CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO DUFFY

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

DUFFY

The next couple of weeks were hell on earth.

Foolishly—and with complete disregard to logic—I decided to break the news to my family via FaceTime that BJ and I were done. A dreadful idea, really. Mum and Tim were technologically challenged and kept frowning at the screen and leaning into it, as if I was trapped inside Kieran’s mobile.

“My goodness, darling! Broken up? Completely, you mean?” Mum clutched her fake pearls. The same ones that usually made my skin crawl but these days seemed like a funny anecdote about the woman I loved so dearly.

“Yes, Mum, he cheated on me in Thailand. Kier, I thought you told her?”

“I did.” Kieran threw his hands in the air in the background. “She asked how many times, so clearly we didn’t get the reaction we were shooting for.”

“Mum!” I chided, appalled. “Once is more than enough! It’s like murder. You don’t have to be prolific to get into the halls of villaindom.”

“Was he pissed when he did that?” Tim asked seriously. “You know the bloke can’t handle his liquor.”

“Stop making excuses for him!” I fumed.

“We just don’t want you to think you’ve wasted so many years on nothing, darlin’,” Tim explained sheepishly. “You seem to like that twat, for a reason beyond our grasp.”

“Mum, Tim, a time with the wrong person isn’t wasted. It’s like going to school. You’re paying your dues and getting educated about what you want in a partner .?.?. and what you certainly don’t.”

“Does she look heartbroken to you?” Kieran barked out a laugh. “Look at her. She has that bedding-someone-a-decade-older-than-me-who-is-also-my-roommate-oops-the-secret-is-out glow.”

Kieran was lucky we were an ocean apart, because I’d have loved to throw one of my heeled shoes at him right now.

“Is that so?” Mum lit up like a Christmas tree. On fire. Oh God, so awkward. Also—so raw. I wasn’t prepared to tell them Riggs and I were already finished.

“No, Mum, it’s not.” I shot Kieran a scowl. “Riggs and I are only roommates.”

“Who have sex together,” Kieran finished. Did Riggs tell him, or was it one of those twin psychic things?

“You snitch,” I accused.

“You prude!” Kieran laughed.

“Mum, Kieran wanted to moon our neighbor to ask her out,” I snitched back. Two could play this game. His mouth went slack.

“Mum, Duffy got married to Riggs to stay in America.”

Everyone went completely still. Nobody said a word. By the look on Kieran’s face, I saw that he hadn’t intended to let the cat out of the bag. It just rolled off his tongue, like all the other nonsense he spewed on a regular basis.

I lowered my gaze to my feet. Mum shoved her entire face into the camera, showing me an impressive close-up of her nostrils.

“Is this true, Daphne?”

“Yes, Mum.”

She frowned, mulling this over. “Do you love him?” Okay. That reaction, I did not expect.

“It’s just for show,” I reminded her, depressed. “Riggs is helping me out.”

She tilted her head. Now I had a close-up of her chin. “But do you love him?”

Ah, bugger. I couldn’t hide my emotions at all, could I?

“Yeah,” I admitted miserably. “Very much. But he doesn’t love me back.”

“Rubbish.” Tim laughed, delighted. “The man stared at you the entire weekend with worry and anxiety, like you held his balls in your pocket. He’s definitely smitten.”

But if Riggs was truly smitten, he wouldn’t be coming home every night reeking of alcohol and other women’s perfume, much to my chagrin. He wouldn’t ignore me so thoroughly. He wouldn’t move around with a disgruntled frown that made me feel like he was waiting for October 22 like it was the second coming of the Messiah Himself.

“I appreciate it, Tim, but Riggs is not like that.”

“Like what?” he boomed. “Human?”

“He doesn’t do feelings.”

“Eh, famous last words.”

But those were some of the very first words Riggs had said to me, when we made the deal. And now? I knew better than to doubt them.

Then there was Micko, who seemed to be growing by the nanosecond and spending every waking moment clawing through every single item in my flat. The settee was already tarnished. Micko had decided to use it as her nail filer. The rest of the furniture, she just used as her bed and made sure to leave loads of hair on. In fact, Micko, being a typical cat, had decided to make every single surface in the place her bed, other than—of course—her actual bed.

