When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,48
I sang, the thinner my voice grew, until, by the end, I barely sounded like myself.” She plucked at a loose thread on the towel. “Since then, it’s only gotten worse. I’ve seen a doctor.” She seemed to be forcing herself to look at him. “I have what’s called a psychogenic voice disorder, a polite way of saying I’m crazy.”
“I doubt that.” He could either loom over her or sit down, too. He chose the end of the adjoining lounger. “You’ve lost your voice because you believe you’re responsible for your ex killing himself, is that right?”
“It’s abundantly clear that’s the case.” She pushed her feet into the flip-flops she’d left nearby. As serious as this conversation was, he wished she’d drop the towel. He was a dick.
“I told you. He was sweet, handsome. He loved me. We were part of the same world. We loved the same composers, the same singers. It seemed natural for us to get married, even though I knew how sensitive he was. But instead of ending it when I should have, I let it drag on.” She tugged on the strap of her bikini top. “I’ll never forget the way he looked at me when I told him. Like I’d shot him. Ironic, right?”
“You didn’t shoot him. You broke up with him. It happens all the time.”
“Adam was a better person than I’ll ever be.” She pulled the towel tighter. “Thoughtful. Kind.”
“Kids and dogs. Yeah, you already told me.”
She tucked a lock of wet hair behind her ear. “I did love him. Just not the same way he loved me.”
“Who doesn’t screw up when it comes to relationships? You made a mistake. It happens.”
“This mistake cost Adam his life.”
Thad didn’t like that. “Adam cost Adam his life.”
She gazed at him, looking both raw and mystified. “He thought we were forever.”
“People break up. Afterward, you get drunk, cry, whatever. You move on.”
She finally dropped the towel. It settled in a damp fold at her waist. “How do you break up with someone? What do you say? I assume you’ve had a lot of practice.”
“Sometimes they break up with me.”
He’d sounded defensive, and of course she picked up on it. “But it’s usually the other way around, isn’t it? Do you give them that old line, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”
“Never say that when you’re breaking up with someone.”
“Now you tell me.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “So how do you do it?”
“I’m upfront from the start. I don’t have anything against marriage for other people, but I enjoy my life the way it is. I don’t like committing to the kind of beer I drink, let alone to marriage. I’m selfish like that.”
“I can’t believe in your long, serial monogamy journey, you don’t run into women who think they can change your mind.”
“They’re easy to identify. Also, not every woman is in a race to the altar, as you know. Plus, I have good taste, and most of the women I date are smart enough to see right through me.”
“You’re not that bad.”
He leaned toward her. “I’m too self-centered for marriage. And even thinking about taking on the responsibility of having kids makes me break out in a cold sweat.”
“So you’ve never had one of those dramatic breakups? Tears and screaming matches?”
“There’ve been some hurt feelings, but nobody sure as hell ever killed herself!”
“Lucky you.”
An older couple came through the door and headed for the whirlpool. The man had a furry gray chest, and unlike Olivia’s sleek swim cap, the woman wore one of those old-fashioned bathing caps with rubber flowers all over it.
The noisy bubble of the whirlpool kept them from being overheard, but he still lowered his voice. “Maybe you should have been upfront with him earlier, but waiting too long to break up with someone isn’t a crime. This is on him, not on you.” He could see she didn’t believe him. “You know what your trouble is?”
“No. Be sure to tell me.”
“You’re a perfectionist. You want to be the best at everything you do. Singing, acting, dancing, promoting watches, and relationships. In your mind, there’s no room for error. No room for mistakes. But whether you want to accept it or not, you’re human.” He realized she could shoot those same words back to him. But she didn’t.
“So am I forgiven for deceiving you?”
“I guess that depends.”
“On?”
He cocked his head at her. “On how serious you are about that night of sex you offered me if I forgave you for