“I should’ve figured out a way to call you back. I’m sorry.” She nuzzled my chest.
Those were the words I’d wanted to hear. “You call, I don’t answer, and you leave a message.” I sat down on the couch with her in my lap. My pulse beat faster thinking of all the things that could’ve gone wrong.
“Yeah, got it.”
“You write my number in your purse, you get it from the guys if you call.” I’d never thought about it, but I didn’t have her number memorized either, so we needed a plan to keep this from happening again. “Don’t leave me a message I don’t get until Monday morning.”
I knew I needed to let it go, but she had to understand because I never wanted that gut-wrenching dread stalking me again.
She winced, but didn’t speak.
“You can’t do that shit to me. Promise me, never do it again.” I tilted her chin to meet my gaze.
She dipped her head. Minutes passed and she was so quiet I thought she’d gone to sleep in my arms, but then she snapped up her head, looking directly at me.
“What exactly am I promising? Never worry you, never act without calling you for approval, never call without leaving a voice mail?” While exhaustion lined her features, fire shot through her expression. “What’s my crime?”
Where did this come from? We’d been so close to ending our fight, now she gave me attitude.
“Red, don’t start with me.” I growled the words.
She popped off my lap and paced the apartment. “Or what? You’ll hit me like my dad? You’ll belittle me in front of our friends?” She turned and pointed at me. “But then you already did. Or will you walk away from me? Tell me, Dare. I don’t do vague threats.”
“You’re winding me up again.” My own anger boiled up.
“No, you’re doing it.” She turned to me. “Stop blaming me for your hang-ups. Own them, whatever they are.”
What the hell did she mean? This wasn’t about me.
“You screwed up,” I shouted at her. She had screwed up, not me.
“And I apologized.” She threw her hands in the air. “But you need more blood from me. I’m bled out.” She walked over to the door and held it open. “I don’t remember your apology.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again before stomping out of the apartment. I rode my bike for hours again, turning the conversation over in my head, not sure where we’d gone off the path. One minute we were making up and the next she was yelling, I was yelling, and we were both as raw as we’d been yesterday afternoon.
Shit. I didn’t do dramatic, and I didn’t argue, or ever apologize, especially when I’m not wrong.
Tomorrow we’d both be cooled down enough to put this in the past.
I parked at the club when the other half of the conversation hit me. Own your hang-ups, whatever they are. At the time I’d been focused on the apology she thought I owed her. Now, I considered her words another way.
Did she know? No way, if she knew about my stupidity, she wouldn’t even want me back. Were we apart? I should walk away, but I was too weak. The idea of giving up Red—it made my chest burn. No, she’d see it my way.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Lila
Wednesday dawned and dread settled in me. With no word from Dare last night after our fight, cooking the club breakfast felt more like punishment instead of pleasure.
Will he be there? Are we done?
I’d slept eight hours of the last forty-eight and cried too much. I spent my days vacillating between outrage and despair. I loved him, but he didn’t trust me, let alone love me.
Since my mother died, not a single person I loved had loved me back.
I never learned. I continued to be punished for loving someone too broken to love. He didn’t read very well, or he had other issues. But didn’t we all? No one escaped life without scars.
I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and tied my hair back. I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I’d tried to cover up the worst of my red-eyed sorrow at work, but this morning I didn’t care.
I’d charged my phone, but I wasn’t answering it because Dare didn’t call or answer my calls. And I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.
At the club, I dove into cooking—the first escape I’d found. I stirred batter and jammed to the tunes blaring in my ears. I jumped when a hand settled on my back. I turned off the music and stared at MJ.
“You look like shit.” She moved in like she’d hug me.
I held my hands up, stopping her.
“Want me to finish?” The pity in her expression hurt the worst.
“Am I not welcome?” It took my last reserve of strength to ask.