Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(52)

Lucia let out a huff on the other end of the phone while I focused on gathering all of my wild and raging emotions together and packing them into a neat little ball that I could bury somewhere, never to be seen again, if I could possibly help it.

“No. I just—I just wanted not to hurt. That’s all.” Her voice was small and sounded far away, but that may have been due to my dizziness. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care.

“I gotta go, Luce.” My ears were ringing, which made my own voice sound hollow and vacant. It matched my insides perfectly.

“Ryan, please. I’m begging you. Can we at least get together and talk? Grab dinner or something? I hate that I hurt you.”

Hurt. Huh. Sure, probably, once the blissful numbness finally wore off, I might hurt. A lot. But right now, my pain had receded, leaving me empty except for a very distant ache in my chest. I didn’t even have it in me to cry.

“I’ll call you.” It was the best I could give her. At the moment, I didn’t want to think about her, let alone see her. I needed the perspective that distance and time would give me before I could even conceive of having a conversation with her.

“When?”

Her obvious despondency didn’t move me. “Dunno. Later.”

I was about to take the phone from my ear and hang up when she rushed on. “I have your phone.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t paying attention the other night, and I grabbed your phone instead of mine when I left.” A beat. “Guess we should’ve put stickers or something on them the way we always talked about, so we could tell them apart, huh?” The joke fell flat. But it did explain why Rory had such a hard time getting ahold of me earlier.

“Guess so.” In the past, our having identical phones and always getting them mixed up had been comical. Not so much anymore.

“Are you busy? I could meet you so we could swap back.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, I’m sort of on my way somewhere.” Well, that and I had less than no interest in seeing her.

“I understand.”

I could tell she assumed I was going out with Allison, and I didn’t feel compelled to clarify my evening’s plans. Huh. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was heartless. Or maybe I was simply childish. Either way I didn’t reply.

“Well, maybe we could meet up tomorrow,” she suggested.

“Sure.” It actually sounded like the worst idea in the history of ideas, but I really wanted my phone. “I’ll be in the office all morning giving PT tests, and then I have interviews for the rest of the day. I’ll call you when I’m free. We’ll work something out.”

Maybe I could get Meaghan to meet her in the lobby and do the switch for me. That was unbelievably cowardly, but I was seriously considering it, strength of character be damned.

“Okay.”

Silence again. I was done with this conversation.

“Good night, Luce.”

Her voice was small as she replied, barely a whisper. “Night, Ryan.”





Chapter Seventeen


I hung up and sat motionless on the cement planter in front of my office building for an eternity. The skin on my forehead and cheeks tingled and buzzed. I closed my eyes in an effort to center myself, but the second I did, I saw vivid images of Jessie touching Lucia, kissing her, sliding her hand—

Tears prickled the backs of my eyes, and I snapped them open. Okay. I could do this. No need to fall to pieces. Lucia and I had broken up a few days ago, so I’d had some time to get used to the idea. I wasn’t any more thrilled about it today than I’d been when it’d happened, but I wasn’t in shock anymore. Getting weepy or emotional now was pointless because nothing had changed. Except everything had.

I took a series of deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling in long, measured movements, willing myself to calm down. It helped. A little. I concentrated on feeling the air as I drew it into my lungs and then expelled it. Nothing and no one else existed for me outside that moment.

This wasn’t getting me anywhere. I needed to move. Yes, I was devastated in a way the definition of the word hadn’t quite prepared me for, but I also had someplace to be. If I didn’t show, the others would question, speculate upon, pick apart, and investigate my absence to the nth degree, and I wasn’t in the mood for that. I had to get a grip, push all recent events aside for a few hours, and go pretend to have a good time so I could dissolve into an emotional wreck later at my own leisure. Okay. I could do that. Probably.

I forced myself to step to the curb and raise one hand to hail a cab. I was a wreck and definitely in no state to operate a motor vehicle. I was also inclined to get rip-roaring, balls-to-the-wall, stupidly drunk, so it was better for everyone if I didn’t have access to a car. Just in case.

As a taxi pulled up, my work phone rang. I let loose a string of muttered curses as I tried to get into the newly arrived cab, answer the phone, stow Lucia’s cell in my purse, and not flash the driver all at the same time.

“O’Connor,” I said into the receiver, pressing it briefly to my shoulder to tell the driver the name and address of Allison’s hotel.

When I brought the phone back to my ear, I winced as a loud, almost-melodic cacophony of music and many voices raised in good cheer lanced through my eardrum. It sounded like the party was well under way.