As I drive home, I think about where I’m going. Not in the literal sense, of course, but as far as having a baby. I’m still barreling towards barrenness. Oh, hell. Baroness Barrenness. I snicker and frown. It’s going to be a long, shitty road.
I don’t know where to begin, because I clearly cannot ask someone else to take Fox’s place. Just the thought shoots a bullet of anxiety ricocheting through me, tightening every muscle in my chest. I realize with a mournful sigh that I’ll have to decide whether I can go back to tube-daddy shopping. In the meantime, I apparently have other shit to deal with.
I pull into my driveway to see Fox sitting on my steps with his head hanging down. He snaps to attention and zeroes in on me when I pull up. I sit in my car for the better part of a minute, just breathing. I need to psych myself up for this, even though I have no fucking clue what’s really about to go down.
The top of the Mustang is down and the sweetest smelling breeze sweeps around me, only the slight hint of brine stinging the back of my tongue. I nearly turn the ignition and leave with the intention of heading straight to the beach. But I don’t. I push out of the car and close the door. I lock it and shove my keys in my pocket. I look the car over. I just locked a convertible. I take one last deep breath and march forward into battle where I will not say a goddamn thing, because I’ve already said what I have to say. Sort of. Not really. Goddammit.
I’m just going to tell him that if he brought my shit, he can leave it and go. But then I stomp up the stairs, not unlike a petulant child, and I bump into his chest when he blocks my way. It’s then that I finally look at his face.
“What’s wrong with you?” It’s out of my mouth before I can kick myself in the ass.
His eyes meet mine. Beyond the dark circles and almost gray pallor, it’s easy to see he didn’t sleep much last night, if at all. He looks awful, but I’m determined not to make whatever this visit is easy on him.
“Not that I care,” I say. I nearly do kick myself in the ass. Or something, because REALLY?
“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is extremely hoarse and I’m glad.
“Pfft. No, you’re not,” I say.
Fox sighs. It’s long and exaggerated, like he’s frustrated. I think he just wants to be absolved of the guilt. A chill walks through me because I hate that I know him so well. Yet, at the same time, I feel like I don’t know him at all anymore.
“If I hurt you, I didn’t mean to,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“What I said last night. I don’t know why I said it, but I didn’t mean any of it.”
“First of all, if?” I tick off one finger. “No. It should be obvious, even to an asshole such as yourself, that it did. Second, am I to believe some Jäger goblin stuck its evil hand up your ass and puppeted that shit without your permission? Is that what happened?”
He rolls his eyes, his mouth hanging open in preparation for some brilliant response to my awesome question.
I rush to fill the space because I don’t want to hear his bullshit. “Fucking. Liar. Either you meant what you said, or you just wanted to hurt me. There’s no third option.” I step forward and try to push past him. “I’d like to go inside, please.”
His arms spread, each hand white-knuckling the railing on either side. “Lolls.”
A violent exhale rushes past my lips and my shoulders sag. I’m pissed and sad and still so tired. The jet lag isn’t done with me yet, and the exhaustion weighs on me. I can feel the emotion swirling around, pricking at my cheeks and eyes from the inside. I’m ready to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. The doctor said emotional dips and peaks are entirely normal following a miscarriage and encouraged me to see a therapist after following up with Dr. Beaufort.
“Move.” It should have been a demand, but there’s no power behind it.
“This whole… thing”—he pauses, shaking the words from his head—“it was not well thought out.”
I throw him some seriously poisonous eye-daggers. “Thanks. Like I want more of your opinion.”
“I meant on my part! I mean, we both went into this with… shit. None of this is coming out right.”
“Look!” I snap, and his eyes go wide. “My expectations changed and I didn’t mean for that to happen. You don’t like attachments and the agreement we had was met. End of story.” It’s a relief to get the words out, even if it’s not the full confession. Even if the truth of it kills me. “Let. Me. By,” I hiss.
When he doesn’t, I shove a shoulder into his chest and successfully get past him and up the stairs. He follows me the rest of the way, stopping close enough that I feel his heat on my back and nearly break.
“Can we please talk?” he asks over my shoulder.
His minty breath hits my cheek and I want to cry. Instead, I pop an elbow in his stomach so he has to jump back a step.
“I don’t have anything else to say to you.” I’m encouraged to hear some semblance of resolution in my voice. I unlock the door successfully and go inside.
He immediately follows.
“I don’t remember inviting you in,” I say quietly, but with a surprising amount of venom.
Shock reverberates through his expression, stopping him just a step past the threshold. “I-I’m sorry, I,” he stutters and pauses awkwardly. “Can I please?”
“No.”
He doesn’t move.
“You’re my best friend in the world, Sophie,” he says quietly. “I can’t lose you.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say with biting sarcasm. I’m reminded of his accusation last night, so I stare pointedly. “That’s on me.”
His shoulders slump. “No,” he murmurs, sounding so sad he might cry. “It’s not.”
“Whatever,” I say, whining through my damnable tears and oncoming snot. I swipe my eyes quickly and toss my purse on the breakfast bar. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I miscarried, and we’re done.”
