I stare at the blinking number four on my phone. Four new voicemails. I know who they’re from. Nixon. His number is listed with each message and again about a dozen times in my missed calls list. I want to listen to them so badly. I want to hold my phone up to my ear, hear a confession of love, hear him begging me to come back, and then I want to put my heart at ease and run back into his arms. But I don’t listen because I know that’s not what they’ll say.

Nixon doesn’t do love. He was clear about that. Owned up to it early on. No, this ache in my chest is my fault. It falls squarely on my shoulders. I let myself get too close, let myself expect him to be more and give more than he’s capable of. I let myself hope he would be different. But he’s not. The mistakes, all of them, are mine.

Hope is as powerful as love and, for me, more dangerous. And I may have fallen prey to both.

I turn my phone facedown on the table beside the sofa. It’s been two days since I left the ranch. I’ve talked to Dad, Hannah, and Hope. I’ve explained to them that I can’t be there right now. I left out the part about how I’ll never set foot on that ranch again. I can’t bear to utter those words quite yet, and I know they don’t need to hear them. So, for their sakes, I keep that hope alive.

My phone rings. It’s Lia.

“What time is your flight again?”

“Five fifty.”

“You sure you don’t want me to give you a ride to the airport?”

“I’m sure. You’ve had a long day, and I’m sure you’ll just want to curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and relax.”

“Actually,” she begins hesitantly. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I wasn’t going to mention it, but since he’ll be there before you leave, I sort of have to.”

“He?”

“You remember Dwight, the bartender?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’ve been sort of seeing each other.”

“Sort of or you are seeing each other?”

A short pause. “We’re definitely seeing each other.”

“Lia, that’s great! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re in the middle of a breakup. Like I’d ever parade a guy around in front of your broken heart.”

“I told you I don’t have a—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s what you say.”

“It’s true. I—”

“Who are you lying to, Haley? Me or yourself?” When I don’t respond, she prompts me with two syllables. “Ha-ley?”

I don’t have to see Lia to know what her face looks like. She’s wearing the look. I can tell by her tone of voice. They go hand in hand.

The look is this expression that Lia mastered long ago. It’s like a truth gun that pierces all the way to your soul and forces you to examine the reality of any given situation. It’s a gift for Lia, who can worm information out of anyone, even a perfect stranger. For everyone else on the planet, it’s a curse.

Even over the phone, it has the desired effect, ripping open all that I would keep hidden and forcing me to face the facts. My chin starts to tremble and the backs of my eyes burn.

“I…I didn’t mean to fall in love with him, Lia. I knew better.” I sniffle. “I knew better.”

Lia sighs. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

I can all but feel her arms come around me. Lia can convey a lot with her voice.

“That’s why I have to leave. I can’t afford to make another mistake. The last two have cost me too much.”

“Are you sure he’d be a mistake?”

“Well, he’s already lied to me, and he told me upfront that he doesn’t ‘do love,’ so yeah. I think so.”

“Are you sure you should be going back to Colorado at a time like this? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone so much right now.”

“No, I think solitude might be what I need most. At least for a while.” I give her a bitter laugh. “This will probably be the one time I’m thankful that all our friends sided with Trevor.”

“Assholes,” she mutters. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. But thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Live a miserable existence free of all the chaos that I like to think I can bring to a relationship.”

“You can certainly do that.”

We both laugh.

“Call me when you land, okay?”

“I will.”

“I love you, Hay.”

“Love you, too.”

We hang up, and I bask in the ease she brought to my heart by just being my best friend. It’s short-lived, however, because the moment my eyes fall on the blinking number four on my phone’s screen again, clouds roll in to steal that brief flash of peace.

Here we go again.

What is it with me and all the Mr. Wrongs?