I’m stuck.
Emotionally, professionally, existentially. Really covering all the bases here.
I don’t know what to do now. I haven’t heard from Remy since the big meeting, although according to my email notifications, they just signed the paperwork, which means that Remy and I are officially not working together anymore. I got copied on the message half an hour ago.
Long enough for me to reread the message six separate times like the wording might magically change.
I’m also physically stuck because my oversized mutt is lying on top of my chest.
“This sucks,” I tell the ceiling.
Shutout’s chest heaves with a sympathetic sigh. I’m hit with a blast of his awful breath. Honestly, at this point, I’ll take emotional support in whatever form it arrives.
I wrap an arm around my dog. My mother’s most recent texts have gone unanswered. She reached out after my suspension, but I haven’t even read through her messages. I don’t know what to say.
This is how small my life has become: I have a team of decent guys who I’ve disappointed; my mom, who I can’t protect; the woman I have now realized that I love, who hasn’t said a word to me since that godawful meeting; and my dog.
Which turns out to be a surprisingly effective method of psychological warfare.
“At least I’ve got you, buddy,” I mumble into Shutout’s neck.
My dog lifts his head. His ears twitch. I know that look. Someone’s at the door.
I shout, “No!” at the same moment that Shutout launches himself at the door, wagging his tail and barking. At least I was able to shift him so that he didn’t stomp on my balls in the process.
My dog’s nonsensical capering and throaty howls drown out anything I might say. It’s probably just the mailman or something. I’m not expecting a package, much less visitors. They’ll go away soon enough.
But a full thirty seconds pass with Shutout going ballistic until, through the chaos, I hear someone knocking.
“One sec!” I call, though I’m painfully aware that any attempt to shout down Shutout is futile. I hip-check him aside and open the door.
Remy Callahan is the last person I expect to see. But there she is, dressed in one of her softer, more casual outfits. For one disorienting second, I genuinely think I might be hallucinating her.
“Hi.” Her smile is small, but at least it reaches her eyes. “Can I come in?”
The fact that she’s asking politely instead of yelling at me already feels weirdly hopeful. Grabbing Shutout’s collar, I swing out of the way, opening her path into my house. My throat closes up at the sight of her. I can think of only one reason she’d come here, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself.
Remy’s breaking up with me. She’s not the type to ghost; she’s going to deliver the killing blow gently. After what she said in the meeting yesterday, she’s going to wash her hands of me. A completely reasonable choice, honestly. I don’t blame her for that.
She stops to pet Shutout, who greets her like she’s his favorite person on Earth.Me, too, buddy,I think.
“Can we…?” She gestures to the sofa. I don’t have a lot of extra seating in the living room, so we both walk to the couch.
The last time we were both on this couch, I was holding her in my arms, and the world felt right for once.
Now, my legs are numb as I drop onto the cushions. As she’s done so many times, Remy puts as much distance between us as possible, although this time, Shutout fills the gap. We’re both painfully aware of how dangerous being close to each other feels. He heaves himself onto the sofa and collapses with his ass on my lap and his head resting on Remy’s thighs. She smiles and pets his ears, drawing a lengthy sigh from his lungs.
“Remy.” I fold my hands and rest my elbows on my knees. “I just…”
She waits. God, she’s so fucking patient and good, I don’t deserve her. She knows it. I know it. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that things could be different. I’d give just about anything to rewind the last forty-eight hours.
“I’m really sorry.” I roll my shoulders toward my ears. “I’m sorry I messed up. I’m sorry that I hit that asshole. I’m sorry that I risked both of our careers in that fight, but when he went for you, I…” I trail off. None of the words feel big enough for the damage I caused.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
“No,” I tell her. “I do. I know that this is it, that I’ve used up my chances, but I need to tell you this. When the people I love are in danger, I lose it.”
Remy’s hands still on Shutout’s ears. He whines in protest. “Love?”
