Page 35 of The Heartbreak List

“Yeah, sure.” I drop the conversation for her. And because it should be none of my business. We eat in silence for a bit before I ask, “How about a round of twenty questions?”

“Okay.”

By the time we push our plates away and finish our coffee I know that Indy has one sibling, an older brother. Her star sign is Libra. She spent three summers working in her aunt’s bookstore which is coincidentally where she learned about blue alien cock. And she has never so much as gotten a sunburn.

She knows that I’m a Taurus. And that I haven’t seen my sister in three years, but I talk to Shae at least once a week so that she never feels like I don’t care even though I still refuse to visit. I learned MMA from the age of six and I used to study law. And that I jumped out of a plane on my eighteenth birthday. And every birthday since. Except for that one year when the weather was bad.

She shows me this comedian that she found on social media earlier in the night. She thinks he’s hilarious and cute. I tell her that I could be just as big an asshole if that would make her laugh. I promise her she doesn’t need to find me cute, though I suspect she won’t be able to help herself.

She laughs and then tries to hide it by pressing her teeth into her bottom lip while her gaze heats with something that makes my skin prickle with awareness. There’s an attraction between us. Otherwise that first conversation in the bathroom never would have occurred. But it’s not important. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s how easy she is to be around that makes this friendship the real deal.

It’s almost four by the time we vacate the booth.

Indy is yawning so big, it makes her eyes watery. The idea of sending her home alone when she’s wrecked doesn’t sit well with me. And when she wobbles as we walk between tables to the exit, bumping her hip into one hard enough to leave another bruise on her delicate skin, I wrap an arm around her waist to be helpful. “You okay?”

“I’m feeling a bit off.” She touches her head. “Staying up all night is probably not looking after myself, is it? Perhaps Gray has a point after all. I’m taking too many risks.”

It’s more likely he’s blinded to how stilted she is because of his own fear. Indy wants more. I can tell that by looking at her. Add in the bucket list and her not having a reason to pretend otherwise and only a blind man couldn’t see that.

“We can share an Uber.” I’ve already ordered one and they’ll be out front in a minute.

“That’s okay. I can get myself home.” Her eyes flutter shut as she rests her temple against my shoulder. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s asking for my help.

“We’ll share.” It’s not up for debate. I’ll see her to her door, and then I’ll head home to my own bed.

The Uber pulls up a few seconds later and we pile in. It’s a twenty-minute drive to her apartment. Her building has a doorman. He looks at me suspiciously as I help her into the elevator because she can barely open her eyes against the dim lobby lighting.

Great. Fucking great. There’s no way her fiancé isn’t going to hear about this. But maybe he should. Maybe he needs to be aware that there are bigger threats to his keeping Indy than he suspects. Or at least let him think that she might be smartening up to how overbearing he is. There’s still time for him to turn this around and be everything Indy needs from him before it’s too late.

I wish someone had given me a reason to fly straight when there was still something I could have done. But Cooper is gone and this never-ending shit show that is my life is my constant reminder that I once was much like Indy’s guy. I had the love of my life. A future so bright we needed shades to contemplate it. None of it lasted. None of it even mattered when I lost Cooper.

“Thanks for bringing me home. I can barely see straight.” Indy’s hand curls up in my shirt, like she’s using it to hold herself up.

I’m convinced of that when her knees give. Scooping her up, I carry her out of the elevator only to realize I have no clue which door in this swanky building is her place. “What’s the number, Indy?”

She directs me to the right door while she digs for her key. Holds it up triumphantly, but also without much energy. I slide her to her feet, continuing to hold onto her while I unlock the door.

She whimpers as she clutches at her head. “Shit.”

“Should I be taking you to the hospital?” This is the first time I’ve really seen her deal with the pain from the tumor. My heart is booming. What if this is worse than I think it is? What if I’m encouraging her to make bad decisions? Being the bad influence and not taking this seriously enough?

“No.” She holds her head, her eyes squinty and barely open. “I need the painkillers in the kitchen and to go to bed. There is nothing they can do at the hospital that I can’t do for myself.”

“I’m going to help you.” I keep an arm around her as we walk through to her kitchen.

Her place is nicer than mine. Clean and filled with modern fixtures. I have a lot of retro orange and green in my apartment. They’re an untouched throwback to another era.

The kitchen is full of gourmet appliances, cherry wood, and white cabinetry. Her pills are set out on the granite countertop. She directs me to pick the right ones and where to find a glass.

I fill it with chilled water from the spout on the fridge and wait for her to swallow down the meds. Then I scoop her off her feet. “Which way?”

The bedroom is cozy, but less pristine. The covers are crumpled. There’s a charcoal suit jacket and matching tie hanging over the back of a high-winged armchair in the corner. Cufflinks on top of a biography of one of hockey’s greatest athletes on the nightstand. A picture of Indy and a man with blond hair and ice blue eyes smiling lovingly at each other.

So that’s him. Gray. The douche who left her bruised while trying to prove that she could be hurt more easily and needs to be more careful. The guy Indy loves with her whole heart and won’t hear a bad word against.

“I think I’m going to hurl,” she says as I put her back on her feet. She covers her mouth and sprints to the bathroom.

It sounds like Chewbacca is coughing up a hairball. Should I go in there and hold her hair back? Or bow out and let her deal with it herself?

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