A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,67
give me chance Landry, I’ll make them better than they ever were.”
And for a split second I think how much easier it would be to be back with her. There was zero expectation from Heather. From my parents. From Paisley. No one gave a shit whether I was with her or not, not even me.
It was easy. And boring. And easy.
And Mila….
Fuck.
Heather’s nails scratch through my shirt as I pull away from her.
Mila is standing ten feet away, her arms shoved way up inside the sweatshirt that is three sizes too big for her. Her mouth tugs downward in a look of mixed shock and disgust. And it’s because of me.
Because Heather is here, in my arms, wearing my coat, lips on my ear.
I count to ten silently, hoping the entire situation just evaporates, but mostly waiting for Mila to launch into me and demand an explanation as to how I could have been inside her last night, and have Heather nibbling on my ear now.
But she doesn’t yell at me. She doesn’t beg me to explain.
Instead, Mila is silent.
And that’s when I know I’ve really fucked things up. She nods like she’s seen everything she needs to know, spins on her heels, and walks away.
“Mila!”
She stops briefly and looks at me over her shoulder. Her eyes tell me everything; I’ve just proven to her that I’m exactly the person she came here hoping to prove to herself.
She shakes her head and keeps walking away.
From me.
My palms sweat, my heart races, and panic glues me to my frigid spot in my parents’ driveway
I don’t have any experience to pull from. Any idea what to do in this situation. Any clue what to say to make her stay.
So, like the idiot that I am, I just let her go.
Chapter 16
The train ride back to Boston is torturous.
It’s weird how the last time I was on this train, just a few days ago, I was running from Mila and the chance to be with her in any substantial way.
I’m pissed at myself. I’m pissed that I wasn’t brave enough or smart enough to grab her when I had the chance. I’m pissed that she opened herself up to me and I crushed it. I’m pissed that I let other things, other people, get in the way of letting her know my full, absolute commitment to her in every way. All I needed was one day of reassuring behavior before I could have gone back to Boston with her. But I screwed it up, and it might not be fixable.
I hope to god it’s fixable.
But I’m not sure it will be. Because every mile closer I get to Mila, I’m that much further from having any clue what to say to her to make things right.
When I finally stick my key in the lock, it occurs to me that there’s a good chance Mila may not even be here. I knock my forehead on the door and squeeze my eyes shut, saying the closest thing to a prayer there is for an asshole like me.
There’s no reason to hold out hope that she’ll be standing on the other side of the door, waiting for me to get home, especially after seeing me and Heather.
Damn it.
If she’d only given me a minute to explain…that I’m an asshole. That I was confused. Scared.
Mostly just that I’m an asshole.
I unlock the door, and let it creak all the way open until it hits the wall.
And then I feel myself deflate.
No Mila.
Of course.
I stumble toward my bedroom, checking each open door to see if she’s curled up in a chair, her legs tucked tightly under her, reading a book the size of a brick.
I kick the half-closed bathroom door open, not caring if I walk in on her.
I crane my neck into the cramped kitchen, but it’s a longshot. If she’d been in there, the smell of charred food and billows of smoke would have announced her presence before I ever needed to look.
I stalk back into the living room and yank the curtains open like the desperate idiot I am, as if I can give myself hope, just for a flash of a second, that maybe it’s just too dim for me to see her. Maybe she’s sitting on the couch, in the shadows, and I can tell her everything, anything, that will convince her to give me a second chance.
It occurs to me that I may be losing my mind in a very serious way.