WITH THE TOUR in just a few more weeks, Ashley and Corie didn’t have time for a honeymoon. We were back on a plane Monday morning, and I’d never been more ready to leave Nashville in my rearview. We were only there a few days, but one more night in that damn guest house and I’d have lost my mind. Being in that bed without Jill was maddening. Not because I wanted her there, but because she was there. As if the weeks gone by hadn’t been enough to rid the space of her scent. She didn’t even step foot onto Ashley’s property, having spent the weekend bouncing back and forth between the Hicks’ residence and the hotel; and yet, I couldn’t escape her, my memory betraying me every time I walked into that goddamn room.
It’s better, being in the city. It’s busy. Ashley’s busy, which gives me somewhere to direct my focus. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Now, as I turn the corner, jogging down the block to my apartment, I ignore the reason why I’m out for a run at one in the morning. I don’t think about why I’m too angry to sleep. I pretend that I don’t know of a better solution to finding any sort of peace again. I let my body feel the ten miles I’ve just endured, hoping that after a shower, I’ll be tired enough to pass the fuck out.
I don’t slow down, racing all the way up the stairs to the front door of my flat. Pacing, I dig my keys out of my pocket and then let myself inside. I head straight for the kitchen, cursing under my breath when I instinctively reach back into my pocket to check my phone. I toss it onto the counter when I find no new notifications, reminding myself that I’m a jackass for even allowing that to be a habit that I let form in the first place.
Opening the fridge, I pull out a bottle of water, downing half of its contents before I take a breath. As I start to gulp down the rest, I make my way out of the kitchen, headed for the shower. I don’t get halfway before my phone starts to ring. I freeze in my tracks, looking back at the spot I just left, thinking that only one person could possibly dare to call me at this hour.
I act as though there is no urgency in my feet as I walk back to the kitchen, reaching over the counter’s back ledge to grab the device. One glance at the screen, and whatever the hell I was feeling a second ago evaporates as pure, unadulterated rage begins to spread throughout my chest. On a good day, I can control myself. On an average day, I know how to wield my emotions to do as I say. But after nearly a week of early mornings, busy days, and late night runs followed by a laughable amount of sleep—I have nothing left in reserve to contain myself.
“Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?” I bark instead of hello. “Stop calling me!”
There’s a pause, and I’m just about ready to hang up when she says, “You know I wouldn’t be calling if—”
Her weak, mousy voice grates on my nerves, and I interrupt her, not wishing to hear another word. “I won’t help you.”
“Leonardo, your father—”
“What?” I yell. “What about that sorry sack of shit do I need to know?”
Speaking barely above a whisper, she replies, “He’s in trouble.”
“When has that ever been my fucking problem, huh?”
“We just need a little to—”
“For fuck’s sake, you’re just as bad as him, you know that?” I mutter, shaking my head in disgust.
“Leo—”
“You chose your hell! I chose mine, and it doesn’t have shit to do with you. I’m blocking this number.”
I hang up without another word, immediately doing as I said I would. It’s not nearly as satisfying as it could be, and all I really want to do is throw the phone across the room so that I can watch it shatter against the wall. Instead, I toss it back onto the counter before I gulp down the rest of my water. I crumble the bottle when I’m finished, carelessly discarding it as I stalk to the corner. The effects of my run all but forgotten, the blood in my veins still coursing through me with my adrenaline spike, I don’t even bother putting on my gloves before landing my first blow against my punching bag.
I go hard, until my lungs are burning and my knuckles are raw. Finally feeling beat to shit, I drag my ass to the shower. By the time I crawl into bed, the night sky is already beginning to fade into dawn.
“OKAY, I CAN’T Take it anymore,” Ruth moans dramatically.
I glance over at her from where she stands behind the register. With the morning rush finally having slowed down, I’m trying to stay busy, cleaning up the espresso bar. Shrugging my shoulders at her, I ask, “You can’t take what anymore?”
“You and this fake happiness you’ve got going on,” she insists, waving her hands at me. Propping her hip against the counter, she folds her arms across her chest and says, “Before you left for Corie’s wedding, you lit this place up like sunshine. Seriously, if I didn’t have something going on with Monte, I’d be totally jealous. When you’re happy, it’s outrageously bright in here. For real. Now? You aren’t fooling anyone.”
I stare at her for a moment, at a loss for words. She’s right, of course. I was in a completely different place a couple of weeks ago, but I wasn’t aware that it was so obvious. Nevertheless, I tell her, “I’m fine, Ruth. Really.”
“Uh-huh,” she mutters mockingly.
I go back to what I was doing and assure her, “It’s not a big deal. Honestly. I’m—getting over it.”
