Page 72 of The Playboy SEAL
It would make sense. I think it’s what he does now that the dating apps are null and void. He makes nice with one of the women from his past to make sure he has sex lined up for his free time.
I shake my head. “That’s over. You know that.”
Tahoe laughs. “I’ve seen enough of this shit over the years to know when it’s over. You haven’t bagged any chicks since her, have you?”
I don’t know anything about his history with any typesof relationships. He’s so secretive. I wish I had that type of superpower. There are whispers Tahoe got his heart crushed and that’s what turned him into this monster.
I shrug again. “Trust me, it’s over.” Even if it wasn’t, her last email made it perfectly clear what her opinion on the matter is. “I can’t deal with that. Wouldn’t you agree I have enough to worry about?”
Tahoe knows what happened. After I spoke with my parents about Teala’s condition, I told him. Or better yet, he coaxed it out of me when we were drinking too much beer one night.
I chance a glance his way. He’s smiling at me like a fucking bastard.
“This job is a no-brainer for you, you pretty asshole. That woman? A challenge that was too much to handle. You bit off more than you could chew.”
I narrow my brows. “Are you telling me I failed?”
His laughter is loud, his head thrown back. “I would never tell you that. You might kill me,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I’m saying she hurt you.”
“Fuck you,” I reply.
“Fuck you very much,” Tahoe sings, still laughing. Then he goes on to explain how Teala is sort of his hero for doing what he couldn’t. Fucking asshole.
He’s one hundred percent right.
Teala doesn’t reply to my email until later that night. I’m getting used to being in my house again. It feels more like a hotel than an actual hotel feels. My television is on, the news playing low in the background, when my laptop pings a new message. I starred her email address as VIP so I wouldn’t have a gut-wrenching repeat occurrence.
Subject: Weddings and lies
Macs,
It’s unfortunate you weren’t checking your email. I saw they arrested people in NYC a couple of days ago. I’m assuming a way to go is in order. I’m keeping busy with the usual, trying to get acclimated to life after the attacks. It’s taken me a while to feel this normal, and I’m afraid that any small shift will create a toppling of emotions and more life destruction. It’s hard to believe how much was stolen from so many people, you know? I feel lucky when I think about it that way. My family and friends are okay. I’m scared a lot of the time still, but fear is just background noise instead of the headliner. Walking down the street, I can forget, even for just a moment or two, that anything happened at all. Honestly, you remind me of too much bad, Macs. Falling in love turned into something villainous. Like a virus taking over my body, it stole so much away. It’s not your fault, but in the same token, there’s nothing you can do about it. I should have guarded my heart better. It was foolish for me to think it could have been a normal relationship. You didn’t respond to my emails, and those months gave me something you never could—not while my mind was twisted with love, anyway. Perspective. And mine is better without you in it. Stay safe, you fucking hero.
Best,
Teala
P.S. I’ll see you at the wedding.
I don’t mean to break my laptop. It finds its way to the floor on its own. I pace the room, focusing on random things as I go. The bright white molding. The handle on the glass doors. The clock ticking on the fucking wall,the television reporting on the same bullshit that’s been on forever now, the coffee table. Avoidance. I can’t think about her words and what they mean. It’s one thing for her to break up our relationship when she wasn’t thinking clearly. It’s quite another to make a level-headed decision and still conclude we’re not good together. The kicker is I can’t fault her. She wrapped up her well-being around being away from me.
I want her happiness even if it means my destruction. I kick the laptop on a pace back toward my front door and curse loudly, pulling on the tips of my hair. I open a beer and drain it quickly. It doesn’t erase anything, so I drink another. Then another. When Tahoe shows up with several of his friends, I open the door widely and let them pass into my space. I don’t even question it like I usually would.
Teala made the decision for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Teala
“Deep breaths,Teala. Everything is going to be okay,” Dr. Rhodes whispers, leaning over.
I’d take his hand in mine for comfort, but he says it’s not appropriate to have any physical contact, so I focus on my breathing and keep my face turned toward the large tree. I chose this chair specifically because it was so near the front of the flower altar and there was less chance he would sit in front of me and force me to look at him. Avoiding him completely is out of the question, but Dr. Rhodes even agreed limiting contact with Macs would probably be best.
It’s a small wedding, only several white folding chairs on each side of the aisle and a podium covered by flowers for the officiant. I know the wedding will be quick, too. Carina and Smith decided to surprise everyone and hold it in Balboa Park last minute. After the success of Carina’s novel and consecutive movie deal forNever Forever,there was a frenzy over their real-life relationship and reconnection. A wedding that is fastand dirty and unpermitted was how they were doing it.
I can’t help the pang of jealousy that creeps in when I think of how happy my friend is. Their love seems so effortless even if I know for a fact it was also traumatic. What love is easy these days? I asked Dr. Rhodes to come to this thing with me because I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t self-destruct. Macs probably has a date here, as does most everyone else, including Charlotte. Dr. Rhodes comments on my friends, some funny anecdotes that make me forget why I’m nervous to begin with. He makes me laugh. He’s safe.
My hair has finally grown out. It brushes my shoulders and is one length instead of fifty. I’m sleeping again, in part because I started taking the medicine prescribed to me and because I started to become…happy. With the support of my mom and without any vices. When you’re messed up to begin with, relationships are a bad idea. My subconscious knew that even if I didn’t. Add in the terror attacks, falling in love, and losing Macs to the unknown, and it was a recipe for disaster formulated just for me. What luck?
