Wasted Love with You (Wasted Love 1)

They’re dressed in varying grey suits, but from the way that they’re laughing and chatting without a care in the world, I sense their scenarios are far different from mine.

“Thank you for the reminder,” I say, grateful for her intrusion. “I’ll be sure to tell my boss what you said.”

“Please do.” She walks away and I wait for her to disappear.

Returning to the kiosk, I go to purchase a first-class ticket to Buffalo, New York and look away from the sickening total as I swipe my credit card.

Once the boarding pass prints, I head toward security and brace myself for the worst.

Please let this work. Please let this work…

“Stone pickup, huh?” the woman in front of me asks.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It has to be emeralds or rubies with that type of lock.” She points to the briefcase. “I bet that’s what this guy is having you pick up for his gambling. I’m just dropping off some gold bars. What an easy job, right?”

“Right…” I nod, watching as the security guards barely check the women in front of us.

They wave me through within seconds, bypassing any mention of a metal detector.

Without second-guessing, I rush toward my gate as fast as I can.

When I arrive, only a few people are waiting, and the screen reads, “Boarding in fifteen minutes.”

Unable to sit, I walk to a coffee bar and order a latte.

Mid-sip, my phone buzzes with a new call.

Ryder.

I hit ignore and send him a final text.

Me: I’ve decided to go with another employer… and another life for now.

Thanks for all your help with things.

Hopefully we can catch up someday over coffee.

He doesn’t respond to that.

He calls again.

Refusing to say anything more, I silence the ringer and pull out my burner phone.

A part of me longs to call my mother, but we need far more than a few minutes to speak. Far more than the time between boarding and takeoff.

There’s another rift—a smaller one—that I need to patch first. And I need her a little more at this moment.

My former best friend, Kylie.

I type her number by heart, hoping she hasn’t changed it.

It rings once.

It rings twice.

“Hello?” Her Italian accent drips over the line before the third ring. “Hey, is anybody there?”

“It’s me, Kylie. Autumn.”

Silence.

“Um…” I say. “I know it’s been a while.”

“Two and a half years is a bit more than ‘a while,’ Autumn,” she hisses. “You have quite a bit of nerve to call me out of the goddamn blue.”

“Kylie, I’m—”

“I helped you move up there, came to visit when all of those snotty housewives ignored you, and I always took your side when it came to marrying Nate.”

“I know that.” An ache assaults my chest, and I struggle to find the right words to say.

“I was never his biggest fan, but I never hated him or treated you like the rest of your family did.” Her voice cracks. “All I did was say that he was an asshole for forgetting your birthday that year, and you… You just stopped talking to me. You lumped me in with everyone else.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, years past-due. “I’m so fucking sorry, Kylie.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I was in deep denial about who he really was. I should’ve called you long before now.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” Her voice cracks again, and my heart does the same.

We hold the line in silence, and for a moment, I wish that I could rewind time to my senior year of high school. That instead of dropping my symphony dreams for a life with Nate, that I’d played alongside Kylie and found a different ending.

Then again, no matter how hard I try to picture that, the frame never appears quite clear enough.

“What did Nate get you for your birthday this year?” Kylie asks, bringing me back to reality.

“An affair with a nineteen-year-old, a contentious divorce, and tons of wasted love.”

“Well, damn,” she says. “Now I kind of wish he’d just forgotten about it again.”

“He did, actually.”

Silence.

“I guess my asshole radar is undefeated after all.” Her infectious laughter comes over the line. “No offense.”

“None taken.” I smile.

“Okay, no more emotions.” She clears her throat. “You can make up the past two and a half years to me with a weekend sleepover at my brand-new place in Santa Barbara, and I’ll supply you with all the Pralines ’N Cream that your heart desires while you give me every detail.”

“You don’t live in Buffalo anymore?”

“No, I moved a few months after we last spoke. Decided I wanted a change, something warmer.”

Before I get the chance to ask her if any of our mutual friends remain—or if there will be a couch available when I land—she clears her throat.

“Are you dating anyone new yet?”

“I don’t know anymore,” I say, feeling my other phone vibrate with another call from Ryder. “That’s part of why I’m calling you, actually.”