Neve doesn’t speak. She just listens.
Heat burns at my cheeks. “You know, I didn’t even know he owned a custom motorcycle shop until a few weeks ago.”
Neve’s eyes narrow. “He didn’t tell you?”
“He doesn’t tell me anything, Neve. Literally nothing.” I take a breath, then another, steadying myself on the truth that’s been building for weeks. “It’s mostly sex,” I say. “All we do is fuck. And it’s—God—it’s amazing. It’s insane. It’s the kind of thing that ruins all other men for me. I don’t want it to stop. It’s something crazy and new each time.” I press my hand to my chest like it might quiet the ache there. “But sometimes I think... maybe that’s all it is. For him. Just sex. Just control. Just something he knows how to do.”
“Oh, Lo,” she sighs sadly.
“I feel stupid for wanting more. For thinking maybe there was more.” The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s heavy with the kind of grief that only comes from needing something and not knowing if you’re allowed to ask for it.
Neve stares into her drink like it might give her strength. Then she says, quietly, “I know exactly how you feel.”
I look at her, my voice catching somewhere in my chest. “How do you deal with it? Not being able to be with him. Wanting him so much.”
Her mouth presses into a tight line. Then it relaxes. Her voice is low but steady. “It hurts,” she says. “More than I ever thought it could. Sometimes I think I’ve got it under control, but then I’ll see him with someone. It doesn’t happen often. The Cross brothers aren’t exactly social. Bridger keeps to himself. Damian, too. It’s really only Cody who’s out chasing everything that breathes.” She pauses, her thumb brushing condensation from her glass. “But when Idosee Bridger with someone, it kills me. Completely. And the worst part isn’t watching him touch someone else. It’s watching himnotsee me. Like I’m invisible. Like I never even had a chance.”
Her voice doesn’t shake, but I can hear the crack beneath it. A wound she’s never let scab over. “Unrequited love is bleeding for someone who doesn’t even notice the wound.”
That’s dark.
“It’s the cruelest kind of silence,” she continues. “Not the kind between fights or in the space between words. The silence of never being seen at all.”
I can feel my pulse in my throat. Her words settle deep and don’t move. “What do youdo?” I ask. “How do you live with it?” I need to know, I think, for when Damian finally leaves.
She shrugs. “I work,” she says. “I stay busy. I keep moving so I don’t drown in it.” She drains the rest of her drink and sets the empty glass down without flinching. “And when that doesn’t work, I fuck him out of my head with someone else’s dick. I try to feel something for someone new. Try to convince myself I can catch feelings for anyone who looks at me twice.” She meets my eyes. “But so far? It’s never worked.”
There’s nothing to say after that. Nothing that wouldn’t sound small next to everything she just gave me. So I just nod. And sit in the quiet with her.
Two women, in love with men who don’t know how to love us back.
Neve traces the rim of her glass, then looks up at me with something unreadable in her eyes. “He did follow you, though,” she says. “All the way from Vegas to New Jersey.”
I let out a laugh that doesn’t sound like a laugh. “Yeah, and he still has his place in Vegas. Still pays the rent on it like he’s just on some extended vacation from his real life.”Oh, those words taste bitter on my tongue. “IthinkCody’s running the bike shop,” I add. “And honestly? Every time I try to talk to Damian about any of it, about what we’re doing or where this is going, we end up naked. And his hands and mouth are everywhere. And we’re breathless. And then nothing gets said unless he’s telling me how to come.”
Neve nods without judgment. I can tell she understands the spiral. The way a body can be a distraction from every truth you’re too afraid to speak.
“I’m running the bakery,” I say softly, picking at the edge of a napkin. “Fourteen, sometimes sixteen hours a day. I come home exhausted… and still, somehow, feel empty.” I glance up, then down again. “I mean, he’s here.” I gesture to my body. “Physically. Always. But he’s notwithme. Not really.” I tap my temple, the ache behind my eyes tightening. “Not up here. Not where it matters.”
I reach for my phone, needing the distraction. But the second I light up the screen, my stomach twists. A message from Taylor flashes across the top. Third one this week. I set it down face-down and say nothing. I haven’t answered any of them yet. I won’t start now.
Neve already knows about Taylor and Vick trying to contact me again. She’s the only one I’ve told. But I’ve never said out loud how much it still hurts. “She’s still texting me,” I say quietly. “Taylor. I don’t know why I’m surprised. They always come back when they need something.”
Neve grimaces. “I’m sorry that you’re dealing with all of this. I hate this for you.”
“I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to forgive her. Or Vick. After everything they did. Everything they let happen.” I finish the rest of my drink in one swallow. “And now I think Damian’s lying to me too. I don’t even know why I keep trying with people who only show up to hurt me.”
Neve lifts a hand and flags down the bartender. She orders a pitcher of sangria.
When the first round is cleared and fresh glasses are set down, she lifts hers, clinks it against mine, and says, “Fuck the spa. Fuck the Cross brothers.”
I can’t help but smile.
She tips her glass back. “Let’s get drunk.”
So we do.
We drink, and we talk. We talk about how hard it is to want more than you’re being given. About how exhausting it is to love someone who doesn’t know how to be loved. About the hollow ache that lingers after the sex fades and the silence comes back. And the more we speak, the less alone I feel.
