33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
Addie
T ears stream down my face as I walk out to my car. What a freaking mess I have made. And for what? Fear? It all seems so dumb now that I’m out of the fog. God, I hate myself right now.
Getting in my car, I drive. My tears cloud my vision, and I try to think of ways that I can fix this. I refuse to let this be the end. Without even realizing it, I guess I drove to the one place that will make me feel better.
Isla’s condo comes into view, and I quickly pull in her driveway. I stumble out of the car and rush to the door and knock. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I look down at it and see that it’s almost midnight. She’s probably going to have a freaking heart attack. If my brain was working right, I would have called first.
Cal answers the door and I suddenly feel even dumber. Not that I thought that was possible after tonight.
“I’m sorry to bug you guys, but I just need to talk to Isla.” My voice cracks and Cal pulls me into the house.
“Isla, it’s Addie! Can you come down here?” Cal yells in the direction of the bedroom. She walks out holding a bat, like that would do anything to defend herself. She drops it when she sees my face and books it down the second half of the stairs.
“Oh, goodness, what happened? Why are you crying?”
“I messed up really bad and I just found myself here. I’m sorry, it’s late.” A sob leaves my throat, and she pulls me in for a hug.
“Never be sorry for showing up at my door. That’s my job.” She grabs my hand and pulls me to the couch.
Cal stays back and shuts the door behind us before making his way to the kitchen. “I’ll go make you guys some tea and give you some space.”
Isla grabs one of my hands. “Okay, tell me what happened.” The look on her face makes me feel like even more of an idiot. What was I thinking?
“You’re going to think I’m so dumb.” I close my eyes and lay my head against the back of the couch. “The guy I have been seeing is Sam.”
Her jaw drops as she processes, the anger showing up front and center. “Did that motherfucker break your heart? I swear, I will slash all of his tires right now.” She goes to get up off the couch.
I squeeze her hand and pull her back down. “Woah, Nelly. He didn’t fuck up. I did,” I say, and a wave of confusion crosses her face.
Letting out a big sigh, I start. “It’s a long story, but I had been afraid to tell you. I was really struggling with where I was at in life. I felt like you all were moving on and living your lives, and I was just stuck in the same place. Not going anywhere.” Shaking my head, I realize this has nothing to do with the story.
“Anyways, Sam found out tonight that I hadn’t told you that we had been seeing each other and he freaked out. Rightfully so. If the shoe was on the other foot, I would feel the same way. God, I really screwed this up.”
“Wait. Why were you scared to tell me?” She drops my hand. Her brows pinch together, and I can see the hurt on her face. Ugh. I suck today.
“Well, you know how you always give me a hard time about my taste in men? You rambled off why I should avoid Sam on the way to your dress shopping. I think I’ve been falling for Sam since I first met him, and I didn’t want you to think less of me or to think I was screwing up.”
Her voice softens, and all the anger is gone when she puts it all together. “You know I’m just joking, right?” She puts a hand to her chest. “It’s not your fault good men are a dime a dozen.”
Patting her hand, I say, “I know that, and usually, it doesn’t bug me. But I haven’t been in a good place. And I couldn’t tolerate your rejection. And a little piece of me wasn’t sure about Sam.” My shoulders hunch up. “What if he is the asshole that you all said he was? I’d tell you about him, and then he’d break my heart, and I’d get a,” I put my finger up, mocking a finger shake at Isla, “'I told you so,’ and I just couldn’t. It was stupid. I’m in a much better spot as of today. Well, at least I was.” I had my shit together for all of three seconds. That should count for something, right?
Isla sinks in on herself. “I feel like an asshole. I’m so sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me. I trust your judgment. If you say he’s good for you, then he’s good for you. My opinion shouldn’t matter, babe.” Hearing it from her is nice, but I came to the same realization today.
If I am happy, what does the rest matter? Why did I put so much weight on everyone else’s opinions, when in reality, the only person who has to live through it is me.
“I know that. I really do. I was just in a funk and struggling and unhappy when I got here. Sam helped pull me out of all that. He saw me for me, and it didn’t matter that I wasn’t kicking ass, he loved me anyways.” At least, he did.
“And now, I have to figure out how to fix it all. I was trying to tell you today about him. If Cal’s stupid car wouldn’t have broken down, this would have all been avoided.” Actually, if I wouldn’t have been a pansy, I could have told her a month ago and we probably could have been double dating this whole time. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty.
Cal walks up looking sheepish. Was he eavesdropping? “Sorry, I should have called my dad or done something.” He hands us each a mug.
Grabbing it from him, I let it warm my hands. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just trying to find someone else to blame. This one is on me.”
Cal props himself against the couch. “For what it’s worth, Sam reaching out to me hasn’t happened in a long time, and I’m sure that was you. So, thank you. I can talk to him, too. We have never seen eye to eye, but I hope with your help, that can change.”
While it makes me happy that they’re reconnecting, I can only think of the douchebag that put them in this spot in the first place. “Yeah, your dad did quite a number on him.”
“He’s done a number on us all. I think he’s trying to be better.”
Isla and I both level him with a look. He may be trying, but not very hard.
Desperate for them to see Sam for who he is—for who I see him as—I say, “I hope you guys realize how great he is. He is kind and funny and caring. He is a bit of a grump, but it adds to his charm. He’s the best. There’s not a thing about him that I don’t love.”
Isla’s eyes go wide and she looks around the room. “Holy shit. Did it just get cold in here? Hell must have frozen over for Adeline to be saying she is in love.”
Heaving out a sigh, I say, “Sam broke the curse, and then I broke him. How kind of me, right?” An empty laugh leaves my throat.
