The best thing in my life? A tiny little voice in the back of my head was saying yes, that could be possible, but bigger, louder, closer, more insistent voices were pointing out the obvious.
“And if it destroyed a business and a friendship?” I responded.
“Or what if it didn’t touch them at all because—newsflash—sometimes it works,” he said.
“Awfully optimistic for someone sitting in a divorce group meeting,” I said.
“No, I’m realistic,” Thatcher said. “I don’t wallow in everything that’s gone wrong in my life, I move on to what’s going right. Because that driving each other crazy thing you mentioned earlier? That means there’s something there.”
“Oh, now I’m wallowing?”
“No, you’re hiding.”
I laughed, my blood rushing in my ears. The nerve of this guy!
“Really?” I said. “So, am I the bird or the plate of food in this new scenario?”
“You’d rather play it safe,” he said.
“I just got played by my husband of ten years, Thatcher,” I said, rising to my feet. “Someone I thought could never surprise me, shock me, hurt me. Someone who promised forever and then vomited that all over me, took my home, my pride, my everything.”
“And you wake up every morning and let him do it again,” he said quietly.
I physically stepped back, the metal chair scraping on the floor as my calves pushed it with me. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. After—after everything—after—
“Excuse me?”
“You give him that power,” he said.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I seethed. “How dare you—”
“What?” he asked, rising from his seat. “How dare I what? Speak the truth? Gabi, you’re so terrified of being comfortable, of enjoying something real, that you’re sabotaging your own life.”
My eyes filled with angry tears. “And why on earth would it scare me, huh? When the men I trust keep betraying me!”
“Her real name is Gabi,” someone whispered near me, and I blinked the tears free and looked around, sucking in a breath as I remembered we weren’t alone.
I laughed bitterly and gestured in a wide circle. “Touché.”
“What, you’re lumping me in with that asshole?” Thatcher said, his body looking spring-loaded. “How have I betrayed you? By saying your name in a group of people who couldn’t care less? Names aren’t weapons.”
“By pretending to be my friend, and then using everything I told you against me,” I said, my words choking on the end. “You want to know why I don’t let myself get comfortable? Because people like you worm their way into my heart and then break it.”
Half-blinded by the hot anger swimming in my eyes, I reached down for my wristlet and keys, and snatched Thatcher’s jacket off my chair, throwing it at him. I didn’t wait to see if he caught it, I just needed as far away from him, from these nosy eyes, from the whispers behind my back as possible.
“That’s who you’re falling for?” I heard Veronica ask as I reached the door.
“Honey, do yourself a favor,” Aspen’s soft voice chimed in. “Let that little bird keep flying.”
A painful laugh escaped my throat as I slammed the door behind me. Fuck them. Fuck them all. I didn’t need this, or him, or anything. I went eight months or so of friendship with Micah before ever laying eyes on her brother or my business partner. We could go back to that, and just be cordial when life dictated we be in the same place.
I heard the door open and boots on the wooden walkway when I opened my car door.
“Gabi!”
I turned to slide inside, and saw his profile in the doorway. It was good that I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t want to. I’d said I was done with men, and I stupidly went there anyway. No more. I was over it.
“Go to hell, Thatcher.”
I closed my door and drove away, not looking back.
* * * *
I couldn’t go home, whatever that was. On the very remote off chance that Thatcher decided to chase me down, I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t have more of this conversation. I couldn’t—do any of it.
Drew took one look at me, sat me down on the couch in her trailer, and handed me a glass of wine and a spoon. We curled up, knees to knees, and ate double chocolate chunk ice cream out of a carton and sat in silence till I was ready to speak.
“You know that ugly brown music box that you were eyeing the other day when we were arranging crap?” I said, finally. “The one Bart’s mom gave me?”
“It’s not ugly,” she said around a giant bite. “It’s eclectic.”
“It’s ass-ugly.”
“You have no taste,” she retorted.
“Well, you can have it,” I said. “Since you are clearly the cultured one.”
“Thank you,” she said, clinking my spoon with hers. “I’ll be sure to put it right here on the coffee table so you can enjoy it every time you come over.”
“You would do that,” I said, nodding.
“Totally.”
I sighed, setting my glass down, the ice cream suddenly too sweet in my stomach.
“I almost had sex with Thatcher the other night.”
Drew let a few seconds pass. “After Rojo’s?”
“Yep.”
“Am I supposed to be surprised?” she said. “Why just almost?”
“We got interrupted by Jackson banging on the door,” I said. “And opening it.”
“You couldn’t yell at him to go away?” she asked, digging for another spoonful.
“We were kind of on the door he was pushing open.”
Drew looked up with widened eyes. “Hot,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
“It can’t happen anymore,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “This again? Gabi, why are you so hell-bent against having a good time with this guy?”
“I wasn’t!” I said. “I mean, I was. And that night I didn’t stay, I left, because—I don’t know, it got real, and I wigged out, and then moving day came and—”
I had to stop. Everything was swirling and tainted and painful about that, now.
“And what?” she asked.
“I—I kind of lost it in the baby’s room,” I said. “Saying goodbye—”
“Oh, Gabi,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have closed the shop or had Dad take over, and came to help you.”
“No,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I wasn’t alone, I had Micah. And Thatcher.” I closed my eyes and let a long breath go. “He got me through it.” My eyes filled again. Damn it, that needed to stop. “I let him get me through it.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “And?”
“And tonight was group and I’d decided it was going to be all sex all the time, and no more feelings, and he used everything I told him to make a big point in front of everyone,” I gushed.
“What point?” she asked.
“He said that I’m giving Bart power every day because I won’t take a chance.” I waved my hands. “Or something like that. I don’t know, my head exploded about that time so it’s all kind of foggy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, big brother Roman doesn’t just want sex.”
“Oh, hell no,” I said. “That’s just steak, and he wants potatoes and salad.”
Drew squinted. “What?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does,” she said.
I met her eyes, and swiped under mine. “Why?”
“Because you’ve made this big case about Micah and the business, but you haven’t said one word about that,” she said. “But you’re sitting here crying and upset because he hurt your feelings tonight.”
“It all goes together,” I said, not liking the turn my brain was picking up on.
“Not really.”
“Drew, I didn’t come over here to—”
“You’ve caught feelings,” she said, “and so has he, and that scares the shit out of you.”
All the air in my lungs felt like it was syphoned out with a turkey baster.
“You—you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I breathed.
“Gabi, I do,” Drew said, her own dark eyes misting over. “I run from that, myself. I know the look.”
I blinked new tears free. “I’ve known him for all of two weeks,” I said. “And really only one. You don’t fall in love in a week.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But your heart can’t hurt like yours is right now unless it joined the party. And just watching the two of you fake it the other night—sure looked like his had, too.”
My phone buzzed from my pocket, and for about a tenth of a second, I wished it was Thatcher. It wasn’t.
“Hey, Carmen,” I said, a little concerned. Carmen wasn’t one to call me at nearly nine o’clock at night, and knowing they’d been out of town my first thoughts were either that there had been an accident or that something was wrong with Lanie. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” she said, her voice sounding odd. “I’m sorry it’s so late. We just got back in town and Sully went straight over to check on Bailey. He hasn’t been answering his phone. He doesn’t always, but—but I had this weird feeling—”
I frowned. “Carmen, what’s wrong?”
“Mr. Bailey is dead,” she said, her voice shaking. “Sully found him.”