Chapter 36 Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart
TRY SLEEPING WITH A brOKEN HEART
ROMAN
Roman gets home after a late shift and tries to set his keys on the console but misses.
They clatter to the floor, the sound echoing through the house.
He stares at the metal for longer than necessary before stepping over it to enter the kitchen.
The sound of a lone car passing greets him as he rifles through the kitchen medicine cabinet.
She left.
He knocks most of the bottles over, not giving a shit until he finds the ibuprofen. He swings the fridge open, grabs a water bottle, twists the cap off.
Jahlani left.
He tips the bottle for two tablets but the entire container scatters across the island and the floor. He blinks slowly, watching the island freckle white with pills.
It’s over.
He reaches for two, turns for the water—misjudges—and backhands the bottle, sending it over the edge. He watches it tumble out like a waterfall before moving to the cabinet to grab a glass.
She left.
He flicks on the tap, fills a glass, shoves the pills in, and swallows. He doesn’t mean to, but he drops the glass into the sink harder than he realizes, and it shatters.
Jahlani left.
He pushes his palms into his eyes until his vision spots before he stumbles into the bedroom, yanks off his socks—tears a hole—then slams a finger in the drawer hunting for sleep shorts.
“Fuck.” He shakes his hand out and lowers onto the bed.
You’re supposed to hate me.
He falls back against his pillow, throwing his non-throbbing arm across his face, breathing evenly. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel so sick.
It’s his fault. She warned him.
What if I’m the villain?
As he stares at the ceiling, trying to empty his mind, he wonders how long this will take, because this is his first time.
Trying to sleep with a broken heart.
And it fucking sucks.
“Okay, this is just getting pathetic.”
Danica leans against the archway of his kitchen, arms folded across her chest.
“What?” He says, glancing her way when she drags out the stool across from him.
“Really, Ro? Look at you … you look terrible,” she says, looking around the house. “And the place is a mess.”
He scratches under chin, before folding his arms over his chest. “Gee, thanks.”
Her eyebrows raise to her hairline. “Seriously, we’re worried about you.”
He turns away from her, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge. He finishes the whole bottle, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”
She continues to look at him.
He blinks at her. “Danica, I'm fine. Really.”
She exhales, her eyes softening. “You’re not fine. Tell me what happened.”
He shrugs and she doesn’t move from her spot on the chair, making it a point to drum her fingers on the table.
He lowers his eyes to the countertop, scratching the back of his head. “I’m not in the mood to talk, Dan. Can we do this another time?”
She shakes her head. “No, Ro. You won’t talk to mom; you won’t talk to Taylor or Vaughn—”
“What’s there to talk about? She … left and I’m … here.”
Danica’s eyes soften. “Okay, there has to be more to the story than that.”
He lets out a bitter chuckle. “How much time do you have?”
Danica and Roman sit on the couch together as they watch Lucy play on the floor in front of them. Alphabet blocks cover her playmat, as well as the toy Jahlani gave her two weeks ago. Roman sips from his glass as he waits for Danica to say something.
After a few moments of silence, Danica lets out a low “damn.”
He blows out a breath, scratching behind his ear. “Yeah … so if I’ve been a mopey asshole the past few weeks, it’s because I’m pretty sure I had my heart ripped out of my chest and … yeah. Everything just … hurts,” he says, letting out a long exhale.
She nods, twisting her mouth. “Can I tell you something that you probably don’t want to hear?”
He laughs. “Go ahead. Not like I can feel any worse.”
Danica sucks in a sharp breath before turning to face him. “I think she was right—”
His eyes widen and he lets out a disgruntled noise. “Seriously?”
She holds up a finger. “But I still think there’s a chance. I think you should go to her.”
“What?”
“You should go to her.”
He shakes his head. “I … don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
He clears his throat, standing up. “I don’t know, let me think. She told me she doesn’t want to be with me, we haven’t spoken in weeks, and she lives on the other side of the country.”
Danica twists around to follow him as he moves into the kitchen. “Roman, she cares about you.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “She does not.”
“She didn’t want you to have to choose between her and Lucy, so she made the choice for you.”
“That wasn’t her place,” he says, voice rising. “She didn’t even talk to me about it, Danica. When you’re in a relationship with someone … you communicate. You talk, you share, you compromise.”
“Well, did you tell her that?”
“What?”
Danica stands from the couch moving to the kitchen. “Did you tell her that—about the communication part?”
“She’s an adult. Pretty sure she knows how to communicate,” he says, shaking his head.
“It’s not the same, Ro. How me and you communicate is different.
Communication in a romantic relationship is inherently different from just plain old communication.
It’s more nuanced. It requires … more. Just, are you sure that she actually expressed how she felt?
Is she even someone who’s good at communicating romantically? Has she been taught that?”
Roman shakes his head because fuck, she’s making sense.
“I don’t think I could stand her saying no again.”
“But hear me out … what if she says yes this time?”
His chest tightens at the possibility. “I don’t know, Danica.”
Danica sighs, bracing her elbows against the kitchen island.
“She might not have been ready back then,” she says.
“Timing matters. It’s important. She might have been going through things that you will never understand.
I know you said she had things going on with her parents, with her ex, with life.
Just, please. Try one more time. She’s worth it.
She’s different. You’re different with her. ”
“I don’t know, the past few weeks made me realize that I’m not in a good place.”
She snorts. “When is anyone ever in a ‘good place’ when they meet The One? And so what? Does that mean you’re supposed to put your life on pause?”
At this, he laughs. “The One?”
“Yeah, you know, boy meets girl, they fall in love, mom loves her, they live happily ever after. She’s your girl from the story,” she says, patting his back lightly before moving to kiss Lucy on the head. “Oh, here. Before I forget.”
She drops a white envelope on the table.
“It’s the Thanksgiving film. Mom finally got it developed.”
“Oh, nice.”
She smirks. “Yeah, there are some … interesting photos in there. Take a gander when you’re feeling up to it.”
Before he can ask her what she means, she’s out the front door. Reaching forward, he lifts the flap, a slow warmth filling his chest as he thumbs through the pictures. After most of them, he starts to lose interest—until a particular head of hair catches his eye.
And suddenly his heart is leaping into his throat. Sliding the picture out, his eyes take in her dark braids, brown lips, and somber expression.
Typical Jahlani.
Except she isn’t looking at the camera—she’s looking at him. And maybe it’s a giant fucking leap, but it’s enough to seal one of the cracks in his chest.