I spent the vast majority of my time trying to shoo her off furniture, and the remaining time I cuddled with her, because I felt bad about limiting her sleep spots. What I didn’t do was apply for jobs. Somehow, I’d lost all motivation after Riggs shut me down. I told myself it was fine. That after October 22, I’d get my visa and become more attractive to employers. But deep down, worry began gnawing at my gut. I had never been so apathetic. Everything in New York reminded me of him. Without him, the city was a shell. Hollow and empty.

Riggs and I probably could have gone on like this for the remainder of the three weeks together. Him, giving me the silent treatment, and me, trying to hold my head up high and not fall apart.

We could have, but then something terrible happened.

That evening, I waited for Riggs to come home, sitting on the settee as I ogled the door. Not one to disappoint, he stumbled inside at half past six, looking disheveled, eyes glazed over. After dropping his backpack at the door, he kicked his Blundstones against the wall and headed straight to the fridge.

I stood up. I was over being punished by him for something I didn’t do. I’d made it clear BJ and I were done. If Riggs didn’t want me anymore, which he was entitled to, he should end it respectfully.

“Had a good day?” I asked politely, hands clasped behind my back.

Shrugging, he took out a can of beer from the fridge, then chugged it.

“Where’s Micko?” Riggs glanced around.

“In her litter tray, doing a poo,” I said through gritted teeth. I really didn’t care for his attitude. “We need to talk.”

“I can see.” He gave me a once-over, looking none too happy. “This’ll have to wait until I come back from Morocco, though. I got a last-minute paid-content assignment. I’m leaving tonight.”

“It’s not going to be dreadfully long.” Panic laced my voice, and I hated that I became the same small woman I was in my relationship with BJ. I promised myself to never be that person again. He’d told me about his upcoming work trip, but I must’ve penciled in the wrong date.

“Sorry, don’t have time.” He lumbered toward a pile of his clothes in my living room before plucking some clean items and shoving them into his backpack.

“You can’t go to Morocco.” I hadn’t a clue what inspired me to say this. He clearly could.

Riggs chuckled, not looking back from his backpack. He slung it over his shoulder, patting his pockets down to ensure he had his wallet and passport. For him, traveling around the world was akin to taking the subway to Williamsburg. “See you on October twenty-second.”

He headed to the door. Rage simmered up my throat, and my fists balled painfully, my nails digging into my skin.

“Charlie is gonna die tonight.”

He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around to look at me. The only sign that he’d heard me was the tiny nod of his head.

“What do you want me to do with that information?” Riggs asked frostily.

“Say goodbye.”

“I didn’t even want to say hello,” he reminded me, slowly turning on his heel to meet my gaze.

“I know.” I didn’t waver. Didn’t look away. “But the hello happened, so a proper goodbye shall follow too.”

Riggs blew out air. “I appreciate the heads-up, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Stepping forward, I couldn’t help myself and grabbed his hands. A shot of electricity ran through me. He was warm and rough and familiar and no longer mine, and my heart broke all over again. I hated myself for not telling him how I felt when I still had a chance. When there was a minuscule chance of us being together.

I inhaled. “Trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t see him before he passes away.”

“How do you know?” His eyes tapered.

“Because even though I hate my father, and haven’t seen him in over twenty years, I’d still want to see him if he was dying. It’s not about his welfare. It’s about yours.”

I was fully bracing myself for the sting of rejection. After all, Riggs had made it clear I no longer had any sort of hold on him. But he surprised me by sighing and glancing at his watch.

“Fuck. Fine. On one condition.”

I blinked up at him, waiting.

“You’re coming with me.”

Willing myself not to jump to conclusions—it was hard, with my heart soaring madly in my chest—I gave him a curt nod. “I was going to pay him a visit, anyway.”

“Meet you there in an hour?” His voice was flat and disinterested.

“Yes.” I paused. “Where are you going?”

“I have some loose ends to tie up.”

With that, he was gone.