Page 40 of The Rebound
“Right. I was with Beth,” I add when he doesn’t continue.
“Yeah, she messaged. Apparently you’re her new best friend.”
“She’s been really nice. We made up about what happened the other day.”
“Good for you.”
“Mm-hm.” I smile, trying to gauge his mood. “Look, Luke, I’m sorry about what happened.”
“You said that already.”
“And I’m saying it again. I wasn’t telling the truth before. I’m not—”
“I just want to make one thing very clear,” he interrupts. “And that’s whatever midlife crisis you’re having—”
“Midlife? I’m thirty years old.”
“Whatever breakdown this is then, I don’t want to be part of it.”
I stare at him, stung. “Well… you’re not.”
“Good.”
“Great.” I cross my arms and uncross them. Neither of us moves. “If you’re mad about last night—”
He cuts me off with a laugh. It’s not a nice one. “I’m mad you didn’t tell me about your fiancé.”
“But that’s what I wanted to—” I break off with a hiss as another cramp strikes.
Luke frowns. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” I glance toward the bed sheets in case I missed a spot. “I was wrong, the hangover’s starting.”
He watches me for a moment and I struggle not to sit back down or, more realistically, curl up into the fetal position and ask him to bring me a pastry.
“You know,” he says eventually. “Just because your job went sour doesn’t mean you can get away with stuff like this. You can’t just disappear for years and then waltz back into people’s lives like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t affect things.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”Now it’s my turn to be mad. “Believe what you want to believe about me, Luke, but I didn’t come back to mess with you. And I certainly didn’t waltz. I came back because I didn’t have a choice.”
“No. God forbid it would be for any other reason.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t for the warm welcome,” I snap. “And you know what? It’s none of your business what I do or why I do it. All I know is I was very drunk last night andclearlynot thinking.”
I pluck my phone from the charger as he stalks over to the bed, redoing my attempt at making it. He’s ignoring me now. Like a child.
Fine.
Freaking fine.
Let him think what he wants. I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe him anything.
“Thanks again,” I call, a little louder than necessary, and slam the door as I go.
I meet no one on my way home. Or maybe I do and I don’t see them, just storm past them muttering to myself.
