Page 56 of Almost

“Like shit.” It’s an appropriate answer because I don’t know how I feel. My head is throbbing more than it does with my normal hangovers. I guess I drank more than I thought. “How did I get here?”

She laughs softly. “Well, you’re lucky you even made it to the bedroom. Owen was going to let you sleep it off in the car, then he wanted to leave you on the floor here, but I helped you guys up the steps. Not sure if you know this, but you weigh a ton.”

“Thank you?”

“He picked you up at Thalia’s,” Blake says nonchalantly as if it isn’t a big deal. I wrack my brain trying to rememberwhat happened last night, but I can’t. It’s not coming to me at all.

I don’t say anything about Thalia or Kiera, looking at the television. I recognize the logo for the Boston Bruins—one of the running backs on the team has a brother who plays for them. “Hockey?” I ask, trying to keep the disgust out of my voice. I cannot stand hockey. I respect the athletes, but I grew up on Sunday night football.

“I grew up in Wisconsin before moving here in middle school. I love hockey.”

“But you married a professional football player?” I ask, confused, because in all the years I’ve known Blake, I had no idea she liked hockey.

She grins at me and it’s refreshing to be treated like my life didn’t fall apart. “I love the man who plays it, not the game itself. My parents just about shit a brick when I told them I was dating a football player, let alone marrying one. If we’re being honest, I can’t stand football.”

“What? But you always went and sat with…” I trail off at the thought of Kiera. My stomach rolls again, and I push the thought to the back of my head.

“I go to the games to support Owen. It’s what he loves, and I love him,” she answers simply. “Do you want to talk about it?” Blake asks, adjusting the pillow behind her.

“I don’t even want to think about it, but I don’t think that’s an option.”

Blake mutes the game to turn and face me. “Where are you staying at least?”

“A hotel. We only had the house for another month. I told Kiera she could stay there, and I’d find somewhere else.” The more I talk, the louder the pulsing in my headgets. “Do you have any Tylenol or something? My head is killing me.”

She grabs something off the coffee table, apparently already prepared for me to say this, holding it out for me. “That might be because you hit your head last night. You’re also hungover, but I do appreciate you showering before you came down. You really smelled last night.”

“When did I hit my head?” I ask confused, taking the pills she’s offering me and swallowing them dry.

“Well…when we were carrying you up the steps, Owen tripped and you kinda fell forward and hit your head on the steps. They’re carpet so you’re probably fine.”

I look at Blake speechless. “Honestly, you probably should have left me in the car. At least I wouldn’t have bodily harm if I’d stayed there.”

She waves me off. “Have you talked to anyone yet?”

I get the hidden meaning behind anyone. “You mean have I talked to Kiera? No. I don’t plan on it either.”

“Bash, you probably need to talk to her. It’s not going to be that simple to cut her out of your life. You guys have been together for a while.” Blake says, curling her legs underneath her. Her auburn hair is piled up on the top of her head, resembling something like a rat’s nest.

I shake my head, which turns into a mistake I instantly regret as my head throbs in protest. “I have nothing left to say. Things weren’t going well before she cheated, and now Kiera’s pregnant. I know I’m not perfect, but it’s over.”

“Look, I don’t enjoy saying this, but I think you should consider talking with her. It doesn’t have to be now, but I don’t know how you’ll be able to move past this until you do.”

“I’ll think about it.” It won’t be today. It won’t be next week. Blake is right, though. I do need to talk to her. But there’s someone else I need to talk to as well. I settle back into the couch to watch the stupid hockey game with my best friend’s wife. It gives me something to do other than think of all the things that have gone wrong lately.

~

She’s changing the placards under some of the portraits that are replacing the ones purchased since her opening. My raging headache has somewhat subsided thanks to the water I drank to rehydrate, and the medication Blake gave me.

Bits and pieces of last night have started to come back, but the overall picture was still gone.

Thalia’s wearing a pair of ripped jean shorts with paint splatters on them, and a simple black tank top while singing along to the music playing quietly through the speakers. Her blonde hair is twisted up in a clip that I can see since she’s turned away from me, and I start off with something I should have done a few months ago. It also happens to apply to whatever happened last night.

But this is a conversation we’ve been avoiding for a long time.

“I’m sorry.”

Thalia jumps half out of her skin, letting out a small yelp. “Holy fuck, Bash. I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, holding her hand to her chest.

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