Page 62 of Breathing Wisteria
Flynn
Seventeen days.
Seventeen fucking days since I’ve seen her. Smelled her. Tasted her.
Divorce papers landed on my doorstep thirteen days ago and it’s been a complete and total shit show ever since.
Paparazzi out the front of our building scavenging for the best photo, story after story about what supposedly happened between us and I’m so ready to be fucking done with it all.
The amber liquid in my glass swishes as I bring it to my mouth and swallow it down in a single gulp, slamming it back down on the bar.
“Another,” I demand.
The bartender looks at me questioningly, but he must see something that warns him off because he moves away and starts pouring my drink.
I look over my shoulder and take in the dive bar I found my way to tonight. A row of sad, drunk bastards line the bar, and to my left, there is a group of wannabe bikers playing pool. I snort into the fresh drink that has been handed to me as I watch them. A bunch of pussies who would probably piss in their pants if someone started something with them.
Some poor asshole is on stage singing and being ignored.
I remember playing that same stage, being overlooked in exactly the same way.
Ah, good times.
“I remember the first time I saw you up there.”
Her voice sets my nerves on edge and I have to suck down my drink just to keep from saying something I would regret.
Moving on my barstool, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and place it on top of the bar before I turn to face her.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Aw, why so blue, sugarpie?” She smirks at me. “No, actually, scratch that. I know exactly why you’re so glum.” A laugh falls from her lips. “Such a shame that horrible story broke, but I have to admit, I thought she would stick it out longer. I didn’t expect her to give up on you so soon. I guess whoever spread the story did you a favor.” She shrugs. “She was never going to be around for the long haul.”
“And you would be, I suppose.” My tone is derisive, and I make no effort to hide it.
“Oh, honey, I don’t want you anymore.” She lifts the wine glass she has been cradling to her mouth, taking a tiny sip. “I came to my senses and moved on.”
“She told me what you did, you know.”
The glass stills midway to her mouth before she shrugs and places it back on the bar. When she looks at me this time, all humor is gone.
“When you guys started planning the interview straight after our little chat, I figured she had opened her big mouth.” She waves a hand around, waving me off. “It’s not a big deal, Flynn. I wanted something, and I went after it. She called me on it and I followed through. It’s not my fault if she can’t handle the heat. It wouldn’t have been the last time her name was dragged through the mud if she stayed with you.”
Every one of my pulse points are pounding painfully and I have to grip the bar to keep me on my barstool.
“Only because assholes like you don’t consider the truth an important part of any story. But, no.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
I see her in the corner of my eye. Her hands that had been playing with her glass, freeze, and her entire body becomes rigid.
“She told me how you threatened to accuse me of raping you if she didn’t leave me. How you told her you would destroy my career,my fucking life, if she didn’t do it.” I stop, unable to continue. My hands are shaking as the rage I felt that night returns. “What kind of bitch are you?”
My question is met with silence. A single beat that allows doubt to worm its way into my consciousness.
I shouldn’t have worried.
“Me?” she hisses. “What aboutyou? I waited for you all of those years and you led me on, you son of a bitch. All of those exclusive stories. The smiles. All those times you justhappenedto brush up against me.” The soft lighting above the bar gives her an almost ethereal quality that is such a contradiction to the venom illuminating her eyes. “You made me believe you wanted me and then you just tossed me aside whenshecame along.”
She’s a fucking psycho, that’s the only explanation for the line of bullshit she’s spinning.
