellent choice, by the way,” I tell him, the venom in my voice shocking even me. “Let me know if you get through all the makeup and keep sharp objects away from those floatation devices up front,” I say as I make the universal gesture for boobs. “You don’t want ’em to pop in your face.”
“What’s your problem?” He’s genuinely offended and that pisses me off all the more, even though that was my exact intention with the snark and attitude.
“Did you renew your condom delivery subscription the very moment after I told you I was pregnant? Or did you wait a whole hour? I bet Sluts Unlimited was already banging down your door with a fresh catalog of ass!”
He huffs an exhale out of his nose like a cartoon bull. “Did we have some other kind of agreement I’m unaware of? Because I thought that was the whole point of the fucking?” His voice is cold. Like, mean cold. I haven’t heard him like this before, and frankly, it’s a little scary. There’s clearly a part of Fox I haven’t been privy to, and I’m getting a free peek. Joy.
“What? No, of course not. As soon as that strip turned blue, you were a free-to-fuck-’em-all man. Clearly.” I tilt my head toward his “date.”
He pinches his eyes shut for a long breath. “Look, I wish you’d just come straight out and tell me why you’re pissed at me, because I can’t read your mind.”
I tip my face up to look in his eyes as I step close enough that my teeth nearly nip at the end of his nose. “Even if I explained it to you like a child,” I hiss, my voice slow and unnaturally even. “I doubt it would matter.” Between the diabolical tone and the way my eyes blaze, I feel unstoppably powerful. His face is wide open, eyes nearly popping out, and jaw slack. But I’m too angry and sad to enjoy any of the upper hand I may have.
He throws his hands up in the air. I turn on my heel and move as quickly as I can through the crowd to get to the door. I get just outside and his hand closes on my arm like a vise. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. That evil little kernel of hope flares in my stomach, like he’s going to confess and beg my forgiveness. I hate when I’m that stupid.
“Nuh-uh,” he says, his voice all sexy and growly. It makes my eyes water. More. Damn hormones. “You don’t get to walk away. What’s going on?”
“Like I said, Fox,” I say as I spin to face him. A sanitized confrontational rant comes pouring out. “It doesn’t matter. I haven’t heard from you in almost three weeks. As far as I can tell, you don’t give a shit about me or what’s going on with me. Are we even friends anymore? Doesn’t seem like it. You’re back to whoring, though—excellent work, by the way. I guess that’s that. Right?”
The look on his face tells me he’s hoping his head explodes. Frankly, I’m kind of hoping that, too. It would be tragically satisfying.
“What do you want me to say, Sophie? That I’m so sorry? That I’m in love with you from all the hot sex, oh, please take me back? I couldn’t face my feelings so I was drowning my sorrows by nailing model wannabes?”
He’s yelling and sarcastic. My face flames and I can all but confirm barfing is in my very near future. Yes, I want him to say sorry. The rest, well, I’m still having trouble admitting that to myself, but whatever.
“Well, here’s the thing, babe,” he continues. The way he says ‘babe’ is harsh, and there’s a sharp pain in my chest as if the word itself punctures me right between my ribs under my boob. “The sex wasn’t all that great, if I’m being honest. I needed a pick-me-up.”
My eyes are burning. I know he’s lying, but doubt is currently stronger than I am. Maybe he was lying then. I feel exposed and weak, but mostly awkward as hell. Thankfully, this makes him fidget.
“I needed my routine, okay?” he continues, defensive, but I suspect he’s uncomfortable because I haven’t responded to his latest verbal attack. “You know me. I don’t like attachments, so when you got knocked up, I figured we could take a little break so things could go back to normal. I’m not father material anyway, so it’s not like I was going to be in the picture. If that means we can’t be friends anymore, then that’s on you.”
I stare at him, openmouthed, for what seems like hours. Tears definitely fall because they’re burning the skin on my face like acid or lava.
“Wow,” I say finally. It’s quiet and with an impressive layer of faux bravado. Maybe I’m simply too tired to even emote at this point, but I’m going to go ahead and be impressed with myself anyway. “You really do think a lot of yourself. I almost forgot. How silly of me.”
With all the energy I can muster, I rip my arm out of his grip and step back. “I left some things at your house, so I’ll come pick them up in a day or two.”
“Good. I don’t need chicks to think I have a live-in,” he retorts. “They might get the wrong idea.”
“Or the right one, you selfish goddamn bastard.” I turn and walk away. After I get to my car, I stop and shout, “You know what? Fuck that! Burn my shit! I’m never coming to you for anything else ever again!”
“GOOD!” he shouts. “I’m done doing you any favors!”
I flinch at his choice of words. All the reasons I knew there were mutual benefits flurry chaotically before my eyes, but I can’t focus. “I hope Lifeboat Barbie bites your dick off!” I yell, desperate to exorcise the pain in my chest. And maybe to have the last word.
Fox offers some half-ass retort, but I block him out and turn away… right into Doc, who startles me.
“Sophie, you all right, love? What’s going on?” he asks.
He’s clearly heard at least the last few seconds, maybe more. I do not want to deal with him, too, but I’m so tired, so completely empty, I collapse against his chest. The very last part of my brain that’s awake enough to be outraged tells me to get in the damn car, but Doc’s arms wrap around me and rub my back. From the angle I’m facing, I can see Fox. And for once, I can’t read him.
