Page 43 of Lessons in Forgiving
The aggravation in his tone dropped when he threw me another apologetic glance. “I would’ve told her to screw herself, if I hadn’t thought I was minutes away from being kicked out. Promise!”
Computing the information took me a second, and all I could latch onto were his last words. “Alfie,” I hummed with a smile on my lips, bumped his shoulder with my own. “You don’t need to justify that. At all.”
I shook my head in amused disbelief at him. It was enough that he’d stayed and tried to listen—who’d willingly go head-to-head with Lacy Halloway?
Riley nodded grandly. “You tried!” she encouraged. “It’s all anyone can do.” Then, her expression darkened. “Why is it somehow always Lacy, though?How?”
“She’s obviously the reason I didn’t just tell you inside,” Alfie disclosed. “Her desk is suspiciously placed right in the middle of the office. Where she can pick up gossip from every corner.” The way his voice dropped, and he looked around a little… honestly a little frantic, he sounded like he was sharing his greatest conspiracy with us.
And the fact that Lacy somehow always knew everything wasn’t very farfetched. It might as well be printed in next week’s issue, that’s how much of a fact it was.
Which also meant she knew what had happened in that office of Eddie’s after she’d hypocritically sent Alfie away for eavesdropping, then most likely stayed to do the exact same thing.
She knew whether Henry had been very sure of wanting me on this profile or not. She knew if he’d saidPaula should have this. Or if it had gone a little more likePaula should not even be close to my profile.
Though after he broke up with me, I doubted Henry had wanted me anywhere near himself. Never mind his story literally in my hands.
CHAPTER 18
NOW
I hadn’t been to an HBU game since our breakup. And now I didn’t know what to wear.
It used to be easy because Henry would jokingly tell me I wasn’t invited if I wasn’t wearing his jersey, and I’d obviously oblige. Fishing through my closet now, I found all my tops to be lacking… something.
Specifically, his name on the back.
Which was why I’d been in sweatpants and a baby tee when the doorbell rang. My eyes flicked to the clock above my desk, then down myself, and I cursed Henry for his over-punctuality. If he wouldn’t insist on showing up early everywhere, I’d still have some time not to look like I’d woken up ten minutes ago.
Rushing downstairs, I threw a glare at my cat on the couch that told her to behave. I mouthed the words at her. She blinked back at me like I’d lost it.
This time, when Henry stood on our porch as expected, he’d left a respectable distance between himself and the door. And he seemed proud of the fact. “Is this what you say they do?” he asked by way of greeting, gesturing at the gap between us.
“Wow,” I gushed ironically. “You pick things up fast.”
He pretended to bow as a thanks, and I added, “Let me just get my stuff and we can go. Come in.”
I closed the door behind him, then watched my ex-boyfriend take the place in like he’d never been here. His eyes flickered to the round, pink rug underneath the coffee table which had still been a plain white one the last time he’d been here. The vase that had always held his weekly flower deliveries was empty,probably a little dusty, and the photo wall no longer held any pictures of the two of us; we’d been replaced by other memories.
I wondered if he felt that samepangin his chest when he realized. I wondered if he noticed at all. The thought finally propelled me forward.
“One second,” I repeated, and rushed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. A decision I’d immediately regretted, when my breath was heavy enough to assumeIhad just run a five-minute mile.
I snatched the tote bag from my bed—pre-packed and everything—and threw a last glance in the mirror. It felt stupid to change now, when he’d already seen me and would most definitely notice an outfit change.
Ex-girlfriend who didn’t at all still care, and actually kind of despised him.That’s the vibe I was still going for.
I tried to remember that when I forced myself back downstairs, expecting Henry to stand where I’d left him—by the door, appraising our house and the changes it had gone through since last year.
He was not.
My heart dropped into my stomach at the thought of him leaving—giving up because he’d found something he didn’t want to see, or I’d been too late for him to justify. Perhaps he never cared enough about whether I’d be with him or not.
It seemed unlike Henry, but how well did I really still know him?
“Paula?” It came hesitantly from the kitchen behind me. “A little help here?” A second later, I heard the intimidating hiss of my cat and realized she was no longer on the couch.
Instead, Pip was standing by Henry’s feet, hair raised and back arched, letting off another threatening sound.
