Resentment(67)
“Lay down,” he says.
I do, and he climbs in behind me, hugging me closely. I know this is a terrible idea with Eric down the hall, but as soon as his arm wraps around me, I feel better.
“Mia...” he whispers. “We can talk about whatever you want to talk about tomorrow, okay?”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes.” He kisses me. “It’s a promise.”
“Can I ask you one thing tonight, though?”
“Only if I don’t guess what it is.”
“Okay, try.”
He rolls me over so I’m facing him, and through the dark, I can faintly make out his eyes.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I still love you and I always have, regardless of all these years...” He rubs his hand along my back. “Was that your question?”
I nod, feeling somewhat better about tomorrow. “Yes. Thank you.” I smile and as he flips me back over, I whisper, “I still love you, too...”
Chapter 30
MIA
Dean doesn’t show up for dinner.
He doesn’t call.
He doesn’t text.
I sit at the bar where he told me to meet him, where he told me we would finally get everything out in the open. I wait for a full hour, thinking he got caught in rush hour traffic, and then I text him to try and figure out where he is.
MIA: Hey. Are you still coming?
DEAN: No. I changed my mind. I still need a little more time.
MIA: When were you planning to tell me that? I’ve been waiting here for an hour.
DEAN: My apologies. Maybe we can do this another day. Not today, though.
MIA: Dean...You do realize this is kind of fucked up, don’t you? What could’ve possibly happened between last night and today that made you change your mind?
No answer.
I refresh my messages several times and no response comes.
I’m not sure whether to be angry or hurt right now, but I refuse to let him ruin the rest of my night. I leave money on the table for the two drinks I bought while waiting, and decide to go to the bar that’s down the street, the one he took me to before, where the bartender knew how to make my drinks a lot lighter.
I don’t even mind that it’s storming outside as I walk down the street. I’ve become quite accustomed to the rain here, and no one who lives here ever seems to be surprised by people who enter buildings in wet clothes.
As soon as I make it to the bar, the hostess greets me with a small dry towel and asks where I would prefer to sit. The words “the bar” are on the tip of my lips, but they don’t come out because my heart is dropping to the floor.
What the fuck...
I stand still in the doorway, staring at Dean from afar. He’s sitting with someone else and she’s obviously flirting with him. I can’t tell if he’s flirting back, but he’s definitely not putting off her advances.
His gaze remains on her for several minutes and my heart breaks a bit more, with each one that passes.
Trying to remain calm, I pull out my phone and send him a text.
MIA: Where are you right now?
I watch as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, as he holds it in front of his face to read my message. Instead of typing back a response, he stares at the message, looking confused. Then he puts the phone back into his pocket and he orders another drink.
My heart drops lower than I’ve ever felt it, and I can’t force myself to walk out of the bar at all. I march past the hostess and straight over to him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, stepping between him and whoever this woman is. “Are you fucking kidding me right now, Dean?”
He tosses back a shot, unfazed.
“You had me waiting for you!” I can feel hot tears falling down my face. “I was waiting for you right down the street and this is where you were the whole time? With someone else?”
“Mia—”
“Don’t you fucking ‘Mia’ me.” My chest heaves up and down. “You told me we were going to talk today, you picked the time and place. YOU, not me, and instead of showing up to face whatever bullshit issue you ‘think’ I did to you ten years ago, you’re still acting like a goddamn coward. Just admit you’re a goddamn coward.”
“I’m not a goddamn coward.” He slams his glass down onto the bar, shattering it to pieces, and I can feel the eyes of everyone in that bar staring at us.
The two of us are glaring at each other, refusing to blink, refusing to be the first to back down.
I open my mouth to shout at him again, to berate him for pulling the exact same shit he pulled ten years ago, but he grabs my hand and pulls me outside before I can get a word out.
He tightens his grip on my hand and tugs me down past a few businesses, stopping once we’re in the doorway of an abandoned storefront. With his eyes bloodshot red and his face tightened in an undeniable expression of rage, he looks me square in the eyes.