But fuck him, right? Fuck him.
‘Are you okay?’ Nils asks when I go out into the lounge where he’s setting up his game console. ‘You look a little grey.’ I feel a lot grey, like I could be sick if I think too deeply about how tonight is going to go.
‘Just tired, and I’m not very hungry, which isn’t great as I’m meeting Harper and Jackson for dinner.’
‘Jackson Calder?’ Nils’s crystal-blue eyes almost bulge out of his head as he springs forward, half a bowl of popcorn spilling over the sides and onto the armchair and floor.
‘Yeah. Harper invited him because he’s sad or something.’ I’m impressed by how nonchalant I sound.
‘And you’re, um, all right with that?’ The way he eyes me makes me feel even more sick. He knows. He knows. Fuck, he knows.
But wouldn’t he have said something before now if he knew? If he’d put the pieces together before today, I’d never have heard the end of it from him.
I shrug, not at all convinced I’d be able to squeak out any more words.
‘Do you… need an out?’ He offers me a small smile before his eyes flit back to the screen.
Holy shit. Nils definitely knows about me and Jackson. He’s never offered me an out before, because why would he? I’m not the kind of person who does things they don’t want to do. Even my agent knows to pick his battles.
How long has he known? How did he figure it out? Whyhasn’t he said anything till now? But the way he’s handled it gives both of us plausible deniability and I respect him a thousand times more right now.
‘All good, man, but thanks.’ I slip on my trainers and make a hasty exit.
The restaurant is a thirty-minute walk. I’d planned to get a taxi, but I need the walk. I need some time to clear my head and mentally prepare myself for the evening ahead. Just a casual dinner with my best friend and his new boss, the man Harper has no idea is my ex.
Your standard Wednesday evening.
The walk does nothing to help me. As I get closer to the restaurant, I feel sicker and sicker. I stand frozen in the doorway. Harper and Jackson sit at a small round table, three beers already waiting, both laughing at something I can’t hear.
It’s hard to fucking watch. I hate Jackson so much. I despise the way he treated me, the way he strung me along. I despisehow he made me feel about myself. He knew how I felt about him and he used it to take, take, take and give back crumbs in return. He was my first love, and he acted like that love was worth nothing. He made me doubt that I have anything to offer besides my body. He made me afraid to love again for fear it would be thrown back in my face.
Resentment coils in my stomach and I feel bitter acid rising up my throat. I have to swallow hard to control it. I haven’t even made it to the table and I feel like I could throw up. How will I endure this?
I can’t stop thinking about how many times he stood me up. Or pretended to barely know me at a party. I know exactly how many times he made excuses not to meet my parents because I counted. Twelve times. We were together almost three years, and he treated me like a dirty little secret.
And now he expects me to sit down for dinner with him and my best friend and act like he didn’t break my heart? I swallow hard. I’ll never be able to drink that beer if I can’t settle my stomach.
As I watch him through the window, the only thought running through my head is that Caleb would never,never, treat me that way. Instead of engaging in a secret relationship conducted behind everyone’s backs, Caleb explained honestly and openly why he can’t take the risk. I understand and I agree– his positionismore vulnerable than mine– and I see him struggle to stick to his principles every time our eyes meet or our ankles touch. And it only makes me admire him more.
There’s really no comparison between Jackson and Caleb, and it makes my blood boil that I’m being manipulated into attending this dinner. What would happen if I went in there and told Harper everything? I allow myself to enjoy that thought for a second, but it’s not fair for me to put my friend in that position with the new principal of his team.
Nothing else for it, I think, and square my shoulders then reach for the door of the restaurant when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s a message from Caleb.
What you up to tonight? My head is hurting from reviewing tape and working on the conclusion to my thesis. Fancy an evening run?
I’m in no mood– nor outfit– for a run right now, but I do fancy getting the fuck out of here. I text back.
Do you have a company car right now?
Yeah why?
Thankful that he’s fast on the reply, I quickly shoot back to him.
Could you come grab me from this address?
I send a pin to him a few doors down, and with one final look through the window at the two of them sipping beer at the table, I get the fuck out of there.
