Broken:Flirt New Adult Romance(41)

I wince. "I'm sorry."

The words don't feel like enough. She was once a good friend, and I shut  her out the way I shut everyone out. I don't know how to explain how  lost I was-at this point, anything I say will merely sound like an  excuse. And I don't know how to explain what changed.

I don't know how to tell someone, even a good friend like Kali, that  something as simple as Olivia's touch and smile melted away what so many  psychiatrist appointments had failed to do.

"I'm sorry," I say again.

Kali puts her hand on mine briefly. "It's okay," she says. "I'll just say it's good to see you, and leave it at that."

I give her a smile of gratitude. Not just at her understanding, but at  the way she's brought both me and Olivia into her social circle. For the  first time in years, I have friends. Just a handful of guys to grab a  beer with, and we're not like braiding each other's hair or anything,  but they knew me back before I was an ugly bastard and don't seem to  mind that I'm not as pretty anymore.

Olivia all but skips over to our table, thrilled because one dart made contact with the board. Barely.

"I think I'm getting better!" she chirps.

"No," Kali says, taking a sip of her drink. "You've been in four times  this week, and you've literally shown no improvement. It's incredible,  actually."

Olivia wrinkles her nose at Kali and sips her wine. "Don't make me take  my patronage somewhere else where the staff is more supportive of my  sports skills."

Kali holds up a finger. "First, darts? Not a sport. Second, if you can  find another bar open in the off season that serves wine as good as  mine, have at it."

"That's true," I say, tilting my head at Kali. "Frenchman Bay's not exactly a mecca of nightlife during the winter."

"We should all go to Portland," Olivia says, leaning forward excitedly.

"Yes!" Kali says, at the same time I say, "No fucking way."

Both girls turn to glare at me. "Why not?"

"First of all, have you ever been to Portland?" I ask Olivia. "It's not exactly the Village."

Kali rolls her eyes. "Quit making it sound like a one-horse town. I'm  not suggesting there will be any celebrity sightings, but there are a  couple of great wine bars, and restaurants that serve something other  than onion rings."

"No." My voice is a little sharper than I intend, and I don't miss the way the two girls exchange a what-the-fuck glance.

Do they not get it? Patronizing Frenchy's is one thing. The people here  know my story; they know what to expect. This place is like 99 percent  regulars, which means they all got a good look at my face that first  night. Except for the occasional drunk gawker, I don't get a second look  when I come in anymore.

But leaving Bar Harbor? I'd be all but begging for people to point and  stare. I'd be openly inviting questions and pity and disgust.

Worse than that, people will wonder what the hell someone like Olivia is  doing with someone like me. She's gorgeous and dazzling. I'm disfigured  at best, monstrous at worst. Just because I'm finally at peace with  myself doesn't mean that everyone else will be.

The last thing I need right now is Olivia getting a dose of what real  life would be like with someone like me. Things are going too well right  now.

I can't risk it. I won't.

And deep down, I know that once she figures out that the rest of the  world won't be quite so accepting of her pet Frankenstein's monster,  she'll want more. She thinks she cares about me, and I know that she  does. But eventually she'll care about a normal life more. She'll want  spontaneous trips to Vegas, winter cruises, and anniversary dinners. I  can't give her any of that.

Olivia's future is glamorous Hamptons parties and pretty boys in suits.  Mine is solitude and hole-in-the-wall bars like Frenchy's.

Kali distracts me from my ruminations with an annoyed yelp and goes  dashing back to the bar, where her newbie bartender in training is  sloppily mopping up beer that's all over the place.

Olivia turns toward me, her smile easy and adoring, the way it's been  every day this week. She pulls me in for a playful kiss, and I let her.  And then I deepen the kiss, a little bit out of want and a lot out of  desperation. I know she'll leave eventually, and I'll do anything in my  power to slow down that process.         

     



 

Because once she's gone I'll be worse off than before.

I won't just be damaged.

