Cocky Notes - Leesa Bow Page 0,62

we can’t see each other clearly. Beside me, I sense what she’s feeling, and something’s not right beneath the charade of being drunk.

Assuming it’s me, I place my hand over hers. “I’m not here to make trouble. Only to say I’m sorry. Genuinely sorry for how I treated you and for not giving you a chance to tell your side of the story. I was a douche and wish I could take it all back.”

Her head is lowered as though she’s thinking. Or trying to see through the haze of alcohol. She nods, and my shoulders relax. “You were a douchebag,” she says. “And you can’t take it back. But we can both learn not to fall so quickly again. You obviously have trust issues. So, do I. So…”

Her phone buzzes. She takes it out and reads the screen.

My heart’s racing because I anticipated how she was going to finish the sentence, and why would she answer her phone unless she’s expecting a message.

She gasps, and I want to read the message. “Shit. I can’t do this.”

“What? Can’t do what?”

“My mother contacted me for the first time in years and asked to meet up. She wanted to see me in Adelaide, but I said I was coming to Melbourne. Happens to be where she lives now, and she asked to meet me tomorrow morning for coffee before I go home.” She wipes her eyes, and her breaths quicken. “I can’t. How do you tell your mother you hate her? Because I do,” she adds quickly. “She was dead to me, and now it’s like she’s risen to haunt me with her perfect bloody timing. I don’t need this shit. But she keeps sending me messages saying ‘she’s sorry’ and ‘can we catch up this once’. I know I should give her a chance because people can change, right? But I’m scared to know if she has another family and why she easily ditched me. I don’t have good memories, so I shouldn’t care, but—”

“Hey…” I pull her into my side and hold her tight. “You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I understand. But sometimes people deserve a second chance,” I say, thinking of us. “If you decide to go and meet her, I can come for support. I can keep my distance, so you know there’s someone there for you.”

Macy sobs into my side. She springs to her feet and stumbles a few steps before landing on all fours. Moments later, all the alcohol she has consumed pours out of her and in the garden nearby.

“Thatta girl,” I say and rub her back between her bouts of puking. “Get it all out.”

I help her to her feet and walk her back around to the house. I tell Mrs B about the accident and offer to clean it up tomorrow in the light of day. Macy apologises, and Mrs B waves her on.

“Get some rest, Macy. You’ve had a big day.” She points down the hall. I walk her to her room and tuck her into bed with her clothes on.

“Call me tomorrow,” I whisper while wiping her mascara tears away and kiss her on the cheek.

Macy reaches out and grabs my hand with her eyes closed. “Thank you.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “I read an article on why people like me are still single,” she mumbles, and I sit on the bed. “It described possibilities of being too needy, too picky—”

“Picky?”

“Not with you,” she giggles. “I liked everything about you. It’s not the reason we broke up. Don’t distract me. Other things like… I speak my mind too much, and not looking my best—”

“Looking your best?” I croak. “It doesn’t matter what you look like, or wear, you’ll always be perfect to me.”

“No. I’m talking about me, and how things can contribute to bad habits and ways of thinking. But I did come back to being too needy.”

Hell, I want her to need me.

“I can’t have a boyfriend to fill an emotional hole or to feel better about myself. And I know you have commitment phobia…”

“I don’t.”

“Anyway…” she yawns and rolls over. “I want you to know I’m sorting myself out.”

I rub her back a few times until her breathing turns heavy.

I head out to Chance and tell him what happened. “Make sure she calls me if she needs support. If she decides to meet her mum, I want to be there for her.”

The following morning, I call Chance to see if they need help