line hangs up first and I know the minute I walk through that
door, we’re going to be talking about a lot more than what he’s been up to. Even
though my visit here tonight is completely innocent, I feel guilty beyond measure.
I peer over at Danny who’s looking at me confused.
“You just told me he’s cheating on you, but you’re going back? And needing me to drive you there? You have to be drunk or crazy … maybe a little bit of both.”
“Please just take me home. I needed a friend to vent to, not a judge and jury. If
I can’t talk to you about these things, just let me know. I’m sorry to have put you
in this position, it wasn’t my intention.”
“After everything, Mira. Everything you went through. I went through . He steals you from me just to dick around behind your back. How is this fair?”
Danny’s assessment hits me harder than the tequila ever could. Stole me from him? He’s still hurting. Oh fuck, he’s resentful of my relationship with Skylar. Did
I give him false hope coming here tonight? No, he has Melissa, right? Shitballs. I’ve screwed with the beehive and stole the honey … or however the hell that saying
goes. Oh hell.
“But everything worked out, right? If Skylar and I wouldn’t have realized our feelings,
you wouldn’t have found Melissa.”
Instead of driving me home right away, Danny pulls out a loaf of bread and brews a
pot of coffee. I would have to agree with him—if I don’t get something in my stomach
and start to sober up now, by the time I get home I’ll be shit faced drunk and sleeping
in the bathroom all night. There’s no way I need to have any kind of conversation
with Skylar when I won’t remember my own name.
Once Danny places a cup and a piece of toast in front of me, he finally responds to
my earlier question, completely rocking my world. Not the OMG-that-was-amazing kind
of world rocked. I’m talking the kind where you’re choking on your tongue, not sure
how to respond so something so insane.
“Mel’s great and all, she’s just not you.”
CHAPTER NINE
Danny
I should have just left well enough alone. Why did I have to say anything at all?
We were doing so well without saying anything. Now, I’ve screwed everything up.
“Mel’s great and all, she’s just not you.”
Why the fuck would I say something so … stupid? What do I do now? Try to take it
back? Yeah, right, it’s already out there. Also, Mira and I are cut from the same
can’t-lie-for-shit cloth. She’ll know.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Mira, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” She doesn’t respond or
even look in my direction. Oh, I’ve done it this time. There might not be any coming
back from this.
“Please say something,” I plead, without reciprocation on her part.
She’s on the furthest side of the arm chair as possible, damn near falling off the
edge and staring out the window lifelessly. The only sign she’s still alive is the
rapid rise and fall of her chest and the occasional hiccup.
She’s crying?
Bombarded with a rush of possession and overwhelming need to stop Mira’s tears, I
damn near knock the coffee off the table and kneel in front of her, trying to gauge
her current state of mind. Any man will tell you, the worst thing a woman can do
is cry. Crying can tell you a few things: she’s mad, sad, frustrated, hurt or depressed.
Because of what I said, it could be any of the above or a combination of a few.
I reach my hand out, trying to brush a few loose strands of hair away from her face
so I can really see her, but she pushes my hand away.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mira asks, finally breaking her vow of silence, voice
cracking.
“You’re crying. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry I said that.” I back up noticeably,
giving her the space she needs.
“I’m not crying because you said it,” she sobs, wiping her nose on the back of her
sleeve, “it’s because
door, we’re going to be talking about a lot more than what he’s been up to. Even
though my visit here tonight is completely innocent, I feel guilty beyond measure.
I peer over at Danny who’s looking at me confused.
“You just told me he’s cheating on you, but you’re going back? And needing me to drive you there? You have to be drunk or crazy … maybe a little bit of both.”
“Please just take me home. I needed a friend to vent to, not a judge and jury. If
I can’t talk to you about these things, just let me know. I’m sorry to have put you
in this position, it wasn’t my intention.”
“After everything, Mira. Everything you went through. I went through . He steals you from me just to dick around behind your back. How is this fair?”
Danny’s assessment hits me harder than the tequila ever could. Stole me from him? He’s still hurting. Oh fuck, he’s resentful of my relationship with Skylar. Did
I give him false hope coming here tonight? No, he has Melissa, right? Shitballs. I’ve screwed with the beehive and stole the honey … or however the hell that saying
goes. Oh hell.
“But everything worked out, right? If Skylar and I wouldn’t have realized our feelings,
you wouldn’t have found Melissa.”
Instead of driving me home right away, Danny pulls out a loaf of bread and brews a
pot of coffee. I would have to agree with him—if I don’t get something in my stomach
and start to sober up now, by the time I get home I’ll be shit faced drunk and sleeping
in the bathroom all night. There’s no way I need to have any kind of conversation
with Skylar when I won’t remember my own name.
Once Danny places a cup and a piece of toast in front of me, he finally responds to
my earlier question, completely rocking my world. Not the OMG-that-was-amazing kind
of world rocked. I’m talking the kind where you’re choking on your tongue, not sure
how to respond so something so insane.
“Mel’s great and all, she’s just not you.”
CHAPTER NINE
Danny
I should have just left well enough alone. Why did I have to say anything at all?
We were doing so well without saying anything. Now, I’ve screwed everything up.
“Mel’s great and all, she’s just not you.”
Why the fuck would I say something so … stupid? What do I do now? Try to take it
back? Yeah, right, it’s already out there. Also, Mira and I are cut from the same
can’t-lie-for-shit cloth. She’ll know.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Mira, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” She doesn’t respond or
even look in my direction. Oh, I’ve done it this time. There might not be any coming
back from this.
“Please say something,” I plead, without reciprocation on her part.
She’s on the furthest side of the arm chair as possible, damn near falling off the
edge and staring out the window lifelessly. The only sign she’s still alive is the
rapid rise and fall of her chest and the occasional hiccup.
She’s crying?
Bombarded with a rush of possession and overwhelming need to stop Mira’s tears, I
damn near knock the coffee off the table and kneel in front of her, trying to gauge
her current state of mind. Any man will tell you, the worst thing a woman can do
is cry. Crying can tell you a few things: she’s mad, sad, frustrated, hurt or depressed.
Because of what I said, it could be any of the above or a combination of a few.
I reach my hand out, trying to brush a few loose strands of hair away from her face
so I can really see her, but she pushes my hand away.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mira asks, finally breaking her vow of silence, voice
cracking.
“You’re crying. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry I said that.” I back up noticeably,
giving her the space she needs.
“I’m not crying because you said it,” she sobs, wiping her nose on the back of her
sleeve, “it’s because
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