Her fingers press into his cheek, into my Dimple.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” he greets her. Authentically warm. In that voice, using my nickname.
“Mia?” Leo is asking, maybe repeating my name, but his voice and the ambient noise of the bar sound far away and like we’re all deep underwater.
Elias’s eyes flick towards me.
It’s then that I realize that I’m crying, because I see him tracking the tears running down my face. His jaw clenches briefly, but that’s all I get. He turns back to his blonde. He tugs on her hair, smiling at her again, saying something I can’t hear over the blood rushing through my ears.
“Okay,” I whisper, but I don’t know who I’m talking to. Him? Myself? Adam? I feel my body folding into itself. I take Adam’s hand and slump out of there, a sad little insignificant wallflower, second best blonde in the bar, crushed beneath Elias’s shoe.
THIRTY
Elias
I’ve been chantingdifferent variations of “Whatever, this is for the best,” in my head ever since I saw Mia’s little Hot Girl march into the bar, dragging that soft-looking emo kid behind her.
Whatever, I thought, when Mia’s finger was in his mouth.
This is good,I thought, forcing a smile when I saw his soft-ass hand holding that spot on her hip.
Whatever, I thought, pulling whoever this girl was between my legs and reverting back to what was comfortable.
This is for the best, I thought, watching the agony and sheer devastation on a crying Mia’s face. The face I’ve known for twenty-nine years. The face I know like the back of my hand. I’ve never seen this particular emotion on it before, though. And I was the one who put it there.
Whatever, I thought, as twenty-nine years of love and friendship walked away from me. Shoulders turned in, making herself small. Broken.
It felt like being drawn and quartered.
I’m interrupted from my chanting.
“What the fuck was that?” Leo is asking me.
I meet his eyes. They’re the same blue as his sister’s. “What?”
He tilts his head. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I attempt to lie to my best friend, my other half of thirty-two years.
It’s a futile attempt. “Elias, what is going on between you and Mia?” he says dangerously.
The woman reads the impending moment and wiggles away.
“Nothing,” I tell him.
He stands, moving closer. “Why was she fucking crying and looking at you like that?”
I blow out a breath.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“I’ve…” I look at the floor. I can’t look at that same shade of blue. “I’ve been sleeping with Mia.”
There is silence. I look up. This is a new look, too. Betrayal. Rage.
“Why was she crying, Elias?” he asks, and it looks like it’s taking everything in him to not fucking lose it.
“I ended it,” I told him. “For what it’s worth, I hated lying to you.”
