I wish I hadn’t worn heels. I thought they would make me seem more confident facing him, but instead I’m wobbly. I lock my knees and twine my fingers behind my back.
“Sign them or don’t. I’m done with you.” I let my eyes travel his body, before finally locking on his. I let him see it then. How much he disgusts me. And I should win an academy award for the show I put on then, as I say the words I’ve practiced for days. “Maybe you can find yourself a boyfriend in here. I’m sure you’ll make a lovely bottom.”
I smile, then spin on my heels and press the button to exit, leaving him without a backward glance. His curses and screaming only stopped by the heavy metal door. I push back through security, then I have to press my hand to my mouth to hold in the vomit as I slam into the bathroom down the hall and into a stall. I fall to my knees in front of the toilet, heaving and crying.
The heaving continues for several minutes after I empty my stomach. My body is completely out of control, and I have to grip the sides of the toilet to ground myself. My throat and nose are stinging, my eyes aching. My entire face is wet.
Thank God no one else is in here.
I use some toilet paper to wipe little spots of vomit off the seat, then flush and make my way on shaky legs to the sink to rinse my face and mouth. I avoid looking at my reflection, not wanting to know what I look like right now. I can pretend everything’s ok, as long as I don’t look. I pull out the travel sized toothbrush and toothpaste from the little side pocket of my purse, grateful I remembered to bring them, and scrub away the taste of bile.
Finally, when I stop shaking, when my breathing evens out, I look. There are red splotches, burst blood vessels, around my left eye, stark against the blue of my iris. Huh. I haven’t seen that since I lived with Brent. Though this is the first time it’s ever happened from puking. I smooth down my blonde waves and pull my sunglasses out of my purse, sliding them on my face before heading out to Becca’s old car.
We sit side by side in silence, before she finally asks quietly. “Are you ok?” I think about lying. I could put on another act, tell her I’m good, and convince her to drop me at home. But I just can’t. I can’t go home to the silence, the memories his words brought up.
“No,” I tell her. “I’m really not.” She nods, reaching over to squeeze my arm. Her crappy car starts with a purr, the benefits of living with a billionaire mechanic I guess, and we hit the highway back to the city.
“Kade and Micah are waiting for us. I think they’re going to cook.” She laughs and glances over at me. “It should be a shit show.” I smile, because she’s right. From what I can tell, neither of them are capable of making anything edible.
I ignore the flutter of nervousness in my stomach, knowing Micah is there. I’m not sure I can handle his glaring eyes today. But the alternative? Today, I’ll take his anger over the silence of my apartment.
2
MICAH
“Kade…fire.” I say, pointing to the flames licking up the side of the BBQ. We just spent the last hour putting the fucking thing together. And did he buy the small one? No, he bought the 300 pound six-burner Cadillac of BBQs. Carting that beast up here was no fucking joke.
I laugh as he bolts through the open patio doors, slapping at the dials on the front and cursing. The fucks are flying fast and furious from his mouth. We all swear, but he’s the worst of us by far. To be fair, if I could speak more than a few words at a time, I’d probably swear just as much. But when I have to struggle just to get the few words I do say out? Well, wasting them on fuck seems stupid. When I sign though? I can swear with the best of them.
I grab a beer from the fridge, then wander towards the patio, dodging Becca’s shoes as I step out. The dumbfuck is still playing with the knobs so the flames are shooting higher. I shake my head and lean down to turn off the gas valve on the wall. Kade’s swearing runs out of steam, and I join him, staring at the charred steaks on the grill. I slap him on the arm to get his attention.
“Way to go, genius, you burned it. Why did you think you could cook?” I sign.
He shoves his hands through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. “I don’t fucking know, man. I watched that fucking cooking guy. You know, the one with the fucking mouth on him?” I laugh, knowing exactly which chef he’s talking about. Of course, Kade would watch that guy.
“And you thought that a fucking video was going to turn you into a chef?”
“Fuck you, man. You could have helped!”
I raise my eyebrows.“Really? What exactly did you think I could do? You’ve known me my whole life. When was the last time I cooked a fucking steak?”
Kade groans and pokes at the steak with his shiny new BBQ fork. “I thought it would be easier.” He runs all of our garages without breaking a sweat, but somehow this is about to send him over the edge.
“Why…care?” I ask.“You’re fucking rich. Just get something delivered. You can afford it. Why are you pushing this cooking thing?”
Kade exhales, looking away as he answers. “I…now that Becca’s here, I just…want to do things for her. She’s always doing the cooking. I…want to take care of her, too.”
Well, if that doesn’t just hit me in the chest.
Watching the way he’s been with Becca the last couple of months has been eye opening. I haven’t seen this version of Kade before. He always dated fucked up women. So him wanting to take care of them was the norm. But it usually took the form of making sure they didn’t OD. Or paying for the damage because of a bar fight they’d started.
This Kade, though? He’s floundering, being with someone so capable. Becca has her shit together, and it’s forcing him to up his game. It’s really fucking fun to watch.
I take pity on him. “Yo,” I say, then sign when he looks at me.“You have any more steaks?”
“Yeah,” he says, waving at the fridge. “I bought ten.”
Laughing, I ask“Knew you were going to fuck up, didn’t you?”