“That’s not my name,” I say, and there must be a harder edge to my voice than normal, because Warren tears his gaze from the glass sculptures around me and meets my eyes.
“All right,” he says. “So, what’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that you never call.”
Warren’s brows draw together, and he crosses his arms. “Ididcall. Didn’t want to walk in on anything…” He trails off, as though realizing for the first time that Lacey isn’t here. The thought makes me angry, and I hate him for reminding me. “Max, dude, what’s happening here? Is this some sort of artistic ascension?”
“No.” I bristle at the wordartistic. Everything inside me feels raw and frustrated, like a scared and abused animal, hiding in the back of its cage and swiping at anything that gets close. As though she can see the metaphor in my head, Dona curls around my ankles, meowing, and I reach down to pick her up.
She doesn’t come near me when the torch is going — good instincts on her part — or I’d have to lock her out of the shop.
“Oh-kay,” Warren says, running a hand through his hair and looking around. “Where’s Lacey? Did something happen?”
“It’s none of your business,” I practically growl. I can hear myself and know that I’m being unfair to him, but I can’t help it.
“Fine.” He sighs, kicking at the ground. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and it’s obvious you’re not going to tell me. But, for the record, I think you’d be an idiot not to fight for that woman, Max. It’s clear she’s helping you come out of your whole… thing.”
Energy bolts through me, and I stand up from my spot, nearly knocking over two of the stupid sculptures. I reach out and catch one, hand lingering, mind filling with images of how good it would feel to throw the damn thing to the ground, letting it shatter in a million colored shards.
“I neverfucking asked for this!” Dona squirms away and out of my arms, not liking the yelling, and I lower my voice, staring at Warren, wanting nothing more than for him to go away. To leave me alone.
For a time, I started to let myself believe that I was better off having him in my life. I started to let myself believe that I could have something the universe has been denying me for a long time.
I used to think the worst thing that could happen was losing someone you loved.
But, with Lacey, I’ve realized there is something worse than that: choosing someone, and them not choosing you back. Some sort of sick fucking purgatory where I don’t know if she’s staying or going. I can’t stand the indecision, and I’d rather be alone than have to deal with the fact that, this time, someone I love mightchooseto leave me on their own, no car accident necessary.
“Never asked forwhat, Max?” Warren asks, sounding half-angry and half-confused.
I waver on the edge of decision. I could back down from this. I could sit down and drop the confrontation. I could let him in, rely on him the way I know I’m supposed to rely on friends.
But it’s never worked that way for me before. Maybe I’m an old dog, and it’s way too late for me to learn new tricks.
“I never asked for you, coming up here, poking and prodding at what I’m doing just because you can’t make your own shit. And I’m tired of everyone acting like there’s something wrong with the way I want to live my life. I want to be alone, and no matter how many times I tell you that, you can’t get it through your thick skull! I’m tired of being your little sweatshop in the mountains. Find someone else’s stuff to sell.”
With that, I plop back into my seat, firing up the torch again, willing the numbing sound of it to fill my head so I don’t have to think about this anymore. My hands shake as I pick the glass up, but I ignore the feeling.
I ignore how my body already thrums with regret about the things I’ve said to him, and I ignore the urge to take it all back.
“You know,” Warren says, his voice soft but loud enough to be heard over the torch. I’m not looking at him, but I see through my peripheral vision that he pauses at the doorway, that he might be shaking his head. “Wanting to be alone is one thing. But being an asshole is another.”
He must have left at that point, because the next time I look up from the botched glass job in my hand, the doorway is empty.
Something inside me releases, flooding out, and I turn, grabbing the nearest sculpture and pushing it just hard enough that it wobbles, teeters, pauses for a moment on the threshold, then tips over and explodes into the exact tiny, glittering shards I knew it would.
CHAPTER 25
LACEY
When I hear the knock at the cabin door, I shamefully think it’s Max here to apologize, and I get to my feet quickly, despite the fact that I feel like total garbage.
For the past week, I’ve done nothing but throw up, sip fluids, feel better, then get sick again. I took a quick trip into town to take care of some business, but came straight back home, not wanting to see Warren.
Warren, who might ask about the next dinner party. Who would assume everything is fine between Max and me.
With my internet connection, I’ve been able to do some online sleuthing, which has revealed the fact that heartbreak can have many physical manifestations, including everything I’m going through. Some people even die from heartbreak.
The website specified that it usually happens to the elderly, but that hasn’t stopped me from feeling like it could be me, too.