“You’re the biggest mistake I ever made,” I hiss. It’s not very loud, but the sentiment hits its target. I watch Fox’s lips part like he wants to say something, but no matter what it is, I don’t want to hear it. Not right now. I close my eyes, because I just don’t want to look anymore.
Doc’s chest rumbles, but I don’t know what he’s saying.
“Everyone’s waiting for you inside, Wellesley,” Fox adds. “She’s fine. It’s not like she’s been drinking.” He sounds irritated.
I feel Doc’s posture pull taller, and this time I understand his words. “You sure as shit have, mate. I’m going to make sure she gets home all right. You know, like a friend would.”
Fox makes a noise, but says nothing. Doc barks “see you later” or something else noncommittal.
I assume he turns and walks away, but I’m afraid to open my eyes. When I finally do, I stand up straight and pull out of his embrace. “Thanks, Doc. I’m so sorry to pull you into this, but I’m okay now. I need to go.”
“Sophie.” He grabs my arms. “What happened? You look like hell. I thought you were in London?”
I look up, shocked to find out he was not only brutally honest, but also paid attention when I tossed off the info that I had to go to the UK for work. “I was. I just got back.”
“Like right now?” His voice tells me that this is incredulous. “Fucking hell, Fordham, what are you doing here? Wait, don’t answer that. I know exactly what you’re doing here. Goddamn Monkhouse.”
My entire body reverberates with warning: I’m this close to shutting down. And by shutting down, I mean organs, brain function, etcetera. Doc must see this, because the next thing I know, I’m sitting in the passenger seat.
“Are you still awake?” he asks as he starts the car. I nod, my eyes closing most of the way. “Well, I’m going to tell you something. I wasn’t going to, but I think you need to hear it.”
This jars me awake just a little bit—enough so that I can pay attention. “What?” I ask. The word is quiet and, frankly, I sound like I’ve been smoking for three days straight.
“I wanted to apologize for hitting on you like I did,” he says.
I feel like an anvil’s been shoved into my lap, leaning back on my lungs. “I didn’t—”
“No, you don’t understand,” he says, even though I hadn’t even completed a thought. “You are gorgeous and believe me, given the opportunity, I would hit that.”
Despite everything, I chuckle. “I’m trying to figure out whether I’m flattered or insulted. Again,” I say and realize my filter died somewhere over the Midwest.
He groans the groan of the guilty. “I know, that whole night… Listen, the thing is, I did it to goad Monkhouse.”
The last pocket of energy surges and I straighten to turn and stare at him. “What?”
“It’s entirely obvious to several people that the boy is head over heels for you, sweetheart,” he says as we pull into my driveway. “He just needed to get said head out of his ass. Had I known there was”—he moves his hand around in the air between us to indicate the arrangement between Fox and me—“something happening, I might not have done it, but… I’m sorry for doing that and then, the girl. I don’t know what I—”
“Doc,” I begin. “Don’t apologize. It really doesn’t matter.”
“I know,” he says. “You’re head over heels for the man-child. And all you want is for him to straighten up and fly right. That doesn’t even make sense. My point is I was just trying to nudge him across the line.”
I sigh, wondering if this is all a hallucination. “Doc,” I say, turning to him. “You’re a lot sweeter than you give yourself credit for. Thank you for driving me home. I need to collapse before I completely fall apart.”
“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. “I mean, just so you have someone here. So you’re not alone.”
I push out of the car and walk around to the trunk. Doc beats me there and gets my suitcase before I can even pop open the trunk. “Don’t be bats, Fordham.”
I follow him in, where he sets the bag next to the door. “Thank you, Declan Wellesley. You’ve been a good friend tonight. I appreciate it.”
“I really am sorry—”
I stop him, putting my fingers across his lips.
“I would absolutely be your rebound lay if you—”
I move my entire palm over his mouth. “Thank you. I would never do that to Nora, but thank you. I understand where you were coming from, and appreciate your efforts, but you can go.” I dig in my wallet for a couple of bills to pay for a cab. “Cab’s on me.”
“Fuck off,” he says with a smile. “You’re not paying for my cab. And what the fuck are you talking about? Nora? We never dated.”
I glare.
“Well, I mean we had a fling, but she called it off. Said she didn’t want anything serious,” he argues. “Did she say I broke it off?”
I honestly don’t have enough left to have this conversation. “All I’m going to say right now before I strip off my clothes and climb in bed is that she does not think of it as a fling, but that you’re an asshole.”
“She called me an asshole?”
“I believe her exact words were ‘that fucking Aussie prick asshole,’ ” I tell him, shooing him toward the door.
“Honestly?” he asks, but answers himself. “Wow. Not just an everyday asshole, but a ‘fucking Aussie prick asshole.’ There’s emotion there. That must be why she’s so openly hostile whenever I see her.”
“Congratulations, and thank you again, studly. I’m off.” I kiss his cheek and shout over my shoulder, “Lock it on your way out, please?”
“Can I at least watch you strip first?”
“Get the fuck out, Wellesley.”
“I love you, Fordham,” he calls. I feel hot tears rapidly bubble and spill over my cheeks. Not because I’m so happy to hear the words from him, but because I admit to myself, finally, that they’re the words I want to hear sincerely from someone else.