Page 64 of Lessons in Love
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t play innocent, Hardy. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you were never innocent.” She starts for the door, but I take her arm.
“Wait.”
“No,” she says and yanks her arm free. “And about Saturday.”
“What about it?”
She glances to Isabella who has stopped the dramatics long enough to enjoy the entertainment. “She told me what you said to her before I walked in. I know you were going to take her to your office.”
“Choose your next words carefully, V.”
“I don’t have to be careful. The truth speaks for itself.” She puts her jacket on and throws the gloves at my face. “Lowry asked me out for my birthday. I told him I had plans already, but I think I’ve changed my mind.” One last look. One last hate filled look is given before she says, “Goodbye, Hardy.”
I could argue with her all day, but we’ll get nowhere with so much anger between us. So I turn mine to the woman who deserves it.
Isabella shrugs her pointed shoulders. “She has no strength or trust. A weak woman could never stand by your side.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing that you don’t do any other night of the week.”
“That woman,” I say, sighing as my heart bleeds through my chest while shattering inside. “She’s the only one I care about and you destroyed that. You destroyed the goodness that she had inside her.”
“Hardy, we could be so good together again.”
My emotions go numb, my heartbeats dull. My gaze hits her, and disgust returns. “Get the fuck out of my bar, and stay out of my fucking life.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I’m done.” With Isabella. With love. With everything.
I walk away, leaving the blonde behind me just where she should have always stayed—in my past.
Chapter Twenty-One
Standing at the window of my apartment, I stare out. I can’t see beyond two feet. The snow is dense. The weatherman has called it a blizzard and told his viewers to hunker down. But there’s no hunkering to be done. The weather outside matches the storm raging inside me since Virginia walked out of the bar.
It’s her birthday and I’m stuck inside during the snowpocalypse. The bar is closed like almost everything else in Brooklyn. I have a feeling Manhattan is even worse. That’s left me with nothing to do but relate to the bad conditions. Feeling sorry for myself has become my specialty over the last forty hours. Not that I’m counting. I’ve done everything to get a hold of her and she’s just not having any of it.
Texted.
Called.
Email.
Pigeon carrier.
Okay, no pigeons were harmed in the process of getting a hold of Virginia. Nor were they used in any way, but if you know of any fanciers, let me know. Asking for a friend.
Bet you didn’t know a bird handler was called a fancier. Well neither did I, but considering how much time I’ve spent alone in this apartment the last—looking down at my watch—forty and a half hours, Google has become my friend.
Sitting down on my rolling desk chair, I cruise back to the window and kick my feet up on the sill. Isabella sure did a number on my life. Like a tornado, she came. She destroyed everything in her path, and then fizzled back out. Now I’m left with a big disastrous mess to clean up and I have absolutely no idea where to start.
Two rotations on my chair later, I sit up and pull my phone from pocket. I’m going to try one more time. If she doesn’t answer I won’t be able to avoid her not so subtle hints anymore. If she doesn’t answer this time, it’s time to move on without her. It rings three times before it goes to voicemail, my heart sinking even lower. I hear the message that I’ve become too familiar with, “Hi, this is Virginia. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message after the beep or if we’re friends or family, text me instead because I hate checking voice messages.” She laughs at her own joke, and I smile because I miss hearing it. “Take care. Bye.”
