Page 12 of Breathing Wisteria
She reaches over and places her hand on my knee, squeezing gently.
“Do you ever worry that she’s watching us, and she doesn’t realize how much we love her? How sorry we are?”
My hand finds its way to hers. “No. Carys knows. She has to.”
She huffs out a small laugh and leans back into the large, overly stuffed cushions.
“You’re right.” Her long legs slide up and under her ass before she turns to fully face me with an expression I can’t quite place.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you. It was cruel, and I have spent every day since regretting it. I don’t blame you for leaving.” Her shoulders lift in a small shrug. “How could you stay after that? I was so wrapped up in my own pain that I didn’t have room to care about yours as well. Oh God.” She curls into herself slightly and covers her face with both hands. “I sound like such a bitch.”
I reach across and gently pull her hands away.
“You sound like a mother who lost her child. Christ, we were so fucking young, we did what we had to do to survive it the best we could. I don’t blame you for anything, Cherry.”
Her eyes soften, and I remember when she looked at me like that on the regular.
“I miss that name. I feel like she’s who I was before it all happened.” Her teeth find her full lower lip and she bites down. “Sometimes I want to be her again so badly, it’s a physical pain.”
I want to drag her to me, feel her body against mine and convince her that she will always be that person to me. But we’re not there yet.
Yet.
“There’s not a damn thing wrong with who you are right now. Look at everything you’ve done over the last ten years.” I gesture to the photo collage she has created along an entire wall of her apartment. “You’ve traveled, you’ve built friendships with people who would kick my ass if given half the chance.” I grin as I remember my run-in with her friend at the diner. “And, from what I hear, you’re killing it with the whole artist thing.”
“From what you hear? How are you hearing things about me? Ahhh.” She rolls her eyes. “Charlie.”
“Don’t get pissy with her, I never really gave her a choice. I hounded her until she would tell me what I wanted to hear, just to get rid of me.”
She laughs, and I feel an answering smile spread across my face. Wyatt Monroe happy is a sight to behold.
“It’s good to know you haven’t changed at all.” Her lips purse slightly and her eyes narrow as she holds my gaze. “Despite you being a super famous rock god and all.”
“Fuck that.” I groan. “You make me sound like some douchey cliché.”
“Weeelll, I mean, not that I’ve followed you or anything.”
Yeah, my ass she hasn’t. I’d bet my last dollar she’s followed me just as closely as I’ve followed her. She just had the luxury of being able to do it through the media and not having to resort to bribery and demands of old friends.
“But according to the tabloids you are kind of a douchey cliché.”
“They’re all a bunch of assholes. I keep my shit to myself and so they create stories that are ten times worse than the worst fucking thing you or I could ever imagine, just because they’re pissed you’re not giving them anything.” Tension is pulsing through me at the thought of her believing all the fucking ridiculous things written about me over the years.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Her hands are thrown up. “I was just messing with you, I know that stuff is bullshit.”
“Yeah?” My shoulders relax slightly.
“Yeah. I mean you used to go out of your mind if another guy even flirted with me, there’s no way you’re sharing your girl in a threesome. Even if that guy did win an Oscar.”
She winks at me. Fucking smartass.
“I mean, okay, maybe they weren’t all lies.” I do my best to sound self-conscious, but it takes all my restraint not to lose it at the small pout playing on her lips.
“I don’t need to hear about all the women you’ve fucked, ’kay, Irish?”
“Jealous?” I challenge.
“Pfft, please. I’m hardly going to be jealous of all the plastic Barbie dolls you’ve been attached too. Besides.” Her eyes narrow evilly. “I get laid plenty, I don’t need to concern myself with your sex life.”
