Ready for You (Ready #3)(70)

She hadn’t run after me that night, begging me to come back inside and swearing it wasn’t true.

No, she’d let me go and stayed with him—the fiancé.

She’d lied to me. For three months, she’d done nothing but lie to me.

Yet, my traitorous heart ached for her, and my body begged to be near her again.

I’d stormed out of her house that night and sped down the street, anger surging through every molecule in my body, and I’d just driven with no particular destination in mind. I’d driven until I found myself in the empty parking lot of the cemetery where we’d buried my father just a few weeks earlier.

I’d pulled myself out of my car and absently walked the short distance to my family’s plot where my father’s grave was now, still freshly packed with dirt and marked with a temporary nameplate. My brother-in-law, Ethan, rested nearby.

I didn’t know why I had gone there. I had just wanted to be close to my father. I’d knelt down on the soft, dewy grass next to where his body was buried, and I’d listened to the crickets chirp and frogs croak while I’d silently screamed inside.

Now, a week later, I was sitting at work, and I still felt exactly the same. My phone vibrated on the top of my desk, shaking me out of my thoughts. I leaned back in my office chair and picked it up to see another text message from Mia.

Please, Garrett. Call me. Let me explain.

I ignored it, just like I’d ignored all the others, as I shoved my phone in my desk drawer.

By eight o’clock, my back was aching from sitting in my chair too long, and my eyes were starting to cross. Pretty much everyone else in the office had already left. I shut down my computer and picked up the empty Starbucks cup from earlier. I added it to the pile that had accumulated in the trash can throughout the day.

I’d become him again—the old Garrett, the workaholic who survived on caffeine and coasted through life because he was too afraid to slow down and try to enjoy it.

Without her, I didn’t know any other way. Without her, I was nothing.

I took the long way home, taking side streets and turns I didn’t have to, just so I wouldn’t have to spend any more time than necessary in that dark, empty apartment.

I hated it there. It was too quiet. Every tiny sound, curse, or utterance seemed to be sucked into those claustrophobic white walls. My sheets still smelled like her, and as much as I needed to, I couldn’t bring myself to wash them. I’d lie in my bed, night after night, drinking in that sweet citrusy smell, torturing myself, until sleep would finally pull me into its hellish embrace.

After delaying the inevitable as much as possible, I pulled up to the curb and walked the short distance to my apartment. The sounds of my feet hitting the stairs echoed throughout the hollow space as I made my way upward. I fished out my keys and unlocked the door, pushing it open with my foot. There, sitting on my couch and flipping through channels like she was competing with someone for a speed award, was Leah.

“How the hell did you get in here?” I asked rudely.

“You gave me a key. Remember, Goober?”

“No.”

“Well, you did.”

She flicked the TV off and remained seated as I dropped my keys on the counter. I pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the top of the refrigerator and poured a decent amount of the bottle into a glass from the cabinet.

“Dinner?” she asked.

I joined her in the living room with my substantial glass of amber-colored booze. “Yep,” I answered stoically.

Her eyes swept over me in an appraising fashion, obviously taking note of the new look I was sporting. Her eyes lingered over my disheveled hair and three days’ worth of stubble.

“You look like shit,” she finally said.

“Well, thanks. Love you, too.” I took a long sip from my glass and let the liquid slowly burn down my parched throat.

“When was the last time you ate?”

I raised my eyebrow and shook my head. “Are you my mother now, Leah?”

“Well, when you’re acting like a child, what do you expect me to do?

“I am not acting like a child!” I shouted. The force of my anger caused my drink to slosh forward, dripping down the glass and onto my hands.

Leah cocked an eyebrow and folded her arms, but she remained quiet.

“Mia and I broke up,” I said, the words feeling like gravel against my throat.

“I know, although storming out of her house without so much as a parting word isn’t much of a breakup, Garrett.”

I should have guessed as much. “Is that why you’re here? You think you can kick my ass into shape and make everything better, Leah?”

“Yes. I was the chosen one to come over and try to knock some sense into you,” she confessed.

“Look, you don’t understand—” I started to explain, but she held up a hand, quickly cutting me off.

“She told me everything, Garrett.”

“What?”

“Mia told me everything—the pregnancy, engagement, how she ran off, and the life she had before she came back.”

“You mean, the fiancé she failed to mention,” I bit out angrily. I took another swig from my glass, but all I got was ice. Damn, that hadn’t lasted long.

“Did you ask her if she was engaged, Garrett?” Leah asked rather pointedly.