I shut my eyes and lower my forehead to the counter, the cool laminate pressing against my skin. “Why the hell won’t you answer me?” My throat burns, my voice barely audible above the buzz of the machines. “Please, Vincent. Please.”
“No man is ever worth you breaking yourself like this.”
The unexpected voice makes me jolt. My head snaps up, and standing across from me is the blonde girl I see two times a week, her ever-present laundry basket balanced on her hip. I think my list of insults worked.
“What?” I croak, blinking through wet lashes.
She drops the basket onto the folding table with a soft thud, her expression both casual and sharp. “You’ve got the look of someone with a shattered heart. And unless you’re a lesbian or bisexual, it’s definitely about a guy.” With practiced ease, she sweeps her blonde hair into a high ponytail, tying it off with a scrunchie pulled from her wrist. “Men don’t deserve that many tears.”
“I’m not... I’m not crying...” I protest weakly, wiping at my cheeks with my sleeve. But when I pull it away, the damp fabricbetrays me. The sting in my eyes confirms it. “Oh...” My voice cracks.
Her gaze softens, just a little. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” She sighs and pushes her basket closer to the washers. “Why don’t you help me out again and tell me about this asshole? I still haven’t figured out which setting to use for delicates.”
Her bluntness startles me, pulling me out of my spiral for just a second. A bitter laugh bubbles up in my chest, though it feels strange and broken. “You’d never believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” Maggie says, glancing at me from over her shoulder as she pulls out a bundle of clothes and untangles a strap. “You’ll feel better. And I’ll figure out the stupid machines without ruining my favorite top. I still don’t understand how that thing works.”
I simply nod, but I stop before we can reach the washing machines. “What’s your name?” I ask.
Her eyes widens for a second. She looks scared, confused and something else I can’t recognize. But that look disappears from her face in less than a second and she gives me a quick glance.
“Maggie. Maggie Torres.” She mutters before looking back at her clothes.
I smile. “Maggie Torres... I love it. It’s so similar to Mitchie Torres from Camp Rock, you know? Wait. You’re team High School Musical or Camp Rock?”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Vincent Cooper
PAST (2019)
"I had to be reminded that the guitar is infinite. It never stops teaching you, it never stops being difficult; there's an unlimited amount of things to learn, and you'll never master it."
Kaki King
I left six months ago, and I still can’t get her out of my head. After that day in front of the music room, Nova stopped coming to my house, and I stopped going to hers.
We didn’t stop talking altogether. Around our friends, we acted civil, pretending nothing had happened. But it was obvious something between us had broken. They just didn’t know that I shattered my own heart as I shattered hers, hiding behind my depression just to push her away.
I knew that was the only way she’d let go for good—the only way she’d put a stone over us. She cares too much to stand between me and my recovery. The problem is, she doesn’t knowshe’s a vital part of that recovery. It’s like I’m addicted to her, and no matter how wrong it feels, I can’t help it.
She’s not here with me. We’re not living in the same apartment like I planned for years. I dreamed of building a future with her here in Seattle. Far away from the bad memories of San Francisco. We could’ve brought Asher with us somehow. I wouldn’t have cared how.
But she’s not here. She’s not wandering the house half-naked, leaving chaos behind with her clothes and shoes. No Christina Aguilera or Fleetwood Mac blasting through my stereo. Her perfume doesn’t linger in the air. No vegetarian food in the fridge. No Fleur running around. No plants on every windowsill. No glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling.
It’s my birthday, and my phone won’t stop ringing. It’s her.
I want to pick up. God, I want to. But I can’t. If I hear her voice, I’ll get on the first plane to San Francisco and fall on my knees begging her to come with me. And that wouldn’t be fair.
I keep staring at the phone screen, refusing to answer. I even set a Christina Aguilera song as the ringtone... God, I’m such an idiot.
Steven told me things between them are starting to work. They’re getting closer, they’re becoming more friends.
Every time he says it, I have to hold back from telling him to fuck off or hanging up the phone. My blood boils at the thought that one day he’ll try to kiss her. One day maybe he’ll touch her bare skin. One day he’ll lace his fingers through hers, pinning her hands above her head, and she’ll whisper his name—not mine. One day he’ll be the one to hold her through nightmares. He’ll be the one to marry her on June 21st, 2028, at Ocean Beach at sunset. He’ll be the one she runs to after becoming a vet. The one celebrating with her when she wins custody of Asher. He’ll be everything.
He’ll take my life, my future with her, and the ironic part is—I handed it to him myself.
