Page 91 of Hiding from Hope
I deserve this, this pain. I deserve so much of it.
“It’s 3pm, why don’t you finish up? I’ll lock up and take the shipping orders at four,” I say to April.
“Oh, it’s fine. Jessie said he’d pay me double for the double shift and lock up. I kind of need the money right now.” She shrugs, and when I flick my eyes over my shoulder at her, I relent. I’ve done enough bossing around, and I know what it’s like to be a broke student living in a big city.
“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” I write my number on a ripped piece of paper from my apron and hand it to her. “Seriously, anything. Jessie… well, he is just having a day. So I’m here if you need.” She takes the paper from my hand and nods before turning back to the stock, packing away each of the orders that are to be collected later and heading for the back.
Looking at the pile, it seems like it was a super successful online launch. He would have been so proud of himself if he’d been here today. I could have met him here. We could have gone home and celebrated before my birthday drinks tonight. It could have been perfect.
But I ruined it.
I ruined us.
Jessie
“I know you’re in there.”
“You know nothing,” I shout back, like a petulant child, at Addison through my apartment door. The apartment that smells like flowers and cinnamon apple pastry. Because that’s all I’ve been making since I bailed on my shift at the shop before I fell into my reading chair an hour ago.
“I’m just going to stand here until you open this door and let me in.” I snap the book I was not really reading closed and head for the door. Tearing it open, Addison stands there with a bottle of tequila in her hand and raises it.
“Drink?” I roll my eyes, but snatch the bottle and turn back into the apartment.
“Thought having that tall idiot you hang around with all the time meant you didn’t drink away your feelings anymore.” She rolls her eyes at me.
“This one time when that tall idiot was an ass, I had a complete rage spiral and some grumpy bastard inserted his nose into my business,” she prattles on as she follows behind, heading for the sofa in my living area. “He paid for a few shots of tequila, let me cry, and then we became besties after. Turns out it was just the healing I needed. Or the start of it.” Again, I’m rolling my eyes because I know what she is referring to. Back then, though, I was just trying to get to the bottom of her and Noah. Trying to work out whether I needed to kill him or help him.
“You’re reading The Notebook?” she sounds shocked, but I ignore the question.
Snagging two whiskey glasses from the cupboard above the stove, I drop a couple fingers of tequila into them and take them down to meet Addy on the sofa.
“So, what do you want?” I ask, sipping the drink and letting it burn its way down my throat. She sits sideways on the couch, nursing the drink and narrowing her gaze at me.
“Casey and Rosie explained everything to me,” she says gently.
“You wrote a book? A good one?” That has me scoffing and throwing back the rest of the tequila. Should have brought the bottle down.
“Sure.” I nod, not meeting her eyes.
“And Casey stole the manuscript from you?” The confirmation of the betrayal stings now that it’s spoken out loud. I felt such severe rage this morning I had to leave. I was going to say or do something that I was going to regret, that was going to blow back up in my face. Even now, I am barely back to simmering. At least that much I knew Addison would understand.
“She did.”
“And you’re mad?”
“Livid.” I look up to her and she must see it there. She nods and downs the rest of her drink.
“So, what are you doing about it?”
“What the fuck do you want me to say right now, Addison?” I stand and steal her glass, going to pour us both another one. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.
“Well, I’m going out with her tonight. She is going to ask me a hundred million questions because you’re ignoring her texts and phone calls. So I need to know how to handle this.” The reminder of Casey being out has me putting the bottle of tequila down. I want to be sober enough to pick her up, meet her there, or, I don’t fucking know, just be sober in case she needs me.
“It’s none of your business,” I say under my breath and come to sit back on the sofa with glasses of water instead.
“But it is. I need to know whether I try to protect her heart or help her give up? Do I make sure she holds on so you have a fucking girlfriend when your rage lets go of you? I need to know how to help you. She’s my best friend, but you’re my brother. Tell me what you need.” Her voice doesn’t skip, doesn’t falter or strain. Pure power, assuredness, and strength radiate from her, and I have never been prouder of my little rogue.
“I appreciate it, Addison, really.” I look up to her and let her see my genuine gratitude, but clarify, “You don’t need to do anything. I’m just here to simmer. I’ll be at Bozzelli’s for her birthday, and I’ll be there to take her home.” She releases a huge breath and falls to the back of the couch.