Then I stupidly called her. I wanted to hang up as soon as I did it, but I let it ring. When she didn’t answer, irritation floodedthrough me. I know she saw my call. So I texted her until she stopped responding.
That was about five minutes ago and ever since I’ve been sitting in a blacked-out SUV outside her restaurant with a potted basil plant like some kind of fucking—
My phone rings. It’s Tommy calling, and I immediately send it to voicemail.
The restaurant’s front windows reflect the sunlight onto the metal tables outside. I can’t see shit from here. Grinding my teeth, I get out of the car, snatching the basil plant out of the passenger seat to bring with me. This is an acceptable reason to show up, right? Not too crazy, especially after I spent the night respectfully and painfully wrapped around her and just held her. After I practically fucking begged her to let me back in her life.
What the fuck am I saying? I did fucking beg. And I’ll do it again and again until she takes me back on some level.
I stop a few yards away from the door out of sight of anyone in the restaurant and just watch.
The hostess smiles in greeting to people who come in. Waiters move between tables carrying trays of steaming dishes. She turned this place into exactly what I knew it could be. I did the right thing making sure she had everything she needed to make it a success that only she could make.
Something like guilt hits me in a wave out of nowhere. Not guilt. I don’t feel guilty for shit because I have no fucking regrets. But maybe I owe it to her to let her just enjoy this without fucking with her. I fucked with her a lot when we were together—and whatever I tell her or anyone else, wewerefucking together.Fuck, as far as I’m concerned she’s still mine. She always will be. Maybe the best thing I can do for her is to walk away.
Then I see the flowers.
They’re on the hostess stand, an arrangement so large it takes up half the counter. Someone is fucking sending her flowers. My jaw locks.
I know who that someone is. I know before I see him because the flowers are the kind of thing I would never do, which means they’re exactly the kind of thing he would.
Before I can even finish thinking his name, I see Gavin standing at the front of the restaurant. He’s not alone. Sophie is next to him. My Sophie, who was just texting me, is laughing and talking to him like I’m not even a thought in her fucking head.
There’s something about the easiness between them that makes me want to snap his fucking neck.
My phone rings again. It’s Tommy again, and again I send it to voicemail.
I can’t take my eyes off her, trying to read her expression, remembering when she used to look at me with that lightness, that openness, that same warmth. A way she hasn’t looked at me in a long time.
But it’s when she touches his arm that I lose my fucking shit. She does that 100 times a day I’m sure, but it’s the way she does it to him, the way she looks up at him, her eyes bright, the way helooks down at her. And then he fucking tucks a random strand of hair behind her ear—
The pot shatters on the concrete before I realize I’ve thrown it, terra cotta and potting soil scattered across the sidewalk.
Turning on my heel, I head back to my car, yanking open the driver side door. Fuck. Does she care about him? Is she fucking him? Is he the reason why she’ll barely talk to me?
In the driver’s seat, I grip the steering wheel and stare blankly out the windshield toward the restaurant like it’s a movie screen. In vivid detail, I see myself dismantle that fucker, limb by limb. Break his hands, stomping each finger until it’s shattered so they can never touch my girl again. Gouge his fucking eyes out so he’ll never see her look at him like she used to look at me. Beat his face until it’s unrecognizable, until his brain is a stain on the sidewalk, until he’s out of her life for good.
The phone rings. Tommy again. I hang up and he immediately calls back. I stab the phone with my finger to answer.
“What.”
“We need to meet.” Tommy is calm, but I can tell there’s something big he wants to say.
Fuck it. Nothing is more important than removing Gavin from the face of the fucking earth.
“I’m busy.”
“Vin—”
I hang up.
The restaurant door opens. Gavin steps through then holds it open for Sophie who is right behind him. I see her glance at the mess on the pavement, but Gavin pulls her attention away. She says something to him and he laughs and puts his fucking hand on the small of her back as they jog through traffic to cross the street.
Gavin pulls open the door to the coffee shop and holds it for her again. Through the glass, I watch as they walk in, talking and looking at the menu above the cashier’s head. I calculate the amount of time it would take for me to walk in, grab him, and get out before anyone reacted.
Then again, there’s really good light, letting me see everything in the shop. I could just shoot him in the back of his fucking head and end this shit right now.
My phone rings, and I turn it off completely.