“I’m sure this has more to do with his issues with his family than you,” Isla says as Cal decides to sit down. Might as well be a part of the conversation, since he was going to be a Nosey Rosie, anyways.
“I know, but that doesn’t help the fact that I made him feel like he’s someone to be ashamed of. I may not have done it intentionally, but that doesn’t really matter.”
Squeezing my leg, Isla says, “Well, you have to quit beating yourself up. It’s said and done now. What are you going to do to fix it?”
I think about the question as I bring the tea up to my lips. Its warmth shimmies down and helps soothe the ache.
“I really have no idea.” This is going to need more than an I’m sorry to fix it. Trust is so delicate. It takes forever to build and seconds to destroy.
“I’m sure he will be more levelheaded after he calms down, too,” Cal replies.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I will think of something. Do you guys mind if I crash here tonight? I don’t feel like driving. Or being alone.”
Isla wraps her arm around me and squeezes. “Not at all. We can have a sleepover in the living room. Cal, make like a tree and leave, will ya?” She hikes her thumb toward the stairs. “We need some girl time. Maybe a little wine while we’re at it.”
His face looks like he is genuinely disappointed. His hands drop to his side as he replies, “What, you don’t want a man’s perspective? I feel like I could provide some good insight.”
“No,” comes out of both our mouths at the same exact time. We look at each other and laugh. Ugh, I hate that I’m here for this reason, but this is what I have missed.
Holding up his hands, he says, “All right, all right. It’ll work out, Addie. Everyone fights. The best relationships come out stronger for it. You’ll see.” He walks over and plops a kiss on Isla’s forehead. My heart hurts because that could have been me tonight. That should be me. I miss him and it hasn’t even been an hour since I left his place.
Once Cal jogs up the stairs, Isla grabs the ottoman to make a leg extender for us. Grabbing a throw pillow, I pull it to my chest.
Hopping off the couch, Isla says, “I’m going to go grab a pen and paper.”
I have half a mind to ask her what for, but this is Isla, after all. Lord knows what she has planned.
She comes running back into the room, snags a book from the coffee table, and plops the book and both a pen and paper in my lap.
Looking from the stack of shit in my lap and back to Isla, I ask, “Care to explain why you just handed me this?”
She sits down on the couch and adjusts her pink robe. “We’re going to come up with a Win Your Boyfriend Back Plan.”
“I’m sorry, what?” It’s late and my brain is fried.
She points to the stack of items I’m now readjusting. “You heard me. We’re going to brainstorm ideas on ways for you to make up being a turd nugget to your boyfriend.”
“Turd nugget?” What an interesting choice of words.
She shakes her head and sticks her chin out at me. “Do you prefer bitch?”
“I prefer neither, actually. But fine.” Picking up the pen, I twirl it in my fingers.
We stare at each other, and then the paper, and then each other again. We’re realizing that neither of us have good ideas on how to turn this shit storm around.
Setting the pen down, I rub my hands down my face and groan. “Why is this so hard?”
“Probably because you are usually the dumper, not the dumped.”
“He didn’t dump me. We just got in a fight. It’s different.” Panic rises in me when I realize that maybe he did dump me. My mind goes through the conversation, trying to find a place where he said it was over. He didn’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.
“Okay, first idea. A love letter with apologies strung throughout.” I write it on the paper, and then hand the pen to Isla, assuming we are going to take turns.
“That’s lame as hell, but okay. Um, I feel like you need to make a big, grand gesture. Like, show up to his work and profess your undying love.” She grabs the book and paper and scribbles it down.
“Yeah, you’re done coming up with ideas.” I rip the list and pen from her hands. “He would die of mortification, and then there would be no relationship to be saved.”
“Well, your love letter was equally dumb.” She crosses her arms and feigns annoyance.
“Okay, let’s get back on track. Grand gesture. But it needs to be private.” Tapping the pen to my lip, I stare off into space. I have to give guys more credit because this whole groveling and fixing shit is rough. I should send an apology letter to the past men I’ve dated and broken up with for dumb reasons. Though, they probably weren’t kicking themselves for ruining it. In fact, they were probably out celebrating that my crazy ass was out of their hair.
Okay, seriously, I need to focus. I think of things he loves. Things we love together. I love taking long rides on his bike along the coast. I love watching reruns of sitcoms on my tiny ass TV while we curl up on my bed. I love spending time with him in the kitchen, baking bread or cinnamon rolls while he cooks us dinner. I love how safe and secure he makes me feel, like I am perfect just the way I am. I love that when I have a terrible day, I know he will be there with a hug and something yummy to make up for it. Gah, I just really fucking love him.
It hits me then. “Okay, so, this isn’t a grand gesture, but it will definitely mean something.”
“You sure you don’t want to go big or go home?” She eyes me warily. In her defense, I wouldn’t trust my instincts either right now.
Putting the pen, book, and paper down on the coffee table, I turn to Isla. “In this case, I think it needs to be more of a close-to-home hit than a big hit.” And I know just the thing.
“Yeah, that makes no sense at all, but we will roll with it. Anything I can do to help?” She perks up with that.
“No, I think I can cook this one up myself. But thank you. And for being here.”
She pulls me in again. “Want to watch trashy television?”
Turning my head to look at her, without giving up my hug, I say, “Um, duh. Real Housewives or The Bachelor reruns?”
“ The Bachelor, ” we both say and laugh.
We snuggle up on the couch. The ache inside my chest is still screaming, but at least I’ve got a plan. I’m going to make it up to him. This will get better. It has to.