The admission comes so swiftly, so easily, I’m not prepared for how the words will impact me once they’ve escaped my big mouth. I gasp and find myself holding my belly. It’s all still surreal and I’m still wrapping my head around it. I hadn’t had a lot of time to get used to the fact that I was pregnant, but just when I’d started, it was over.
“What?” He sounds appropriately shocked, heartbroken even.
But I ignore that. I tell myself I’m imagining it because that’s how I want him to feel right now. A heavy dollop of remorse wouldn’t hurt either.
He stumbles sideways into the doorframe and grips the edge of it. “When?”
“A week ago. When I was in the UK.” My throat tightens around the answer. Maybe I should have called him then, I suppose. But I couldn’t. I was angry. And the bastard probably wouldn’t have picked up the phone.
“Sophie.”
Fox’s soft chastisement is enough to bring it all back. The horror, the pain, and initial loneliness of the ordeal lands on me again and my knees buckle under the weight. I expect to meet the floor with record speed, but for his quick arms.
“I didn’t know,” he whispers into my ear. “Why didn’t you—”
I shove him away and stand on my own, unevenly and wobbling. “You didn’t care,” I hiss, immediately feeling the lie drag me under. “You wrote me off as soon as I was pregnant. How many women have you fucked since then? One per day? Or did you just have them line up constantly in between shifts and waves?”
It’s a ridiculous exaggeration, but in my current state of mind, my maturity level is negligent. I feel feral. My chest is tight with stress and the need to sob hysterically.
“Goddammit,” he says. For a second, I think he’s literally going to point his finger in my face. “I did not have sex with that girl.”
“Great. Minus one Bimbo Barbie.”
He growls. “Will you listen to me? I couldn’t do it. I just—” He cuts himself off with a panicky swallow.
“You’re a nurse, you have access to the little blue pills,” I snark.
He glares at me. “I didn’t want her,” he continues forcefully. “I mean, I tried—”
“This shit is very nearly the last thing I want to hear. What’s it to me anyway?”
His expression is accusing, and I resent it. “So that wasn’t what upset you last night?”
It was the impetus, sure, but it doesn’t change anything. Even if he did sleep with her, I can’t fault him. As much as I hate it.
“Why would it? I’m only in it for the baby batter,” I seethe, the effect of which is diminished by my sniffling. “Or did you forget?”
Throwing his own words back at him should have made me feel better, but instead, it reminds me of my own stupidity. The stupid hope for something more. The stupid hope that has been stupidly blooming and dumbly transforming into asinine, honest to badness, googly-eyed love. Love for my jackass oldest friend in the world who promised me it was never going to be more than sex. Something we could easily leave behind and remain unchanged. I am not unchanged. I am completely screwed.
“How can I?” he snaps and I freeze. “You remind me at every turn how this isn’t about me. ‘Dick time, Fox! Let’s go! Hop to it! Ride ’em, cowboy! Hot beef injection, coming up!’ I’m just a sperm donor who isn’t fit to keep a goldfish.”
My eyes are on fire as I shout, “Am I wrong?”
The hope flares. My chest aches, burning with it. I blink hard, almost afraid to open my eyes and look into his. When I do, I see something I never wanted to see. Resentment. For me.
“Of course not,” he says. His voice is cutting, too calm. “Are you ever?”
Acid pushes through my veins and I spit. “Well, I chose you, didn’t I?”
That shocks him silent for a moment, so I just watch his chest rise and fall as he stares at me. I don’t know if he thinks his silence will force me to accept his excuses or what, but we remain in a quiet deadlock for a good minute. Finally, I take a breath, releasing my own will to fight.
“Just go.”
“I’m sorry.” Fox moves forward, too close. His hands search for a place to touch me. I slap them away.
“You’re not.” I shake my head. “Not enough. And I need you to leave.”
“I am more sorry than you can imagine,” he whispers. He remains frozen until I shove at his chest.
“I said, leave!” My voice pitches high and sounds childish, but I don’t care.
There are a million emotions I read in his expression, but I can’t trust myself. I must be projecting. He still doesn’t move, so I give another shove and he crashes through the screen door to the porch. I spin and stomp back inside, slamming the inner door behind me.
I can hear him pacing back and forth, not going anywhere. “Sophie,” he pleads, stopping to punctuate the word with a fist to the doorframe. “Please?”
I close my eyes and slide down the door until I’m sitting on the tile. I shake my head back and forth, willing him away. Next thing I know, I hear Nora mumbling curses as she plods up the stairs.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She parses each word out slowly, like she occasionally does for the imbeciles she works with.
Fox starts to speak, but she cuts him off.
“That was mostly rhetorical, dick cheese, because I don’t give a flying fuck. Get the fuck out of here, man. She doesn’t want to talk to your slimy, whoring ass. You insensitive, selfish son of a—”
“Knock it off, Bennett!” he yells. “I’m here to apologize for everything last night and she won’t even—”
“Wait, last night? We just got back from the London last night,” she says, her tone significantly softer. “Did she—? No, she wouldn’t.” Silence for a beat. “Sophie!”
