The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(63)

“Reese …”

I didn’t pause. My heart had already shifted into defense mode. Fight or flight.

“Did he finish the job?” Rory asked as I retrieved the handheld vacuum from the entry closet.

Yes. He finished crushing my heart.

“He did. Just needs to clean up the drywall dust.” I held my breath or at least most of it while taking only tiny inhales and exhales like a woman in labor while I shouldered past him blocking the doorway.

“Reese …”

I turned on the little vacuum which silenced him, and I took lots of time making sure I sucked up every speck of drywall dust. Before I got it shut off, he squatted behind me, his hand taking the vacuum from mine and shutting it off.

“I love you today,” he whispered in my ear.

Nope. Wrong four words. I loved those words on any other day. They just fell flat when all I could think about was him having sex with Angie because it seemed like that was all his mind cared to remember about her. Rory’s words replayed in my head.

A virile young man.

I highly doubted virile young men were immune to sex dreams, especially the lingering thoughts they provoked. Just because one didn’t want to think about something didn’t mean they had control over it. There was no way I wasn’t going to be thinking about him and Angie having sex, and it definitely wasn’t because I wanted to think about it.

“Thanks for putting up the bar. I’m sure my grandma will really appreciate it.”

“Are you punishing me for my honesty?”

With pursed lips, I shook my head a half dozen times.

“You asked me.”

My head shake quickly transitioned into a series of nods. “I did. Stupid me. I think I’m done asking you about anything.”

“Reese.” He took a step forward and reached for my waist.

“No.” I shifted to the side, wedged between the toilet and the vanity as I held my hands up to let him know I didn’t want to be touched.

“It means nothing … at least nothing that you’re worried about.”

I grunted a laugh. “You’re going to Costa Rica with her. It might end up meaning something.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

I rubbed my temples. “We’ve been over this. Even if I convinced myself it’s safe to trust you, I don’t trust your memories lurking at every turn. One trigger after another. I mean … that’s all it could take. One trigger to remember why you said yes to her. And what if that comes on the heels of a beautiful wedding where everyone is in the mood for love? Good friends. Food. Alcohol. Dancing. Coordinating outfits. A shared hotel room.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being stupid!”

Fisher flinched. And the noise in the kitchen silenced. Everyone and everything was silent except the lingering echo of my outburst.

“If you’re done, it might be time for you to leave.” Rory appeared a few feet from the bathroom door. “What do I owe you, Fisher?”

Keeping his back to her, he stared at me, but I kept my attention focused on the floor between us.

“Nothing. You owe me nothing.” He snagged his tool bag off the floor and headed straight to the front door.

Click.

It closed behind him.

“Want to talk about it?” Rory said.

“No.” I still had lots of anger to unleash as my “no” came out a little harsher than intended. “I don’t want to talk to you, not after more than a week of you not talking to me. I don’t want your opinion, a lecture, a long string of I-told-you-so’s. Just …” I handed her the vacuum and made a sharp left into my bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Dear Lost Fisherman,

I’m really mad at you right now. And I don’t care if it’s rational thinking on my part or not. Sometimes a person just needs to be irrational. This front that I’ve been holding up is exhausting. One can only show bravery for so long. Even the strongest people break sometimes. I wish I was immune to insecurities, but I’m not. I wish your I-love-you’s made me feel more confident in us, but they don’t.

I know Angie’s still dazed with disbelief that you can’t remember the first girl you ever loved. The girl you met when you were six. I get it. Because I’m struggling with us. It’s equally as hard for me to imagine us falling in love twice without you remembering the first time. And I can’t even articulate how badly I wish you would remember us. Not deduce the fact that you must have liked me a lot to show me your nerdy cruciverbalist heart, but actually feel what that really meant. I can’t tell you how many times the eager words have sat on the end of my tongue, desperate to jump out and just tell you. Tell you that we were in love. Tell you that you were my first and forever love. And in my gullible, fairy-tale head, you magically remember everything and we live happily ever after.

Fuck fairy tales.

Seven across. Hint: Disloyal. Ungodly.

Faithless.

I was angry. Angry that it was Thanksgiving and she was with him.

Angry that I had to endure the long stares from Rose and Rory while my grandparents yapped about their aches and pains.

Angry that Fisher hadn’t tried calling me to apologize for … I didn’t even know. But something. Really, he needed to apologize for something.