Page 44 of The Biker and the Gamer
"I agree to tweaking her character, for the sake of relatability—with my final approval, of course—but Syla isnotgay." I stand and snatch up my phone and iPad. "Tom, you can take over from here."
I leave the suffocating room and head back to my office.
Dumping my stuff on the desk, I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and look out at the vista, unseeing.
Absently, I slip my hand into my pocket for the Post-It note I've been carrying around like a torn dollar bill for the past three months.
Slowly, I unfold it and read the words for the millionth time.
One sentence. Scrawled in her crabby penmanship.
I'm sorry, but I suck at goodbyes.
I know her, know how she operates. I should’ve expected it, but I didn't. I shouldn’t have been surprised; she is who she is. I’d known what I was in for when I allowed myself to fall for her. But in the days leading up to my departure, she'd been so tender and soft that I got spoiled and comfortable with that side of her.
So when I woke up on the day I was to leave and neither she nor her belongings were anywhere in sight, a Post-It note left on her pillow, I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry.
I resented her for all of thirty minutes before my heart reminded me that that was why I loved her in the first place. And that's when I started to laugh. Because, what else did I expect? That she'd come to see me off with a tearful goodbye?Right. That’s not Kendra.
It was when I finally heaved myself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom that my mind was completely blown. Because on the bathroom mirror, was another Post-It.
I slip my hands inside my other pocket for the second note I've been carrying around for the past three months and unfold it.
One sentence.
For what it's worth, I'm in love with you too.
Now what the hell did I do withthat? Right when I was supposed to leave. She had every opportunity to tell me, but she waited down to very day. Why?Why? Because she knew that if I knew how she felt I’d stay? Fight harder for her? Give it all up just to have her?
Screw her! Just...screw her.
Clenching my jaw, I stuff the notes back into my pocket. I've been so damn angry at her. But at the same time, all I want is to hold her, touch her, kiss her. Bewithher.
We've not been in touch since. I've been too mad at her to even text her. And she's Kendra Tisdale—too stubborn and prideful to hit me up first. Her way of proving to me that she can do bad all by herself.
But that doesn't mean I haven't been keeping tabs on her. Through Isaac, who's decided to remain in Denver for a while. According to him, she went on a two-week solo vacation to Paris a few days after I left. That rankled me for some reason. She'd told me she wanted to visit Paris. It should have beenmewho took her there. Kissed her under the Eiffel Tower. Locked our hearts on Pont des Arts. She denied me that chance, goddammit. Now, she, Isaac and Leyana go out every Friday night to watch live music from Indie bands. I trust Isaac not to try anything with her, but it still sucks that he gets to spend time with her while I’m here losing my damn mind.
He also told me that she’s restless and distracted half the time, and I like to let myself believe that I'm the cause of that. Believe that she's distracted thinking aboutme. That she hasn’t forgotten me. That she's still in love with me.
~
Later that evening, I get home to a house smelling of smoked salmon and the soothing instrumentals of Bach floating on the air.
I almost always forget that she's here. Until I get home and she's everywhere, taking over my space.
She cheated on me. Got knocked up and ghosted, then came running back for help. She was only supposed to be here for a few weeks. But not long after that debacle, she got laid off from her job. I told her she could stay here until she got herself sorted. It's been quite a while now. Seven months to be exact. She was here the entire time I was in Denver. I thought for sure I’d come back and find her gone. No such luck.
It was only last month, when her dad rang me up to chat, that I realize she hadn't told her family what had happened. They have no idea we’re broken up or that she’s pregnant from another man.
When I confronted her about it, she broke down. Admitted that she’s been too ashamed to tell anyone and has pretty much been hiding out here. That's when I also figured out that she hadn't been laid off, but had instead left her job out of embarrassment—considering all her co-workers knew about—and enabled—her infidelity.
Even after all that, I'm still the one who's carrying her shit.
"Hey, you!" she greets from the open-plan kitchen when I walk in. Her strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail and her hands, feet, and breasts are dramatically swollen.
She’s nine months pregnant. Could go into labor at any moment, and she has that pregnancy glow thing going.
"Hey."
