I swallowed the lump of emotion in my throat. “Is this about yesterday? Or this morning?” I managed to say in a shaky voice.
“Yes,” he replied flatly, just as flat as the expression on his face.
“Rose promised not to tell Rory,” I said.
“She lied. Rose will absolutely tell Rory unless we end it.”
I had all these what-ifs lining the tip of my tongue.
What if we told Rory first?
What if we were more careful?
What if the world ended?
What happened to living in the moment? Living your best life? Loving the one you’re with? That was all I did. Rory left me, and I fell in love with Fisher because he was the one I was with. It was really Rory’s fault.
“Rory’s taking the morning off tomorrow to help you get a car. The interview with the tile shop is the following morning. You’ll be able to drive there on your own.”
“Are you mad at me?” I whispered.
He returned a tiny wince before pinching the bridge of his nose and blowing out a breath. “No. I’m mad at myself.”
The only thing more painful than rejection was regret. Fisher brought his A game. One brutal punch after the next.
A stupid, selfish, errant tear made its way to my cheek, and I looked away quickly to wipe it.
“Fuck …” he mumbled. “This is what I wanted to avoid. Rory is my friend. Rose is my friend. I didn’t want to be the villain. The guy who broke Rory’s daughter’s heart.”
I stood and grabbed my backpack, refusing to look at him as I shouldered past him to the door. “You’re such an arrogant asshole.”
Yeah, I said it. No regrets.
“And you’re the most beautiful and infuriating woman I have ever met.”
I stopped at the door like it was a wall that appeared out of nowhere. All the friends of that rebel tear showed up to ruin my carefully constructed facade, busting open the flood gates.
“And in a different time … a different place in our lives, I’d tell Rory and the rest of the world to go fuck themselves. I’d prove them all wrong. We’d prove the naysayers wrong. But … I don’t think they’re wrong. Not now.”
Sniffling and ignoring the unstoppable tears, I turned. “I’m beautiful …” I nodded slowly. “A pretty face. Long legs. Perky tits. And I sucked your cock. No college education. No fantastic job. Nothing … but I’m beautiful. Young. Innocent. And maybe the perfect amount of naive. It makes sense now.” I laughed through my tears. A crazy laugh. The edge of my sanity laugh. “Stupid, stupid me. I thought we were this magical thing that couldn’t be described. We didn’t make sense because magic, fate, and serendipity don’t have to make sense. I actually liked that we didn’t make sense, yet my universe seemed perfect when it was just us. I guess the eight-letter word for that is illusion. You played me. You liked the chase. The game. And what better chase than the virgin wearing a cross around her neck?”
Fisher shook his head slowly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Because I’m eighteen?”
“Because you’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“Failure. Eighteen-letter word. Starts with a K.”
I wasn’t following him. So I said nothing. I did nothing but blink my tear-ladened eyelashes.
“Kakorrhaphiophobia. An abnormal fear of failure. That’s why you’re here and not chasing a dream. Not in college. Not making any plans in your life. Your dad died. Your mom went to prison. And you’ve been left with a Bible that prepares you for death and makes you feel ashamed of anything you do in this life to truly live.”
He opened the door, and I waited for more, but he didn’t give me more. We climbed into his truck and headed home, or so I assumed. We didn’t make it home. We pulled into his parents’ driveway instead.
“Let’s go.” He hopped out.
I didn’t.
Fisher came to my side and opened my door. I assumed my recent firing allowed him to open my door.
“They’re out of town. Let’s go.”
I eased out of the truck and followed him into the house. He opened a door to a storage and utility room, scanning a wall of boxes and plastic containers. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled a box from the shelf and brought it out to the family room.
“Sit.” He nodded to the sofa.
I eased my butt down to it, watching him kneel on the floor and open the box. I couldn’t see what was inside. He paused, staring at its contents.
“I told you I played sports. And I loved construction. But my real talent came in the form of spelling bees.” He pulled out a stack of plaques, certificates, and trophies. “I took first place at a national competition.” His face held a bit of harnessed pride as he set everything at my feet. “I liked words. Dissecting them. Studying their origin. A full year of Latin. My mom used to say I’d never find a woman who really appreciated my word-loving soul. And she was so disappointed in me when I let that love of words die, when I found my new favorite words like…” he smirked “…well, most of them were and still are four-letter words. Sometimes simplicity is best. So gone were the days of winklepicker shoes and ulotrichous women. I gravitated toward fuck, fucker, and fucking. It helped me fit in.”