“Hearts, not parts.”
I met his eyes over my cup.
“You, too?” I asked when I’d swallowed the huge gulp of my almost-cold coffee.
“Oh no.” Bo leaned back and grinned so wide he flashed his fangs at me. “I like cock.”
Chapter Twenty
Vee
Imissed Nate in every waking moment, and I hated that I did.
No you don’t. You just hate that you pushed him away, and that you’re too chicken to get in touch.
The tenth anniversary of Linden’s death didn’t help my mood. I took the day off, just like I did every year. Nobody had ever asked me why.
I usually spent the day curled up under a fluffy blanket. I also made pancakes with maple syrup and bacon, Linden’s favourite breakfast.
With every year, it hurt less to sit there on my own and let our conversations replay in my head. I remembered how mortified I’d been.
‘Maple syrup and bacon? Are you serious, Pulaski?’
I snorted when I remembered his old nickname that I had given him. He’d taken me back home to his parents’ house somewhere in the Canadian wilderness.
‘Grab the Pulaski,’he’d instructed me, and I’d imagined some random Polish guy.
‘The what?’
‘The Pulaski. It’s on the wall, right in front of you, Chick!’
‘You mean that axe thing there?’
Linden had giggled, his yellow eyes twinkling in the semi-darkness of his dad’s shed.‘Yeah, I’m talkingabout that ‘axe thing’, Chick. Grab it for me, will you? Let’s chop some wood.’
Oh, Linden.
I still missed him like crazy. Less now than when his loss had been a fresh wound in my chest. Unbidden, the image of another face replaced his before my inner eye.
I had been right to nip my feelings for him in the bud. I didn’t think I could survive if anything happened to him, too. I couldn’t bear to lose another one.
But I’d caught myself stalking him online.
Nathaniel Decker. The first picture of him in his Pumas jersey had been the cutest thing I’d ever seen. He had smiled eagerly at the camera, a rosy flush tinting his cheeks.
It reminded me of how he’d looked when I’d been inside him.
Fuck.
I gulped down my stack of pancakes and the last few pieces of bacon, then cleared the table.
When I laid down on the couch, I swore I could still detect traces of Nate’s scent on the pillows. I buried my face in the one I was sure he’d slept on and inhaled.
Pathetic, Vee.
Even the sad music I put on reminded me of Nate. These days every love song was about him, not Linden.
I capitulated after twenty minutes and started up my laptop to post my annual message on the memory page the Caribous still kept live, reading through the other messages that had been left.