I'll be hollow.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Olivia


You know that point in every relationship where things are going really,  really well, and you start to have the dangerous thought that nothing  could ever go wrong, which pretty much guarantees that something will go  horribly wrong, very, very soon? Yeah. That.

Anyway . . .

I have shin splits. I didn't even know that was a freaking thing, but  let's just say the light one-to-three-mile jogs I've been doing over the  past few months are Paul's idea of a warm-up. His leg's not all the way  better yet. It still bothers him when he lands wrong, and then we have  to take a walk break (oh, damn!), but for the most part the dude is a  freaking running machine. We've run together almost every day since that  first morning when I learned that he could run, and while I love every  second of it, no longer am I matching my stride to his injured one. It's  a whole new ballgame, one in which the newbie runner struggles to keep  up with the star quarterback and boot-camp legend Paul Langdon, who  calls five miles a "quick run." To say that he's got his mojo back is an  understatement.

"Hurry up, Middleton!" he hollers from where he stands in front of the house, hands on hips, watching me limp up to him.

"I think someone broke my shins," I say, panting.

He has the decency to look sympathetic. "Shin splits. The worst. We'll get you iced and take a day or two off."

I gape at him. "By day or two, I'm assuming you mean a minimum of a week. It feels like my legs are shattered."

He pats my butt as I go through the door in front of him. "Take it from  someone whose leg practically was shattered. You're fine."

"You get to play that card for a long time, huh?" I say.

"Um, yeah. Pretty much forever," he says with an unrepentant grin.

Three months ago, I'd have bet my favorite Chanel purse that there was  no way Paul Langdon would ever be able to joke about his injuries.

Not that it's a joking matter. At all. What he went through, what all soldiers go through, has nothing but my respect.

But maybe him joking about it means that he'll one day be able to lose  that haunted look that still crosses his face from time to time.

"Do you want to see a movie today?" I ask, settling myself at the  kitchen counter as he pulls two packages of frozen peas out of the  freezer and plops them unceremoniously on my shins. "Is there even a  movie theater around here?"

"Sure, it's right between the three-star Michelin-rated restaurant and the high-end couture mall. You haven't seen it?"

I make a face. "So that's a no."

He peels a banana and hands me half. "Actually, I think there is a small theater in town. At least there used to be."

"Ooh, yay! So you want to go?"

He nips the banana between perfect white teeth. "Nope."

I frown, even though I've been expecting it. He never wants to go  anywhere except Frenchy's, and as much as I tell myself that it's no big  deal, that it's just because Bar Harbor doesn't exactly have a lot  going on, somewhere in the back of my mind I'm terrified that it's so  much bigger than that.

"What's the deal, Langdon? I can maybe understand why you weren't all  gung-ho about going to Portland, but you refuse to try any other  restaurant, you won't go over to Kali's when her new boyfriend is there,  you won't go home with me for Thanksgiving, you won't go for a run in  the middle of the day because there are too many people, and now you  won't even humor me by going to a movie?"

He ignores me.

I knew he would, but I'm starting to get a constant knot in my stomach  about the direction we're headed. The sex is great. The conversation is  wonderful.

But there's just the two of us. All the time. With no plan of leaving  ever. I get why he doesn't want to go to New York with me for  Thanksgiving-it was a stretch to even ask. But this is getting  ridiculous.

"How about a bookstore?" I challenge.

"You can buy books online. Free two-day shipping."

"I need more running shorts," I shoot back.

"Online."

"I need my hair cut," I say, a little desperately. "Can't do that online."

He shrugs. "So go get your haircut."

"Will you come with me?"

"Why would I come with you? My hair is like a centimeter long, and I can keep it that way myself with a buzzer."

"But-"         

     



 

"Drop it, Olivia." His voice is sharp.

My mouth snaps shut and I look down quickly at the counter. And then,  because there's also anger simmering beneath the pain, I toss the bags  of frozen peas none too gently on the counter and stand. "I'm going to  go shower."