Chapter 22

This doesn't look right.

Wood said it would be easy. Chicken marsala, his go-to dish to make when he really wants to impress a date. Delicious and easy, he said.

Yeah-fucking-right.

The mushrooms are supposed to be browning, but they just look sort of gray and wet? I've pounded the chicken, but fuck, I don't think I did it right. Scratch that, I know I didn't. There are parts that won't flatten and others I can see through. And I'm supposed to dredge the chicken in flour? What the fuck does that even mean? Dredge. Jesus fuck.

I just wanted to make a nice dinner for Livvy so we can talk and I can apologize for what happened this morning. What I said was shitty and not even true. We don't spend too much time together. I love that I get to see her all the time. She's my favorite person, and all I want to do is spend time with her.

And I'm going to ask her to stay. To move in with me. For good.

Fuck, this chicken really doesn't look right.

The front door bursts open, making me drop Wood's little recipe card.

I knew she was upset when she left. I knew she was still upset since she hasn't responded to my texts over the last several hours.

But I didn't expect this.

Livvy keeps her head down as she walks directly toward the bedroom, avoiding eye contact. Not acknowledging me at all.

"Liv, hey." I round the island, moving briskly to intercept her and reach for her hand.

She pulls it away.

When she looks up at me, her face is puffy. Her eyes are rimmed in red, still shiny.

Fuck.

I can't breathe. It feels like my ribcage is compressing in on me.

"Liv, angel, no. Come here." I go to her, opening my arms. I just need to hold her and fix this. Make it better.

She steps back, hardening her gaze and puffing up her chest. "I'm just here to get my things. I'm going to be staying at Spencer's place with Bex and Macy."

"What? No. You don't need to do that. I don't want you to do that. I know what I said this morning was?—"

"I'm not doing it because you want me to. I want to."

Turning quickly, she goes to the bedroom. She's trying to get away from me. She doesn't want to talk to me, and I can't get my bearings on the situation.

I know I fucked up, but I didn't think it was this bad.

Her duffle bag is already laid out on the bed and she's throwing clothes in haphazardly. She wipes her face forcefully with her palm and stuffs a pair of shoes down the side.

My heart's racing. Sinking. I don't know what to say or do.

"I didn't mean what I said to Wood. I was making us a nice dinner so we could sit and talk, and I was going to ask you to stay. For good?—"

She whips her head up to glare at me, though her downturned bottom lip is starting to quiver. "I'm leaving. We're over. I don't want to talk about it. Nothing you can say will change my mind."

With a grunt, she pushes the overflowing contents into the bag and zips it up, the piercing sound of metal on metal.

"Wait—we're over?"

She brushes past me with her bag thrown over her shoulder. Eyes forward.

I follow her out to the living room, determined to not let her out that door without talking to me.

"You have every right to be mad, to be hurt, but you have to hear me out. I don't want to take a step back. Fuck. I want to step forward. With you."

She turns on me, her expression full of fury. "I don't want to hear any more of your lies." Her nostrils flare at the same time a tear falls to her cheek. "I can't be here. I'm not strong enough for this."

I'm about to drop to my knees for this girl. Beg if I need to. I've never felt this desperate. "I'm not lying. What I said this morning?—"

"You all but admitted it this morning!"

What the fuck does that mean?

I'm too distracted, her words confusing me, that I don't realize her hand is on the door until she opens it.

I rush over, grabbing her wrist. My hand slides down, grasping for hers, needing to feel her fingers intertwining with mine, needing to give me a reassuring squeeze so I know she's with me. Her and me.

She looks down to our hands together and for a second, I think she's going to. She'll hold it back and wrap her arms around me and I'll make sure we're okay.

Silently, her beautiful big green eyes watery and red-rimmed, she looks up and me and slips her hand out of mine.

Blood is pumping so loud in my ears I can't hear. Can't think. Adrenaline is making me shake. But I try to breathe. I lower my head to hers and say in as steady and soft a tone as I can, "Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just please don't go. Don't do this."

But I already know. The despair in her eyes conveys everything, echoing the twisting wrenching of my insides.

Without saying anything else, she leaves.

I don't know how long I've been standing here, staring at the closed door as the shadows from the window grids cross the floor and the room grows dark. My legs ache when I finally move.

I throw the sauteed mushrooms and half-dredged chicken in the trash.

The nights are the worst.

During the day I can shut everything off. Focus on work. My bookkeeping has never been so up to date, my desk never so clean. That happens when I spend more time in my office than out in the shop tattooing. I can't stand the way my chest aches when I look at her demon and angel drawing near my station. Can't bring myself to take it down, either.

