“We can work that out later,” I said out the window as we pulled up to the curb of the building I’d called home for years. “We’re here.”
21
David parked his car outside my old apartment. Just before I shut the car door to go upstairs and knock on Bill’s door, David stopped me. “Make it quick,” he ordered, his giddiness over Miami long gone. “Or I’ll come up.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warned him. “We had a deal. Gretchen and I can handle getting my things. You stay here.”
He only grunted.
Gretchen and I climbed the stairs of the complex, and I held my breath as I knocked. After an unusually long time, Bill opened the door and peered out. He looked at Gretchen and then back at me. “What’s she doing here?”
“Gretchen’s here to help,” I said. “Don’t take this out on her.”
“It’s fine, Liv,” Gretchen said, irritation threading her tone. “Let’s just get your stuff.”
Bill had stacked large and small boxes in the kitchen. I peeked into one. My razor and a tub of exfoliating sugar scrub had been thrown on a pile of my work attire. “Really, Bill?”
He shrugged and flopped into a dining room chair. “Just trying to help.”
Gretchen and I lifted one box together and carried it downstairs, where David took it from us.
“So far so good,” Gretchen told him.
The next two were lighter so we each took one. On our next trip, before I could walk out of the kitchen, Bill asked, “Liv, can we talk alone a minute?”
Gretchen returned the glare he directed at her. “No,” she answered for me.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “Go ahead.”
“But . . .” She jerked her head in the direction of the front door. “We’re not supposed to.”
“I won’t be long,” I said.
She left reluctantly. I set down the box again and walked over to take the chair next to his. “How are you?” I asked.
“All right,” he said. “Taking things day by day. You?”
“The same,” I lied. I was far better than all right, but he didn’t need to know that.
He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Is he treating you well?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I should’ve said this sooner, but I’m sorry he and I got into it.” Bill cleared his throat and glanced at my arm, even though clothing covered the fading bruises. “And I’m sorry if I . . . you know, hurt you.”
I nodded. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
“I did. I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me,” he said and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I can’t, though . . . I never could. Hurt you or get to you in any way.”
It was my turn to look at the ground. After the Herculean feat it’d taken David to break through to me, I didn’t blame Bill. “It’s okay,” I said about the bruises. “It wasn’t too bad.”
His shoulders began to quake, and he wiped his eyes. “I still don’t get what I should’ve done differently.”
“Bill,” I said affectionately. “Don’t torture yourself. I’m to blame, too. There’s a lot we both could’ve done differently. I know it hurts to hear it, but believe me, this is for the best.”
He nodded and lifted his head. “I wish I’d seen it coming, though.”
I resisted from hugging him for comfort, knowing that would only make things worse for all of us. “That’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”
