Tangling Hearts

110. Brendan

Chapter One Hundred Ten

brENDAN

D runk Drunk Drunk Drunk Drunk

T he lights are on in her place. She hasn’t left for work yet. I don’t know what I want to say to her, but I drove over here when I was aiming for home. I’ve been at different bars since one o’clock and Tommy’s been good enough to keep me company. He even stopped me from fighting a guy I knocked into on my way out of the last place. I wish he hadn’t. I would’ve enjoyed a fight. I need somewhere to put this fury. I’m pissed at her, but I’m way more angry at myself because I want to see her so badly, it’s fucking killing me. Not even what Tommy said about her and how she was back then, has made me feel like it’s over.

Can’t we just get past this?

Fuck. What’s wrong with me? I need to walk away! I know this. How can I trust a liar? But I can’t walk away. When I tried, it just brought me here. I yank my phone from my pocket and stare at it. Should I call her and tell her to buzz me in? My head jerks up to see one of her neighbors walking out with his head down in his phone like most of America, and just like me.

“Hold the door!” I yell, running up the short staircase, my head swimming from the booze and the endorphins. Startled, the guy looks up at me, unsure of what to do. But I’ve already passed him and am halfway in the door. “Thanks,” I say, and shut it on his face.

Pacing in front of her door and mumbling a mantra, I try to talk myself into leaving. “She’s just a woman just like any other woman. I’ll get over this. She’s just a woman just like any other woman. I can live without her.”

The second I hear myself say that, my chest feels like it’s going to disappear.

Fuck. I ball my hand into a fist and knock on the door. Hard.

Footsteps inside.

Deadbolt unlocked.

Doorknob turning.

Her ex opens the door wearing only a towel around his waist with water dripping down his chest, his hair in wet chunks falling over a deep, protective frown. He locks eyes with me.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I spit, pushing him aside. “ANNIE!”

I hear him close the door behind me as I vault into the bathroom, expecting to see her wet and showered, too, spent from the hard fucking he just gave her. I look around the small room, the window and mirror both fogged, and pull back the shower curtain to see if she’s hiding. There’s nothing there but bath soap and hair crap. Flying out of the bathroom, I launch myself into her bedroom, next. She’s not there, but her bed is unmade and the blankets are all screwed up. I stare at it, seeing instantly them fucking like animals. I flip around to confront the bastard.

He’s waiting for me in the living room, arms crossed, bare feet spread wide in a power stance. This guy has to be fifteen years older than Annie at least. What the fuck?

“Where is she? And what the fuck are you doing here?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m here because Annie asked me to be here.”

I glare at him in shock. “What?!!” Raking my fingers through my hair, I pace again, the couch between us, but I’m considering flying over it to punch him in the face. “Women are fucking evil!”

“You are drunk. Let me get you espresso.”

“You Italian fuck, I don’t want your Italian fuck coffee.”

He stops walking and raises that stupid, calm eyebrow again, regarding me from the side. “So you are Brendan. This surprises me.”

Pride hits me hard as I realize I must look like a child to this guy. I grit my teeth to hold back anything I might say that would sound immature, and hold my arm in the direction of the kitchen. “Fine.”

He sucks on his cheek and heads there. Following him, I glance over to Jaco who’s back on the shelf. I go to cross my arms, but the stitches still have another week to come out and I have to adjust, so I shove my hands into my pockets and lean against a wall to watch the bastard make me a coffee. He’s about the same size as me. I could take him. I watch him make the espresso in silence, the muscles of his arms making me angry because I keep seeing them around my Annie. He hands me the cup and I take it with a growl. “She asked you to be here.”

He regards me for a few beats. “She did. I could have stayed in a hotel.”

My teeth grit. “You’re her ex . Or was that a lie, too?”

Both his eyebrows rise this time. “A lie, too?”

“Did you fuck her?”

A frown creases his forehead and he turns away to clean the espresso machine as he talks. “I’ve come here to win her back.” He glances my way once, then continues slowly cleaning. “And I can see you are what I thought you would be.”

Anger flicks at my insides. “And what is that?” I walk and land the cup on the counter, contents untouched. Fuck his fucking espresso bullshit.

He glances to it and smiles. “A hot head little boy who does not deserve her.”

I lunge for him and yell out in pain as he knocks me to the side. I hit a chair, crashing to the ground with it. Searing agony tears in from my ribcage. I grab up my shirt and see blood seeping through the middle of the bandage. “Fuck!”

He’s staring at it, confused. “What is that?”

Pissed, I mutter, staring at it and poking it with my finger. “I got shot. I think the wound opened up.”

He walks to me looking genuinely concerned. “Let me drive you to a hospital.”

“Hang on.” Trudging as fast as my dizzy feet will carry me, I go look at the damage in the bathroom mirror. It looks external only, but what do I know? “Is my lung split open? Shit… would I be able to talk if it was?” I mumble to myself, patting down the edges of the tape to help the bandage to do the best it can. But it’s a lost cause. It’s too wet now. He stands outside the open door, and I cut a look his way. “I think it’s just the staples. I don’t know. My lung was scraped... I don’t know if it’s opened up again.” Even as I’m standing here, the blood is soaking through my blue shirt. He and I both stare at it as I hold my jacket open to watch.

He leaves for the bedroom. “I’ll get dressed.”

“Shit.” I push the gauze back on my wound to stop it from bleeding, hold it down like Annie did when I was on the floor. The sting is so painful, but I inhale slowly to see if my lung is filling up with blood. I can’t tell.

Walking out of the bathroom, I call back, “I’m calling a cab!”

He emerges wearing expensive jeans and a white button-up, with shiny, black European-guy shoes. “Be a man and accept my help. I am trying to do what is right.” He waits for my answer and I nod. “I will need to drive your car. Bella took hers to the bar.”

Bella? Ugh.

I toss him my keys, shaking my head. “I don’t want your help, just so we’re clear. But I don’t want to die either.”

“Then let’s go.” As soon as we get in the car he launches into a story, while I stare out the window, the wetness sliding down my chest. I only get pieces about how she came to him when he wasn’t looking. How long they spent together. How much he loves her and could make her happy if I would just let her go.

On that last part, I look at him from the corner of half-shut eyes, my attention grabbed. “Who says I have her? Turn right. You’re going to go four blocks down and then left.”

He puts his foot on the gas. “She says she has been in love with you since college.”

My throat closes and a weird sensation floats down my arms. I stare out the window, silent. After the four blocks, I give him the next set of directions. “Two more lights, then you’ll see it. Follow the signs to Emergency. She has a funny way of showing it.”

Approaching cars lights flash across his face. “She’s a funny girl.”

I counter, glaring at him, “She’s not a girl.”

He glances to me, struck, and looks away in thought. Looks like I hit a nerve.