27. Serena
Serena
“Alex and I met at a wedding.”
“I was the photographer, and he was a guest, and throughout the day, I kept accidentally catching him in my photos. I didn’t mean to—it was like no matter where I moved to in the venue, he was there, laughing with someone, dancing, digging into a piece of cake.”
“Finally, he asked if I was stalking him, and I was embarrassed, fumbling. Alex seemed to like that. He flirted with me, and while I didn’t feel that dangerous spark, I was interested.”
“I talked to my roommates about him. My dating history was iffy at best—men who loved and hated me, men I loved and hated. I was always fighting with them, then falling into bed. My friends thought it might be a good idea to go for something a little more steady, and once Bianca heard he was an Oakley, she said it would be a huge mistake not to at least give it a shot.”
“So I did. And it went well. We progressed through our relationship in steady, gradual steps. He got me a nice necklace for our three-month anniversary. Maybe it was too soon, but after six months, he said we should move in together. That he could see a future with me and didn’t want to wait.”
“But I was working a lot, and Alex didn’t have to work for his money. He had so much time, and I was always gone. He started throwing parties, going out with friends, and when I caught him talking to other girls, it made me jealous. Jealous and insecure.”
“I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking for the next thing. The next me.”
“But when I confronted him about it, he said he wanted me. That he was willing to work with me on things, that we could get through my issues together. We went to couples counseling, and marched steadily forward.”
“Then Alex was talking about burning money on rent, and how much better it would be for us to buy a place together instead. And that’s what we were doing—looking for places—when I came home to find my things on the lawn.”
For the first time since I started, Graham interrupts me, his body language relaxing, his crossed arms unraveling slightly. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
Swallowing, looking down at my shoes against the wood grain of the floor, I say, “He put all my clothes and everything in black trash bags. But not my grandmother’s record player. That, he left out in the rain. It’s ruined.”
“Why?” Graham asks, brow furrowing. I can’t read what he’s thinking behind that still expression. “Why would he do that? Why not just talk to you?”
The need to defend myself bubbles up in my throat, and I push it down. Of course Graham would automatically side with his brother. He doesn’t really know me, after all. It makes sense for him to wonder what I did to deserve it.
“I have no idea.” I admit, knowing my voice is small and hating it. “He never said anything. Changed the locks. Blocked my number. I haven’t heard from him since that day. My roommates had to come and get me.”
“That’s…” Graham says, shaking his head.
“Fucked up,” Ryan finishes, and when I glance at him in surprise, he’s standing, scowling, looking angrier than I’ve seen him in the short time I’ve known him. “That’s really fucked up. You should have told me, Serena. I would have?—”
“No.” This time, my voice comes out stronger.
“I don’t want to do anything. Not to Alex.
I’m over it. The past few months…” I swallow, glancing first at Travis, then at Ryan, and finally at Graham.
Each of them has helped me get over all this in their own way.
Travis, introducing passion like I hadn’t known.
Ryan with his kindness. And Graham, the final cherry on top, showing me beauty and caring for me, protecting me the entire way up the side of the mountain.
Without them, I could very well be stewing at home, still simmering in what Alex did to me. And even with this confrontation, even with the discomfort of being in this room right now, I’d rather have this.
“That’s fucked up,” Graham grinds out, crossing the room quickly, looking me over as if he can find a physical wound to treat. “Does he know your history?”
I pinch my lips together, memories of the night we spent in the tent together returning to me. Me, telling Graham far too much about what it was like to be passed from home to home as a kid. The tears that leaked down the sides of my face.
“He knew,” I croak, finally.
“Fuck,” Graham runs his hand roughly over his face, shaking his head. “What happened to that kid?”
“Socio-economic privilege,” Ryan says, at the same time Travis says, “Dad happened. Just in a different way.”
The room goes quiet again, and my nerves return. Now that the guys have come to an agreement about Alex generally sucking, it feels like there’s an obvious question hanging in the air.
And I don’t want them to ask.
I steel myself against the moment they turn to me, realize I’ve been with all of them, or wanted to be, in Graham’s case. If they all want me back—which I feel like they do—they’re going to make me choose between them.
How could I possibly choose? How could I decide to just be with one of them when each of them has helped me move on from Alex in different important ways?
Maybe they would be okay with something more casual.
Maybe them finding out about each other doesn’t mean this has to end.
Ryan and Travis are both with a lot of people—surely they’d be okay with keeping it casual.
I don’t know about Graham, but a constantly traveling man surely can’t be looking for something serious?
Not that I want them to be with other women. In fact, the thought of that makes me sick.
But how can I ask them to commit to only me when I don’t want to do it myself?
Ryan turns, tilting his head and taking a breath—surely to point out everything I’m thinking about—and I get lightheaded, swaying slightly on my feet.
Before Ryan can say anything, though, the door swings open again. And now, it’s not just one person, but two, barreling in through the entrance, while Dianne calls after them in the hallway.
“What the fuck?” Alex snarls, staring right at me, his finger pointed accusingly in my direction. Worse than that, though, worse than my ex-boyfriend spitting mad, standing before me after months of dead silence, is the person behind him.
The person tugging on his arm.
The woman saying, “Alex, please, don’t?—”
But Alex doesn’t listen to her. Instead, he jerks his arm, sending her stumbling backward, bumping into the door just as it clicks shut again.
Then her eyes fly up to meet mine, and I stare over my ex-boyfriend’s shoulder at my best friend, tears streaming down her face, the look on her face so guilty it makes me sick.