I turn back to the courtyard. It’s a much prettier view.
You don’t need to qualify it, Jocelyn.
But I want tosobad. He needs to know why. It isn’t him. I’d give him everything if I had anything left to give, but I’m broken. Half-living. Sharing that night with him only confirmed I’m not brave enough, not strong enough, to raze my own vicious shortcomings. My emotional handicaps.
I can’t have him every day, listen to his smooth voice whispering how much he loves me in my ear, then lose it. Far easier to never have it at all. It’s such bullshit, the wholebetter to have loved and lostschtick. It’s a lie we tout to widows to make them feel better about being halved by death.
I want to explain this to Asher. He knows my past. He’ll understand if he lets me tell him. We can go back to how it was before.
Right?
“Trouble in paradise?” Cassie sits on the sofa across from me, blowing on a mug of fresh coffee.
I blink a few times and turn to her. “Huh?”
“Your boyfriend asked me to have someone else cover his cases the other day. Figured you guys were in a lover’s spat.”
Heaskedher to move me? That’s—
Ow.
This is worse than I thought if he’s actively removing me from his day-to-day life. God, I really am losing him, aren’t I? The thought makes my eyes prickle, pushes fine-tipped needles straight into the most vulnerable places of my heart, but I refuse to cry in front of her.
With a sip of her coffee, she lifts an eyebrow. She’s not gloating, which is... weird.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say.
Her lip quirks. “Then how do you know who I’m talking about?”
My stare transitions into a glare, and I face her. “What do you want, Cassie?”
“Nothing. Was just curious. Thought you guys would have kissed and made up by now.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Is it any of your business whether we’ve kissed and made up?”
“No.” She sets her mug on the side table and sighs. “Listen. I’m, uh, sorry, or whatever, for, you know, that stuff I said at Asher’s the other day. Or whatever.”
Nonplussed, my glare does not abate. “Which part?”
The cat eyeliner somehow sharpens when her lids lower to stare at her nails. “Hmm?”
“Which part specifically are you apologizing for? The part where you implied I’m an alcoholic, or the part where you shamed me for using dating apps?”
She sighs. “All of it, I guess. It was a bad time for me. My ex had said some not nice things that morning, and I just— I’m sorry, okay?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “One grand, sweeping gesture, then?”
Her gaze snaps up, eyes blazing. “I don’t like you.” Sheleans back and crosses her legs. “I won’t lie and say I do. Every word you speak, everything you do... They feel like a front, like you’re wearing a shield, and no one is important enough to lower it for, not even your friends. I tried in the beginning, but—”
“Youtried? What do you mean you tried?”
“The girls and I invited you out several times when you started.”
What? No, they didn’t! “That’s not how I remember it.”
She curls her lip. “I’m not surprised. You barely even acknowledged I said anything. Always hiding behind that front. Posturing.”
Is she calling me a poser?
