Dirty Letters(62)

“It’s not a big deal. At all. We once had to postpone an album cover photo shoot because Styx, our drummer, got his tongue stuck to a stripper’s muff.”

She squinted at me and shook her head, seemingly coming out of her fog. “Did you just say he got his tongue stuck to a . . . ?”

I nodded. “Muff. Her pussy.”

Luca looked rightfully confused.

“Dumbass has a tongue ring. He went down on a stripper who had a clitoris ring, and the two somehow got connected, and they couldn’t disconnect them. He didn’t show up for the shoot and wasn’t answering his phone. So I went over to his place and pounded on the door. I figured he’d gotten loaded the night before and was passed out inside. When he still didn’t answer, I got the building super to let me in and found his head between her legs—they’d been stuck that way for four hours. Every time they tried to move, it hurt one of them, so they just lay in bed with his face planted between her legs and waited for his roommate to come home.”

“Did you . . . unhook them?”

“Fuck no. I did what any good buddy would do. First I FaceTimed the guys to show them the shit I’d just walked in on, and then I called 911 and snapped some pics while the two poor paramedics figured out how to remove the dumbass’s tongue ring without castrating the woman. Anyway, we missed that photo shoot, and a whole bunch of other shit for my mates’ ridiculous crap. No one is going to give a shit that I need a few personal days.”

Luca sighed. My stupid story seemed to at least get her attention away from the window. “Thank you for not pushing me to try to stay.”

I nodded. “I told you we’d take it one day at a time and I’d drive you home if you weren’t comfortable at any point. When I tell you something, I want you to be able to count on it. But I hope you know I would have done anything to get you to stay.”

“I know, Griffin. And I appreciate that. I really do.” She turned away and looked out the window again. “I’ve been thinking. When I first started working with Doc, I had photos of Isabella and me in every room of my house. The one in my bedroom was the first thing I looked at each morning when I opened my eyes. Doc convinced me to put them all away for a few days. He thought that if I stopped forcing myself to look at what I’d lost, it might make moving on a little easier. I hadn’t wanted to do that, because I loved Isabella so much—not past tense: I love Isabella so much—but eventually he got me to do it.”

I wasn’t sure where she was going, but I was happy she was talking, at least. “Okay.”

“You know what happened when I put them away?”

“You stopped thinking about what you’d lost as much?”

She nodded and turned back to look at me. Her eyes were glassy, and she was on the verge of tears. “I did. And I feel a lot of guilt over never taking them out again. But Doc was right; I needed to do it in order to move on. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her anymore. There are just times in life when love isn’t enough, and being strong means being able to see that and making a decision that hurts.”

I definitely didn’t fucking like where this story was heading now. “Luca—”

She put up her hand and stopped me from talking. “You’re a beautiful human being, Griffin, and I’ll always cherish this time we’ve spent together.”

My heart started to race. This was not happening. And this conversation was not one I wanted to have while driving seventy miles an hour on the highway. I needed to pull over. I was about to pass an exit, and I abruptly cut over three lanes to get off at the last second. Luca grabbed on to her door and started to freak out.

“Hang on, love. We’re not having an accident. Everything is fine. I just needed to get off the highway so we can talk.” Luckily, the exit ramp had an entrance to some sort of town storage facility. I pulled into a parking lot with a dozen parked yellow utility trucks equipped with plows and a giant salt storage building. The place was otherwise deserted, so I took the first empty spot and put the car into “Park.” I turned off the ignition and started to get out of the car.

“What are you doing?” Luca said.

“I’m taking a break from driving so we can talk face-to-face.”

Before she could object, I walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened her door. Extending a hand, I helped her out and told her to stretch her legs for a minute. When she was done, I led us around to the back of the vehicle next to the trunk and lifted her up onto it so that we were eye to eye.

“Okay. Let’s talk now.”

Luca looked down at her hands. “I . . . You’re in such a great place in your life and—”

I stopped her. “Look at me, Luca. If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, I want you to at least look into my eyes while you speak.”

She swallowed, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to meet mine with a nod. “We’re just so different, Griff. You’re a round hole, and I’m a square peg. We don’t fit.”

I started to get angry. She was feeling vulnerable and scared; I understood that. But I didn’t care. She needed to fight harder for us. “Just say it, Luca.”

She looked down again. This time for a solid minute before looking back up at me. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. “Sometimes when love isn’t enough to make things right, we need to let it go.”