Tamed(55)

There’s another meaningful pause. Then . . . Bam.

Although his remorse is nice to hear, it doesn’t help me at all. And, the bottom line is, it wasn’t really Drew that ended Dee and I. That was all on us. Her refusal to trust me . . . my refusal to keep trying to earn it.

Whatever Drew said to Kate, he’s obviously suffering because of it. So, I let him off the hook. “The truth is, it’s not all on you. We had . . . issues. Problems I thought I could get us through . . . but . . . she didn’t want it as much as I did. You know how that goes.”

Bam.

“You plan on staying in there forever?”

Bam . . . Bam.

“Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?”

Bam . . . Bam.

I nod, even though it’s only to myself. “Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”

There’s a moment of silence, when I assume he’s thinking it over. Then he answers.

Bam.



I go back to my apartment and do nothing but watch TV the rest of the night. My face has one expression the whole time—grim. As I flick through the stations, one of those long-as-hell commercials comes on, advertising the ultimate soft rock eighties collection. And “One More Night” by Phil Collins plays loud and clear. It’s the part of the song where he’s wondering about calling the girl.

And it’s like a freaky science fiction movie—like the television is reading my f*cking mind. I stare at my cell phone. Contemplating.

Trying to Jedi Mind Trick it.

Ring, you bastard. Ring.

I pick it up, brushing my fingers over the numbers. And I punch in nine of Dee’s ten digits . . .

Until the next lyric out of the TV reminds me that maybe she’s not alone.

I toss my phone away, like a scorching Hot Pocket fresh from the microwave. Then I plant my face in the couch cushion and yell into it.

“Fuck me!”

The music on the infomercial changes. And now it’s “Against All Odds”—a song about a guy who has so much to say to a girl, but she just won’t turn around and let him.

You know, somebody must’ve really screwed Phil Collins over. Big-time.

I sing a few of the lyrics ’cause it’s just you and me here. And for an eighties song, it’s pretty good.

And—oh look—“Total Eclipse of the Heart” just came on. Completing the trifecta of spirit-crushing, why-don’t-you-just-kill-yourself eighties tunes.

Yay.

Excuse me while I go slit my wrists in the bathroom.





Chapter 18


Wednesday morning brings a staff meeting in the conference room. I sit comatose through it—only half listening. After it’s over, everyone files out, except for Kate, who’s still at the table, sorting and organizing a stack of papers and folders in front of her.

She’s Delores’s best friend—and yes, that means there’s a code. As impenetrable as the blue wall of silence. But, at this point, I’ve got nothing to lose.

“Hey.”

She smiles softly. “Hi, Matthew.”

I don’t beat around the bush. “Does she . . . does she ever talk about me?”

Kate looks down at the conference table. “Not a word.”

Yeah—motherf*cking ouch.

But I don’t surrender all hope just yet. “Does she think about me?”

Kate’s eyes meet mine and they’re sympathetic—a little sad. I’m not sure if the sadness is for me or for Delores. She whispers, “Every day. All the time. She hasn’t gone out she just . . . mopes, and watches movies. She won’t admit it, but I know it’s because of you.”

Well . . . that’s something at least. Misery loves company—and Delores’s gives me a sick jolt of comfort. Reassurance. That at least I’m not alone.

“Matthew, why don’t you just call her? People in relationships have arguments sometimes; it doesn’t mean it has to be over.”

I’m already shaking my head. “I can’t do that. Delores likes to be chased—I get it. But, at some point, she needs to stop running and let me catch her. I’ve put myself out there for her—to show her how important she is to me. That I’m in this for the long haul—if she wants it. But now it’s her turn. She has to show me she wants it too.”

Pride isn’t always a sin. Sometimes it’s a savior that keeps you from making an * of yourself. Of not just looking like a fool—but being one too.

“I’ve been with someone who . . . wanted something else. Someone else. I’m not going there again.”

Kate nods her head, with a small smile. “Okay. For what it’s worth, I hope Dee wises up soon.”

“Thanks.”

I take a few steps toward the door. But then I stop. Because even though I haven’t actually seen Drew, every instinct I have tells me he’s hurting. Licking his wounds.

The fatal kind.

And my hunch is, Kate’s nursing the same kind of injury—she’s just better at hiding it.

“Listen, Kate . . . about what happened between you and Drew . . .”

All signs of friendliness drop from her face. Her eyes go hard, her lips pinch, and she cuts me off in a sharp voice. “Don’t, Matthew. Just . . . don’t.”