Chapter 44 #2
“Save the lecture, Dad. I have some groveling to do.”
“My work here is done,” Dad said cheerfully.
I felt it then. The change in the air like a thunderstorm was rolling in. I’d felt it the first time I’d seen her. Me on the roof, her on the ground, wind blowing through her curls.
Zoey stormed up to the table. Every chair in the lodge screeched as their residents jockeyed for a better view.
She had Buttercup on a leash in a pink spiked collar I had no idea when she’d had the time to buy.
Her curls were a fiery halo around her head.
She was dressed in a body-hugging bloodred dress.
Makeup carefully covered most of the bruising on her beautiful face.
Everything from her eyeliner to her stilettos was causing me physical pain with the realization of the damage I’d done.
She looked like an avenging heroine…which made me the villain.
“Zoey,” I said, standing up so abruptly my skull felt like it was going to cave in. “There’s been a misunderstanding—”
“No. You did enough talking last night. Now it’s my turn.”
Everyone in the entire building was holding their collective breath, including me.
“I might be selfish and impulsive, but I am not, nor have I ever been, stupid.”
“You’re right. I was an absolute idiot last night,” I agreed.
“Shut the fuck up,” Levi sang out of the corner of his mouth.
Zoey continued as if I hadn’t said a word. “You wanna talk about stupid; you’re so busy being worried about getting everything exactly right that you miss out on the very best things in life. Including me. If I’m too much, go find less.”
Laura started applauding. It quickly caught on and spread to the tables around us.
“Zoey, honey, if you could just let me explain,” I began.
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me. There’s no misunderstanding. Either you said those things and broke up with me, or I broke up with you because you said those things. The end result is the same.”
She was so fucking beautiful, and I was so fucking stupid.
Cam handed Hazel his glass of orange juice. Hazel passed it to Zoey. I braced for it, but there was no real way to prepare for a cold glass of juice to the face…not even the second one.
She hurled the juice at me and turned on her heel.
“Zoey, you can’t leave. We’re in the middle of this.”
Her green eyes were blazing with a heat that singed me to my bones, but her words froze the blood in my veins. “Actually, it feels like the end to me.” And then she walked out.
I stood there staring after her, dripping until my father handed me a napkin.
Hazel was on her feet, leading the standing ovation.
“You tell ’em, Zoey,” Gator yelled.
Even Darius peered out from behind the potted plant and managed a frown at me while clapping. My own mother was applauding while mouthing sorry to me.
I stood there and took it because I deserved it. But this sure as hell wasn’t going to be the end, I decided, as I mopped orange juice out of my eyes.
“Here. Maybe this will help,” Cam said, tossing a glass of water in my face.
I tried Zoey’s number three more times on my way to the parking lot and got her voice mail every time.
“Zoey, pick up. Please,” I said into the phone as I left a trail of breakfast beverages behind me. “We need to talk this through. I’m coming over.”
I drove back to town, barely registering the foot traffic on the sidewalks and the exercise group in the park by the lake. This level of fuckup was new to me. I’d always been so careful, so focused on doing the right thing. Now I was left wondering how I could fix this.
I parked across the street from my building and jogged up to the front door, only to find I didn’t have my keys. I ran back to my truck as quickly as my hangover allowed and dug out the keys in the center console.
I stepped out to cross the street and nearly walked in front of Amos Rump’s pickup truck. He leaned on the horn. “You got your head up your ass, Bishop?” Amos yelled from the driver’s side window.
Emilie’s curly blond head appeared over the roof on the other side of the truck. “Heard about what you did to Zoey. Not cool, man. Not cool.”
I should have known from the particularly delighted spark in her eyes what was coming.
But my instincts and reflexes were slower than usual thanks to the residual bourbon fog.
The baked potato hit me squarely in the chest with enough heat on it to remind me that Emilie had been a fast-pitch softball pitcher in high school.
The Rumps sped away, leaving me in all my orange juice, potato, hangover glory.
I scraped as much potato off my shirt as I could and stepped off the curb again.
I managed to cross the road without incident and unlocked the front door.
My stomach rebelled as I took the stairs to Zoey’s apartment two at a time, but my desire to make things right was stronger than my need to vomit again.
“Zoey,” I said, pounding on her door. “Open up.”
But there was only silence within.
“Come on, Zo,” I pleaded. “I was an asshole. I owe you an apology. Several apologies. And some presents.”
A cold sweat was starting to mingle with the beverages on my shirt.
“Zoey, you can’t hide from me forever.”