Pissed, I scramble to stand and fling the door open. “What!” I shout at Nora. “Wasn’t my proudest moment, but at least now I know. Okay?”
“What do you know?” Fox asks, incredulous all of a sudden. He glares, twisting toward Nora to ask, “Why were you in London?”
“Nora knows what it is to be a true friend,” I sneer at him. “And I told you to leave. Why are you still here?”
He shifts from one foot to the other. “You don’t know why I said those things. So I… I’m going to tell you.”
“Hold up,” Nora interrupts. “I want to know what he said.”
Fox slams a hand on the doorframe, blocking Nora’s view. “It was all a lie, and yes, I said it to hurt you.”
That truth startles me more than the slam to the frame. I think I might finally throw up.
“What?!” Nora tries to squeeze under his arm, but he pushes her back. She slaps at his back and head. It looks like a Three Stooges’ skit. I’d enjoy it, but I want to hear what he’s going to say.
“Nora, stop,” I say, almost whispering. She peeks under Fox’s arm and eyeballs me. I roll mine at her. “I tell you everything. This will be no different.”
Fox groans and tips his head back for a second. Nora swats at it.
I poke a finger in his chest. “Why?” New tears follow the old tracks down my cheeks. I let them fall unencumbered. “Why would you?”
He swallows hard. “I was angry. At you.”
“Angry at me? Are you fucking serious?” My voice has gone hoarse. I huff and try to walk away, but he grabs my wrist to keep me in place. I lean back, attempting to pull free of his hold. “Let me go!”
“That’s the problem, Sophie, I can’t,” he says, his voice cracking. “I love you.”
I find his eyes with mine and just stop. Everything stops. I can’t speak, because I’m waiting for that other fucking shoe. The “because you’re my best friend” shoe.
“I said those things because only the opposite was true.” His voice is soft, tender. It sounds strange coming from him, but it holds my attention.
“Everything?” I say, feeling tiny and cautious.
“Well”—he looks at the ground and back up—“except for the part where I said I was in love with you and I wanted you to take me back. I actually meant that, but I was too afraid to say it seriously.”
“I think you mean you were too much of a candy-ass cockbag,” Nora snaps from behind him.
“Nora!” I say, annoyed. “Give us a minute, okay?”
“I’m already here for the big dish, I’ll just be quiet.”
“Good fucking luck with that,” Fox mumbles.
I accidentally chuckle at that. He looks up and tries to share a smile with me. I purposefully frown. His face falls.
“You guys are assholes,” Nora hisses.
Fox carefully pushes the two of us inside and closes the door behind us. Over his shoulder, I see her double birdie salute through the high windows in the door. I bite my smile.
“I am an asshole. You—and Psycho out there—are right about that,” he says quietly, picking up my hands in his. His thumbs delicately brush over the backs of my hands. “But… I fell in love with you, and for a bit, I fucking hated you for it.”
I make a noise, frowning. “That makes no sense.”
He inhales slowly and forces his exhale. “I’ve never felt like this before,” he says, and I believe him. “It did not compute. I freaked out.”
I could certainly relate to that, but he wasn’t nearly off the hook. “So that gave you the brilliant idea to treat me like shit? Ignore my texts? Forget I existed? Publicly declare me a horrible lay?”
He grimaces and shakes his head at me. “I told you, that was a lie.” He drops my hands and holds my face instead. Leaning in closer, he explains. “I couldn’t deal with how I felt, how good we felt together. Sex with you is the best I’ve ever had. I’m addicted to you.” He pauses to swallow audibly. “After you were pregnant, I couldn’t imagine just being friends again. I needed all of you, and I thought maybe you wouldn’t need me.”
A few more tears make a run for it. “I needed you more than ever,” I whisper, wrapping his wrists tightly with my fingers. “And you were nowhere.”
“I’m so sorry, Lollipop,” he says as he wipes my tears, but holds my gaze. “Please forgive me. Please?”
I close my eyes. I want to collapse in his arms so badly my entire body aches for it.
“I need you, even if you don’t love me the same. I hope I can live with that, but I’ll never get over losing my best friend. I’ve never managed a proper relationship, so I didn’t know how. Until you,” he says like a confession.
My eyes pop open and I know he can see my surprise, because he smiles. My fingers loosen and slide from his wrists, falling to my sides. He steps just a little bit closer as his grip shifts to my shoulders.
“It didn’t take me long to figure out how perfect we are. I may be slow on the uptake when it comes to loving someone, but if soul mates are a real thing, you’re it. I mean, what we have is real, right? Isn’t it?”
My lips part as I stare at him, wanting to answer, but I can’t speak. I nod minutely and that’s all he needs to crush me against him. His embrace is everything I wanted when I walked off that plane yesterday—everything I needed. It’s late, but it couldn’t feel better. Safer. Maybe that’s an illusion, but nonetheless it allows me to let go. Sobs that had been on deck since I pulled into my driveway break free, heavily enough that my knees buckle. I’m not afraid.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Fox says as he picks me up, sweeping a strong arm under my legs. “I promise.”