28. Kat
28
KAT
I ’ve never cut out of work early. But I’m barely holding it together.
This relationship with Blake… I’m not even sure it was a relationship. We only made things real for a day before everything got shot to hell. Twenty-four hours may be an entire marriage for some celebrities, but for the rest of us, it’s barely a blip.
So it really shouldn’t hurt so bad.
Logically, I’m doing my best to convince myself that it’s not that bad. That it wasn’t meant to be. That I’m not devastated or betrayed or completely destroyed.
Now that I’m alone in my house, though, I only have myself to lie to, and it’s hard to do that when I know the truth .
It’s also the reason that I’m sitting on my living room floor, clutching a bottle of vodka.
I keep telling myself that it’s better than curling into a ball on the floor of my office since one of my students or a coworker could walk in—or worse, Blake—but I’m not sure it is, if I’m being honest. Either way, I’m spiraling because of a man.
And Kat Fucking Milas doesn’t do that.
I take a swig of vodka, grimacing as it burns its way down my throat. I hate the taste, but there’s something about the less-than-pleasant experience that makes me feel somehow in control of my wallowing, even though the very act of drinking like this practically guarantees a loss of control.
I’m sure my therapist could have a field day with that.
In the spirit of regaining control, here’s what I’ve decided to do:
First, I’m going to drink enough that I forget why I feel like crap.
Second, I’m going to eat half a pan of brownies. I baked them before I started drinking—no oven fires today, thank you—and they’re cooling in the kitchen in the special brownie pan that makes every piece have edges. No squishy middle pieces here .
Third, I’m going to…something. I haven’t figured that part out yet.
I lift the vodka to my lips again, bracing for the taste, when my doorbell rings.
Great. Just what I need, someone to see me in this state.
I stay on the floor, hoping that whoever it is will go away.
The doorbell rings again.
Persistent, but I’m more stubborn than they are. I remain exactly where I am.
“Kat,” a voice calls. “I know you’re in there. I can see your feet through the window.”
I pull them in, tucking them beneath me, like maybe that will make my visitor disappear.
Instead, I can hear the sigh through the door. “I’m not leaving. Open the door.”
It’s a man’s voice, one that’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t put my finger on who it is. I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else.
A full minute goes by.
Maybe he left.
I set the vodka on the ground and crawl across the living room to the window. Hiding behind the curtain, I push it aside slightly to see if the coast is clear.
Fuck . It’s not .
My gaze is squarely met by a pair of bright-blue eyes that are far too familiar. The hair is different, and he’s not as tall as Blake, but there’s no way to miss that Lawton is his brother. They even dress similarly, Lawton in a pair of blue jeans and a blue button-down with the cuffs rolled to his mid-forearms.
In contrast, I’m wearing my leggings and an oversized long-sleeved T-shirt that has a hole in the armpit. At least my crotch is covered this time.
He’s standing on my doorstep, arms crossed over his chest, a grim expression on his face. “Let me in, Kat.”
The dominant personality seems to run in the family.
I huff out a breath and climb to my feet, the vodka bottle clutched in one hand as I make my way to the front door.
Pulling the door open, I plant my free hand on my hip. “What do you want, Lawton? Why are you here?” I let out a hiccup. “I thought you lived in Colorado. And how did you even know my address?”
He reaches out and plucks the vodka from my hand. “I came back to Philadelphia to hang out with the guys for a few extra days. And Addie gave me your address. Water, please. ”
I gape at him. “You stole my drink, and now you want me to get you a water?”
He steps past me into the house, pulling the door shut behind him. “I’d like you to drink some water. We’re all done with the alcohol for tonight.”
“I don’t like you.” I hiccup again.
He may have a point.
Normally, I’d never let people see me like this. I don’t even like to see myself like this. But I find myself not caring what Lawton thinks. He doesn’t live here, he doesn’t work with me, and now that Blake and I aren’t dating—or even fake dating—I’ll never have to see him again, so I don’t care what he thinks.
It’s quite freeing.
“I’ll take care of this and the water. Go wait in the living room. Maybe sit on the furniture this time instead of the ground.” Lawton walks toward my kitchen like he owns this place.
A few minutes later, he walks into the living room with a glass of water. He must have found my nice dinnerware. The glass he hands me is dark blue to complement the design on the matching plates that I rarely use.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip.
I’ve only been wallowing for half an hour or so, but the vodka went to my head quickly .
I gulp down a few more swallows before I set the glass on the side table and sit back on the sofa. “So. Why are you here?”
Lawton settles into the chair across from me. “I need to talk to you about Blake.”
Nope. Hard pass. I start to stand up, ready to tell him just where he can shove his talk about his brother.
“Kat. Sit down.” His voice is deep when he gives commands, just like his brother’s, but unlike Blake’s voice, Lawton’s doesn’t send electricity pulsing through my core.
I lean back and fold my arms over my chest. “Fine. What?”
He folds his hands, unfolds them, then twines his fingers together again. “Blake doesn’t know I’m here. But you need to know something about him.”
The fact that he’s a professional gambler and hid that fact from me when he knew it was a problem is all I need to know, but I let him continue.
