Page 9 of Keeping Mr. Sweet

“It had five thousand views when I saw it. And that was over twenty-four hours ago.”

“So?”

“How am I supposed to face people? You, Summer, my dad?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But maybe you’ll have better luck when you’ve slept this off.”

“I doubt it,” I retort.

“We’ll see.” He turns and walks out of the room. “When you’re acting more like yourself.”

***

When I wake up again there’s a lot of noise coming from downstairs. From the second floor I can hear everything that’s happening in the restaurant. The murmur of many voices, the clang and clatter of people eating. Underneath that Sam’s voice and another man’s as they bark orders. Someone laughs. And then another.

I lay in the darkness and listen for a while. Everyone else is going about their evening like normal while I lay in Sam’s bed and wallow in self-pity. I stay there until I can’t stand the fact that I’m behaving like this, and didn’t Sam say we might be able to get the video taken down? There has to be some way out of this hole I’ve created, some way I can fix things.

Throwing back the covers, I climb off the soft mattress and head for the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in a towel, I open my carry-on that Sam must have bought up while I was asleep and find a change of underwear, the minimalist’s essential make up kit, and a silk dress with the thinnest spaghetti straps that I’d packed thinking I would probably wear it for Luca on our layover. That and my ID, passport, and credit cards are all I have with me. All my other clothes are still back at the share apartment. Well, they’ve probably been rifled through by the girls who I shared the space with at this point. Who cares, since I have no plans to return any time soon. Or ever.

My stomach grumbles as I dress and do my hair. Awake now, it tries to take up all my attention. So does Sam. The way I behaved last night can’t happen again. Trying to take us back to that spot where everything is euphoric before it crumbles isn’t going to help me now. How many times have we been here? How many times have I found myself going out of my mind because of us? How long does it take to let go of the only one you’ve loved?

“What are you doing?” The door quietly shuts behind him as he stands in the foyer of his apartment. His jaw slackens, his bottom lip falls slightly open. He takes a moment to unknot his tie and slip it from around his neck, then undoes the top two buttons on his white collared shirt. He’s tired. These past weeks have been hard on him. He’s worked longer shifts than I ever recall him doing before. It’s like he’s drowning himself in work in an effort to avoid thinking about his dad.

As he walks toward me his attention is caught by my suitcases. His top lip twists grimly and his jaw clicks as he clenches it. He settles his gaze on me and shakes his head. “Of course you’re leaving.”

“It’s time.” I wring my hands as I meet him in the middle of the room. Probably shouldn’t give away how much I don’t want to go, so I slap them to my thighs instead. If I had of known how much leaving him again was going to hurt, I would never have come. I take a deep breath, catch it between my teeth. Who am I kidding? Like I could stay away. It’s only being here with him brings back all the things I wanted when we were together. It reminds me of what happiness feels like. It’s almost unbearable to warm my hands with the memory of it, knowing that it’s not for me.

I don’t want to be the bitch for leaving him so soon, but being here doesn’t help either of us. It doesn’t help him move on to someone who won’t hurt him the way I can, and it doesn’t help me forget everything we shared, or the dreams we had for our future together. Leaving when he was about to ask me to marry him was hard enough. Leaving now is almost harder, but happiness is fleeting. Love always hurts in the end, and I can’t bear to go through that with Sam. “I was never staying. It’s been weeks since...”

“Since the funeral. You can say it, Ash.” His shoulders cave, and he grimaces. “I’m well aware that I lost my dad.”

At least you had one that truly loved you. I don’t say it, not out loud. It’s a selfishly inappropriate thought to have when he’s struggling with loss, but it’s true. Or at least, it is to me. No one else would dare say that Robert Durum wasn’t a fine man, an upstanding man, a man who cared for his family very much. Those who knew him before might say that he’s only a shadow of the man he once was. Or that he works too hard. Or that the loss of my mother affected him so deeply he doesn’t quite know how to live in the real world. Those people always remember the man that he would have been if she were still alive. A caring man. A family man. I only know the man who has made a point of not being part of my life.

Sam walks around me to empty his pockets into the platter on the hall table. Doesn’t turn back. “So why are you leaving this time?”

“I was never staying,” I repeat. “I came because you needed me, that’s all.”

“And you think I don’t need you now?” He spins around, his gaze sparks and his nostrils flare as he grabs my forearms.

“We’re only temporary. Only ever a good time, Sam. You had to be expecting this.” The longer I stay the more I want from him, but that isn’t who I am. I’m a feel-good fix, a drunk dial, a booty call with no expiration. For him, I’ll be anything he wants except for permanent.

Even if he hasn’t worked that out yet, he will. One day he’ll realize that I’m not the kind of girl one settles down with, and not because I’m young. If that was all it was then I’d have fallen at his feet that afternoon I packed my bags. I would have told him I heard him ask his father for his grandmother’s ring. I would have begged him to wait just a little while before he asked me to marry him. Until he was absolutely certain I was what he wanted.

“I thought... Christ.” He lets me go and spikes his fingers through his hair as he stares at some point behind me. With a headshake, he trudges toward the bedroom. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.” I curl my fingers into my palms to keep from reaching for him. Can’t let him see how much I want to belong with him. Or that the entire world seems dim and uninteresting compared to Friday nights in with him, sharing dinner from one plate and talking about our week. “We talked about this last time. I’m still only twenty-one. I’m supposed to be travelling the world, and trying new things, and...” It’s all a bunch of lies that trip off my tongue and leave me queasy. Better to hurt him a little now than bring him a lifetime of pain.

“What if I wanted you to stay?” With his back still turned to me he puts one hand to the wall and bows his head. “What if I asked you to?”

“Would you?” My heart falters, like it’s hovering above a deep precipice and his answer will seal my fate. Would he love me when no one else can? Would he take on that burden? Would he let me break his heart and shatter his soul? Would it be worth it?

It’s ages until he answers me. Or minutes. I can’t tell. When he turns around he’s rubbing the left side of his chest and he appears lost in thought. Then he exhales long and hard as he drops his hand to his side. “No. You’re right. You can’t stay here.”

He breaks my heart a little bit more each time he lets me go. One day soon there’ll probably be nothing left but debris.

“We both have lives that we need to get on with,” he continues. “Lives apart.”

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