“Good thinking. Do you want to eat downstairs?”
“Bed’s fine,” I say.
We climb on, careful not to knock the pizza onto the sheets, and I hand her a plate. She sits cross-legged, and I turn on the TV.
“When’d you get a TV in here?” she asks, taking a bite.
“It’s always been in here.”
She snorts. “Guess I was too focused on other things to notice.”
Our week together. Incredible sex. Wrapped up in each other while forgetting the outside world existed. It was one of the happiest times of my life.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she says, setting her plate down. “He wanted to hurt me to hurt you. That’s not on you, Zep.”
“If you’d never gotten involved with me—”
“He might’ve still hurt me for the fun of it. It doesn’t seem like he really needs much of a reason to do anything he wants,” she says.
Her eyes stare at the pizza, and I take a chance. Reaching out, I take her hand, and she doesn’t pull it away. “It’s not your fault, either. You didn’t ask for it no matter what Wylie said.”
“Hey, Zep?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you threaten Sierra’s father?”
I run my freehand down my face. “Who, uh, said that?”
“He told Janet’s husband, and she told me.”
Fuck. “Okay, uh, yes, but… I have no good excuse. Except for the fact that I don’t want Bernie terrorized in school. Plus, his kid’s a bitch, and kicking her dad’s ass would be very therapeutic.”
“You really need to stop solving every problem with violence,” she says but smiles.
“It’s the only thing I could come up with to get him to stop his daughter. It’s kind of my default method.”
Her lip quivers, and she covers her eyes with her free hand while squeezing mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying now.”
“Because you’ve been through hell tonight? You don’t need a reason.”
“I don’t like breaking down. And I hate doing it in front of people. Not even Bernie sees me cry unless it’s like the afternoon Ben showed up.”
I swallow and lock my eyes on our hands. “She hears you.”
“What?”
“She told me we couldn’t be friends again because I made her mom cry. She heard you when you thought she was sleeping.”
“Oh God. I’m just failing all over the place, aren’t I?”
Rubbing my thumb along her knuckles, I fight my own tears. “I’m sorry I did that to you, Misty. Knowing I made you cry,and knowing how I made Bernie feel kills me. But that kiss was nothing more than goodbye. And I thought I owed it to her after our history, but I should’ve known she had something up her sleeve. I’d take it back if I could.”
“I don’t want to talk about Chanel tonight. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Not hungry anymore?”
“My jaw hurts,” she admits. “He really dug his grimy fingers into the joints.”