“Our dad died when I was twelve. Blake was seventeen.”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur.
Blake told me his parents were gone, but not the details.
“Thank you. But that’s not the main thing.” A flash of pain crosses his face. “Our parents were deeply in love. High school sweethearts, married young.”
I can almost picture Blake and Lawton as kids, losing their dad at such a young age. It tugs at my heartstrings.
“My mom was devastated when Dad died. She shut down completely. We thought it was a phase, but it didn’t get better.”
A lump grows in my throat.
“I was a kid and didn’t understand what was going on, why she couldn’t get out of bed or take me to baseball practice or make my lunch.” His shoulders hunch slightly. “Blake was a kid, too, but as the older brother, he took on everything. Driving me to practice, doing the grocery shopping, making sure I did my homework and brushed my teeth and studied for my math tests.”
Tears prick at my eyes. “That must have been really hard on him.”
Lawton shrugs. “It was. But he never complained or made me feel like a burden, not even when he had to put off going to college to stay home and make sure I was okay through high school.
“Dad’s life insurance money covered a lot, but it ran out. Blake was always good at poker, and he started playing professionally to make ends meet. And then he kept playing to cover the cost of our tuitions. Even so, Blake didn’t start college until after I graduated from high school.”
It makes more sense now, why Blake is just now finishing his PhD and starting teaching. I assumed he’d just done something between college and grad school because so many people do. I never imagined it was something like this.
And I never thought he’d chosen gambling because his back was against a wall thanks to a parent’s actions. It’s exactly the reason I took those modeling jobs in Japan, working just enough every summer to cover my in-state tuition at UVA.
I have a pang of sympathy for him, deep inside.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say.
Knowing these details of Blake’s past changes him in my eyes. But what we had is broken now. I’m not sure there’s a way back.
Maybe the idea of turning this into a real relationship was all a fantasy.
Lawton shakes his head. “It’s not just that. It’s…” He thinks for a minute, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “The way my mom responded to my dad dying shaped his perspective on a lot of things. Relationships, especially. ”
I take a sip of water, focusing on his words.
“He got it in his head that relationships always lead to heartbreak, one way or another, and that they have negative effects on people around them when they end. So he’s never wanted a relationship. It’s always been one-night stands for him.”
I wait, silent, as Lawton runs a hand over his jaw before continuing.
“I was surprised when he told me he was dating you. He’s never mentioned a girlfriend before. But when I spent time with you at Cam’s wedding, it made sense. You’re good for one another. You bring out the best in him, and you make one another happy.”
A tear slips out the corner of my eye, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand before he can see. “Not anymore, though. We’re done.”
Lawton pins me with a stare. “I think you should talk to Blake before you make that decision. He never would have done anything to deliberately hurt you. He might have made dumb decisions, but they were made out of caring and respect for you. Not to hide anything.”
I lift my shoulders and then drop them. “It’s too late, Lawton. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It’s never too late to do the right thing. And if it helps, it definitely matters. Especially to him.”
A spark of hope lights in my soul at his words. But if it matters to Blake, why is Lawton the one here? Why isn’t Blake here, explaining all of this and apologizing?
“He’s scared,” Lawton says, like he can read my mind. “He comes across as this confident guy, but he has scars. Everyone does. And relationships ending are a big one for him.”
Probably like gambling is for me, I realize.
“Just think about it,” he says, standing to leave. “Talk to him. Everyone has things in their past that make them scared about facing those things in the future. But it’s easier to face things when there’s someone beside you.”
It dawns on me that he’s right. And I wonder, for the first time in a long time, if carrying around the scars from the past is causing pain in the present.
I haven’t talked to my dad about the gambling thing. I’ve gone back home for holidays here and there, but we’ve always kept things surface level. We don’t talk about the past.
He’s texted me and called me, but there’s always been an excuse to keep him at an arm’s length.
In a couple weeks, the students will have their winter break, and the faculty get the time off too. I’d planned to just stay here, like the last couple of years, but maybe it’s time.
Lawton waits patiently while I pull out my phone and send a text.
Dad
I’m going to come home for Christmas this year. I’d like to talk with you about things.
I wait, holding my breath, and a reply comes back almost immediately.
I’m looking forward to it, pumpkin.
We usually think of scars as permanent, but it’s not entirely true. A scar is just a collection of collagen, laid down by the body as it rushes to fix a wound. Some scars are there for life. Others stretch, get lighter and less prominent as the years go by.
They don’t fade overnight, but they’re not the same from year to year. And maybe emotional scars are a lot like physical scars.
Lawton nods as I look up from my phone. “You want to go now? ”
I nod, standing unsteadily from the couch and head to my bedroom.
I peel off my leggings and T-shirt and drop them into the laundry basket. Wanting something other than my usual pencil skirts, I pick up the flowy skirt I bought a few weeks ago. The lightweight hem flutters around my knees.
I top the skirt with a white T-shirt; more casual than I’d usually wear to the university, but it’s not like I’m headed there to teach.
A quick look in the mirror, a coat of lipstick, and I’m on my way.