Bait (Wake, #1)(72)

I turned my speech to him. He looked evil with the red filter through which I was seeing him.

“No were not just f*cking! If it's any of your business, we talk almost every day. Does that sound like just f*cking? We talk about how our days went. We eat. We drink. We talk about you guys. We make fun of each other. We fight. And, yes, sometimes we f*ck. And it's awesome. But it's not just f*cking, you *.”

“Okay, great,” Cory added. “Then you like her. Great. But there’s one little problem with that. She's engaged.” He looked to Micah for support. The nod of her head was permission enough for him to continue. “Where's that going to leave you in May when she gets married? I mean seriously, have you two talked about that? What then? You call it off?” He leaned back again and I sat back down in the recliner.

“I don't know.”

“I know she cares about you,” Micah said. “She does. But then when I ask her about the wedding she acts like everything is normal. Like she's just planning a wedding. I think she's really going to marry him, Casey.” She sounded apprehensive and like she was as worried for Blake’s sake as mine.

Hearing Micah say that Blake was going to marry him made me glad I'd stopped at twenty mushrooms. My stomach churned. She was going to marry him. Something I'd known was a fact, yet somehow never actually thought would happen. I supposed in a way, I'd told myself it was impossible.

Micah might as well have said that they'd found Hoffa's body. That he’d been beaten and murdered and brought up from the bottom of some river somewhere. Something everyone knew, but never actually expected would come to pass.

She said quietly, “We're worried about you.”

Worried about me? Feeling the room shift, I looked to Troy. His head was down, focused on the Mountain Bike magazine in front of him on the coffee table, but he nodded that he'd agreed with what Micah had said. So did my brother's expression.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “I love you guys, but I can take care of this. I'm fine. Maybe you were right and we are just f*cking. If she gets married, then she gets married. I'm cool. Okay?” I said in triplicate making eye contact with them each individually.

“Okay,” they repeated back punctuating our conversation as finished.

I lied to them, but the truth hurt worse.

The reality of it hit like brass knuckles against my skull. Except it wasn't brass knuckles, it was the truth. And it wasn’t my skull it pulverized. It was my stupid heart.



January’s known for being cold, and although I didn't feel cold toward Blake outwardly, the mercury inside me dropped in general. I was irritable. We hadn't seen each other since before Christmas and it made me antsy.

Every time I tried to arrange something for us, she was busy.

What Micah said started to peck away at me. So did what Troy had.

She is going to marry him.

You're just f*cking.

Even though I didn't believe either of them, I couldn’t hide from the reality that it was anyone's game.

I went on a trip at the end of January to Lake Tahoe and it sucked.

I f*cking missed her.

The meeting went well with the resort, they had actually been the ones to request it, and I sealed the deal on Friday night. With two days left in the cabin, I did a lot of thinking. A lot of coffee. A lot of Baileys and a lot of trying to figure out what the actual f*ck was I going to do if she got married.

Honeybee: How's Tahoe. Touristville?

Me: I won't know. I haven’t left this hot tub in two days.

Honeybee: Sounds awful. You probably look like a California Raisin.

I was peacefully intoxicated and feeling bold upon receiving her upbeat text. She was right as rain and I was wallowing like a fool.

The clock read ten thirty. We were still in the same time zone.

Me: So Grant went home then?

The Baileys in me was a curious bastard.

Honeybee: No. And what's that supposed to mean?

Me: It doesn't mean anything. You text so I guess he left. You probably wore him out. You're good at that.

I should have deleted it, but I should have done a lot of things that I didn't. And way too f*cking many things that I did.

Honeybee: Someone's drunk.

That's my Blake, fiery and fierce.

Me: Yeah I'm drunk. We're both doing things were good at.

Honeybee: I think I'll just talk to you tomorrow.

Me: No you won’t. We'll speak tomorrow probably. But we never say anything.

Honeybee: What do you want me to say? I feel like saying goodnight.

Me: Fine. Goodnight.

But she wouldn't let it end there. She hated giving me the last word.

Honeybee: Why don’t you drop the attitude? You're being mean.

Me: Sorry. What persona would you like, Betty?

Me: Angry likes to f*ck hard? Or maybe it's easy-going, don't-give-a-f*ck about anything? Take your pick.

Me: Well.

Me: Tell me. I'll be that one. Just. Tell. Me.

She didn't answer for a long time. I put my phone down feeling like I'd really pissed her off this time. She probably wouldn’t call the next day, probably not for a few days now. The exact opposite of what I'd wanted.

I dipped down below the water and screamed into the humming of the jets.