Page 31 of Crave You

We reach my place and Zander stops the car. I open the door but he reaches out and grabs my wrist.

“I’m not going to give up on you, Leona,” he says.

I don’t reply. I can’t even look at his face. I just stare at his hand on my wrist until he takes the hint and releases it.

I get out of the car. “Thanks for the ride,” I say. I slam the door and force myself not to look back as I head for the house. I am inside, leaning against the front door, when I hear Zander pull away with a screech of tires and my tears finally spill over.

I did the right thing. I know I did the right thing. So why do I feel empty, as though I have lost the one good thing I had?

Chapter Eleven

Zander

Four days I’ve been trying to get Leona to talk to me. Four fucking days. That says how special she is. I wouldn’t waste four hours on anyone else if they didn’t want to talk to me. I’ve called, texted, and emailed. I draw the line at actually going over to her house, I am not completely without pride. None of it has brought a response from her, though.

At first, I figured she’d just get over her tantrum, but by the second day — when I had started to calm down — I realized that maybe she was right. She had been right. I’d punched her best friend in the face over a dumb song. Fuck, I had almost cut his throat. If Leona hadn’t been there, I might have — I know I would have. I wasn’t acting rationally and although I knew I was hot-headed I had always been rational, until now.

I figured that now that I had accepted that, I would apologize to Leona and explain it and she would forgive me. Then, we would be OK again. But how could I do any of that when she wouldn’t talk to me.

So, I have made a plan to see her whether she wants to see me or not. It’s Tuesday and Christian’s band is playing again in town. I’m almost certain Leona will be there. I will catch her before she goes in, and we can talk in the car.

I drive over to the venue and park up outside, across the road from the front door. I know I’m early for a concert, but Leona might get there beforehand to have a drink or two with Christian before it starts and I don’t want to risk missing her.

I have been waiting for about twenty minutes when I spot Christian. He isn’t with Leona, though, just a couple of guys. They’re unloading a ton of equipment out of a van in front of the building, its back doors wide open.

I watch for a moment and then I see Christian look up and recognize me. I hadn’t planned on going over there, but now that Christian has seen me, it would look weird if I didn’t. Plus, it would spoil the plan, because if Leona doesn’t want to see or speak to me, no doubt Christian will know this, and he will warn her that I am waiting out front.

I get out of the car and head across the road to Christian’s van. He watches me and when I am almost beside him, he turns to the others with him.

“Why don’t you two take a break? Go grab a drink or something. Come back in fifteen minutes,” he says.

There’s no argument from the others. In fact, they look damned pleased with themselves as they amble off into the building empty-handed. Christian looks me up and down, his hand up to shield his eyes from the low evening sun.

“Have you come to threaten to kill me again?” he asks without emotion.

“Where’s Leona?” I say, ignoring his question.

“I have no idea,” Christian says.

“Sure,” I snap.

“Really,” Christian says. He moves away from me and gets behind the van and I follow, thinking he’s going to run. But he just wants to get out of the sun. He perches on the van floor, his legs dangling out. “Leona and I don’t tell each other our every move. We’re friends. Really good friends, but that’s all we are.”

“She friend-zoned you?” I ask.

“We friend zoned each other,” Christian says.

“You wrote her a love song,” I point out.

“I did, but the song is about platonic love. Haven’t you ever had a friend that you love, that you would go to the ends of the earth for, but you don’t feel attracted to sexually?” Christian asks.

I go to scoff, but the truth is I haven’t and there’s something about Christian’s openness that makes me want to be honest.

“No,” I say.

“Then I feel sorry for you,” Christian says. “Everyone should feel that kind of love at least once in their lives. But what is between Leona and I is — and only ever will be — platonic love. And if you’re still not convinced, it might help to know that I’m gay.”

“Fuck,” I say. I sit down beside Christian on the van floor. I run my hands over my face and over the top of my head. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

---