But I can't lock myself away from things that remind me of her at night.

My sheets still smell like her.

Lying in bed, surrounded by her, minutes turn to hours with painful consistency, a countdown reminding me with every turn of the clock that I am not asleep.

I'm not tired and yet I'm exhausted.

Time is steady—but each hour grows longer as I lie here awake. Even so, I am hurtled toward morning with frustrating speed. Time slips away along with my chance for respite.

The quiet nighttime noises mock me. What comes for others will not come for me.

I want to sleep. To go away for a while. To forget.

But I can't forget.

I can't forget the way her lips tasted, or how her body felt under mine. Or her laugh. Or the way she swirled her fingertips up and down my back to help lull me to sleep. Or the sound of her heart beating as I lay on her chest.

The knock on my office door is fast and light before the door swings open.

I knew I should have locked it.

Taryn walks in, her thick eyeliner giving her eyes that permanently unimpressed look. Her half smirk doesn't help either.

"What's up?"

She crosses her arms. "So, you lose Anthony over her, one of the best artists in the shop, and then not even two weeks later, you're already tired of little Livvy? You dump her and she quits. I hope she was worth it. Doesn't seem like it."

I drop the pen in my hand. It hits the metal desk, the ringing echoes around the small space.

Unblinking, I take a deep breath, clenching my fist as I try to unclench my teeth.

Taryn takes an almost unperceivable step backward.

"I didn't dump her. And I'll be down another employee if you don't keep her name out of your mouth."

"Are you kidding me? Nah. I'm out."

"There's the door."

She's shocked into silence for probably the first time in her life.

"And to answer your question—yes. She was worth it."

Wood's humming "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry while stirring the noodles for his legendary macaroni and cheese.

I'm nursing a bourbon on the rocks, absentmindedly swirling the glass, the clanking of the ice almost hypnotizing.

"You got a text," Wood says, nodding toward my vibrating phone on the other side of the counter.

I perk up, a burst of bright excitement from somewhere inside of me that still has hope.

"It's not from her," he says.

I knew it wouldn't be, but I'm still disappointed. That high, the split second of dopamine making me feel even worse now that it's gone in comparison.

"It's from Bex."

I roll my eyes as I take a sip of my drink. "What does she want?"

He leans over, stretching so that he can still stir the pot and see my screen. "She's inviting you to dinner tomorrow."

"Pass."

"With her, Macy, Spencer, Jake, and…Livvy." He wiggles his eyebrows at me, his lopsided smile growing with each second I deepen my scowl.

"Even more reason to say no. She doesn't want to see me. She doesn't want to talk to me. I've called. I've texted. Everything unanswered. That's my answer. And I have to respect that."

Wood nods, wiping his hands on his ‘manpron' then picks up my phone. "Cool, cool. Yeah, totally." He starts typing on it.

"Hey, what are you doing."

He smiles. "Just telling her you'll be there. It's at The Capital Grille. Fancy."

I set my glass down hard with a thud. "Wood. I said I wasn't going."

"Is that what you were saying? I must have misunderstood. Oops." He proceeds to grate a block of sharp cheddar cheese with a smirk.

"Give me my phone."

"No."

"I'm not going. I don't want to bother her."

"No. You're going. You two are perfect together. I've never seen you so happy and I'm not letting you fuck this all up because you're scared."

"I'm not scared."

"You've been scared to lose someone and get your heart broken since the accident."

I clench my jaw. He knows I don't like when he brings it up.

He puts down the cheese. "Fine. I'll do it. I'm going to be the bad guy and say it because you need to hear it. You lost your whole family. It's just about the worst thing anyone could go through, and it's not something you're ever going to get over. My mom still cries every Christmas and on Aunt Jenny's birthday and whenever she hears ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go' on the radio."

"Wood—"

"I'm not finished. But what happened doesn't give you an excuse to never open yourself up to love, to stop living your life because you're scared to get hurt again. They wouldn't want that for you."

"But what if she won't talk to me? What if she won't give me another chance?"

"What if she does? It's not like it could get worse."

I grunt and take another drink.

"You never told her about the surprise, did you?"

"I didn't get the chance."

"Well, here you go." Wood sprinkles his mound of shredded cheese over the pasta. "What should I wear? Do you think I'll need a tie? I should probably go with a tie."

"What are you talking about?"

He rolls his eyes. "For dinner. I'm going with. Obviously."