“Yeah? Well, you know what they say.” Dropping her voice in a mock whisper, she goes on to tell me, “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
I laugh because it’s Ruth, and she would say something totally stupid and cliché like that. “Right. That’s the best advice in the world, actually. I wonder why I didn’t think of that?” I jibe, shaking my head at her.
“Look, all I’m saying is, there’s a hot guy who comes in here every weekday morning who only has eyes for you, girl. Take advantage!”
I sigh, wishing not to acknowledge that she’s right—again. Henry does come in regularly, now. While he doesn’t ask me out anymore, he’s not shy about flirting with me. I know his dinner offer still stands, I’m just not so sure that it’s fair of me to take him up on it.
“Oh, come on,” she practically whines. “At least tell me you’re smart enough to actually think about it.” I stop what I’m doing and look over at her once more. Lifting her eyebrows at me, she asks, “Do I really need to remind you how often we get fresh meat around here? This construction crew is like an entire buffet, Jill! Don’t want hot Henry? Pick someone else! Just—don’t let all that sunshine go to waste.”
She frees a sigh, as if her work here is done, then walks toward me and snatches the rag right out of my hands. “I’m going to make myself useful and wipe down some tables. You think on that.”
I watch her go, not so sure that I want to think on that. It’s been two weeks since Leo walked out on me. After two weeks of silence, one would think that I’d be ready to forget I knew him at all. However, in this case, I’m convinced there’s something to be said about closure. I was left with more questions than answers, which has made it difficult to forget.
I can’t argue with Ruth, though. If we were keeping score, she’d be winning this morning. New faces around here—people who stay for more than a weekend—they’re few and far between. While there is something to be said about closure, there’s also something to be said about persistence. Ruth is right—again. Maybe a date with Henry wouldn’t hurt.
CH: Need to talk. ASAP!
I don’t bother responding to Corie’s text. Setting aside my computer, I stretch out on my sofa before I give her a call.
“Hello?” she answers on the second ring.
“Hey, babe. What’s up? Everything okay?”
“What happened?”
In spite of the fact that she can’t see me do it, I scrunch my face in shame. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Jill!”
“You just got married!” I exclaim. “What was I supposed to do? Call you on your wedding night and tell you that he just walked out?”
“Well—no. But that was two weeks ago.”
Sweeping my hair behind my ear, I don’t bother offering up any further arguments. I don’t have any good excuses. I just didn’t tell her. The last conversation we had about Leo was harmfully hopeful, and I didn’t want to go there again—not on the heels of her newlywed status. As much as she cares for my well-being, I know that she’s biased toward the idea of true love. I understand that’s the season that she’s in, and I would never, ever hold that against her. She deserves it. But she cares about the both of us, so I’m certain she’d fight for the both of us, and I don’t want her to do that.
Not wishing to explain myself, I deflect and ask, “How did you find out?”
“He’s…different. I’ll admit, it took me a couple days to notice, but it’s quite apparent now that I see it. I’ve been waiting for you to call me and give me an update, but I couldn’t wait anymore. He’s miserable, and I needed to check on you and see what happened.”
Hearing about him awakens an ache in my chest, and I turn onto my side, pulling my knees into my chest as I murmur, “He’s miserable?”
“Well, he’s Leo. He’s not sulking, but by the looks of it, he’s not sleeping very well. Not to mention, he almost got into it with one of the paparazzi the other day. They can get pretty aggressive, but Leo usually keeps his cool. Frank had to step in.”
Not sure how to respond to this information, I don’t respond at all.
“Jill,” Corie coos. “Talk to me.”
“He left. I told him how I felt, and he left. If he’s miserable, it’s his own fault.”
I mean every word, but saying it out loud doesn’t make me feel any better.
“And you?”
“I’m—I’m moving on.”
“Is that really what you want?”
I laugh, though I’m far from amused, and reply, “It’s funny how people keep asking me that, as if he’s given me a choice. He told me to let him walk away. I wouldn’t, but he did anyway. So, you see, there’s only one healthy thing to do here.”
“I wish you weren’t so far away,” she says on a sigh.
“I know. It’s okay, though. Don’t worry about me. You’re about to leave on a great, world wide adventure. Are you ready?”
Thankfully, Corie follows my lead, allowing me to shift the conversation away from me and onto happier things. We talk about the tour, which starts in two weeks, and I can tell how excited she is. That’s enough to lift my spirits and to remind me that there’s always another adventure out there—you just have to be brave enough to go after it.
“Promise me one thing,” she insists before we hang up.
“What’s that?”
“Call me if you need to talk. I might be Mrs. Hicks now, but I’ll never stop being your best friend. Besides, we’re related. You can’t get rid of me.”
Smiling, I murmur, “I love you.”
“I love you back. Talk soon?”
“Absolutely.”