My Favorite Souvenir(85)

A look of concern crossed her face. “Okay…”

“I don’t know what the next several weeks are going to hold for us. But I don’t want you to think that my giving you space in any way means I’m not here for you if you really need me. I’m here, okay?”

“Thank you for clarifying that. I don’t know if I can go without talking to you for that long.”

“But I do think it’s best if we try not to communicate.”

When she looked down, I used my hand to lift her chin. “ Listen, I want to be your ride or die, okay? So badly. But there’s only one thing I want more than that. And that’s for you to be happy, to live the life you truly want—whether that’s with me or someone else. Don’t let Brady manipulate you into thinking you owe him anything. Just be true to yourself and what you want. Listen to your heart.” I took her hand and placed it on my chest. “But mine? It will continue to beat for you until New Orleans.”





Chapter 29




* * *



Hazel



The flight home to Connecticut was long and painful. I just wanted to be back in Matteo’s arms. Leaving him felt so unnatural and premature, like we’d been ripped apart.

When the Uber dropped me off in front of my house, I was shocked to see Brady’s car parked outside. I had finally responded to his texts at the airport, letting him know I’d be home today. So he must have taken it upon himself to meet me here. I couldn’t say this was a pleasant surprise.

I should have had him give me his key back when he ended things, but stupidly I hadn’t thought to do that. His being in my house right now without me felt like a violation.

My heart pounded. I was unprepared to see him. I wondered if he’d be able to tell just by looking at me. I was covered in Matteo.

When I opened the door, I feigned a smile at the sight of him. “Hey. This is a surprise.”

He took a few steps toward me. “Yeah, it must be.”

“How come you didn’t tell me you planned to stop by?”

When he didn’t try to hug me, I knew something was off.

“Did you have a nice trip?” he asked coldly.

“Yeah.”

With each second, I became more weirded out by his vibe.

I became especially alarmed when I entered my kitchen and noticed photos lined up in a row on my counter. Not just any photos—the photos I’d taken of Matteo.

I broke out in a cold sweat. “What…what is all this?”

Brady folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me that. I came here to talk to you because you haven’t been responding to any of my messages. I’ve felt awful ever since the night of my birthday, and I wanted to apologize in person. Your camera was on the living room table, so I thought I’d snap a few pictures of myself like we used to do with each other’s phones. You remember how we used to do that, right, Hazel? I’d leave my phone out while I went to the bathroom for a minute, and the following day I’d find a nice surprise of fifteen different pictures of you smiling, sticking your tongue out, and making cross-eyes. You always looked so happy in those photos. But that’s not what I got this time, is it?”

Brady seemed to be waiting for an actual answer, but I didn’t have one. I must’ve looked like a deer caught in the headlights. After a minute of staring intensely at me, he walked over to one of the photos of Matteo and picked it up. It was a picture I’d taken of him playing on stage in New Orleans.

“I saw this one first. But I’m so goddamned na?ve that I just assumed you must’ve taken it the night we went on a double date at that café in the Village, even though I didn’t remember you having your camera. You know what I thought when I looked at this photo?” He waved the glossy print around in the air. When I didn’t answer, he asked again, this time louder. “I said, do you know what I thought when I saw this photo?”

I shook my head and whispered, “No.”

“I smiled and admired your work.” Brady laughed maniacally. “I was so fucking clueless that I sat there thinking how talented you are.”

Brady paused. The way his eyes flashed with anger made me really nervous. He looked down at the photo again, and with a pissed-off flick of his wrist, tossed it to the floor. Then he picked up a second photo—a close up of Matteo. He’d just finished playing a song and was looking at the camera with so much emotion in his eyes.

“You know what I thought of when I looked at this one?”

Again, he stared at me, waiting for an actual answer.

I shook my head and looked down, again whispering, no.

“I thought to myself, it’s a good thing this guy’s my best friend. Because damn, he’s one good-looking son of a bitch. I remember how he used to play his guitar and sing up on stage in college. A few strums and some lyrics, and the women were lining up to offer him their pussy. But I don’t have to worry about that. My girl is loyal, and my best friend? He always has my back.”

He snapped his wrist again and whipped the second photo at the floor. Picking up another, he flung them one by one to the ground with each staccato word he spoke.

“Not.” Toss.

“My.” Toss.

“Girl.” Toss.