Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

My smile was strained. “He’s your best friend. I want him to like me.”

Right. Only I hadn’t expected to want him to like me like me.

“Of course he’ll like you. Won’t you, Sully? What’s not to like?”

Michael gave us a flat smile. “You’ve talked about her so much, I feel like I already do.”

Gary patted him on the back and then took a stool at the bar. Michael and I exchanged a loaded look before he slid in beside his friend.

Shaking inwardly and doing my best to hide it, I at once panicked that Michael would tell Gary I was flirting with him, and that Michael wouldn’t turn up to see me again. Of course, he wouldn’t! How messed up was that kind of thinking? We couldn’t hurt Gary like that. It was ridiculous.

God, why was this happening? Why couldn’t I have met Michael first?

And is that what I wanted? To have met him first? A guy I knew little about? I only knew what I’d heard from Gary (all of it good—FYI, my boyfriend hero-worshipped the guy) and what I’d felt today when we met.

But Gary was sweet, and he was good in bed, and he treated me well.

Oh hell.

I tried to be my funny, light, breezy self as I talked to my boyfriend and his best friend between serving customers. The horrible part of the evening came when Gary excused himself to the bathroom, and Michael called me over.

His dark eyes were no longer filled with laughter and desire. They were still warm but there was a polite distance in them, and I missed the way he’d looked at me that afternoon.

“I won’t tell Gary about today.”

I nodded. “I don’t normally flirt with other guys.”

He leaned over the bar and lowered his voice. “I know. I know today was unexpected for both of us.”

I remembered then that Gary had told me Michael was twenty-three. Only three years older than me but he had this air of maturity about him that none of my other friends had. Not even Gary. It was very attractive.

Damn.

“It’s against the code to tell you this, but Gary likes you. I’ve never seen him with a girl like he is with you.” He gave me a sad smile. “And now I get why. But his life hasn’t been easy and um … well, I won’t fuck this up for him.”

I found myself unable to meet his eyes as a swell of disappointment I didn’t understand overwhelmed me.

“I won’t be coming back to the gallery, Dahlia.”

Nodding and swallowing past the lump in my throat, I replied, “I understand.”

“He cares about you. Be good to him.”

I gave him a weak smile. “I won’t hurt him.”

Walking down the bar to get away from Michael, I thought to myself, no, I won’t hurt Gary because if it feels anything like this, I wouldn’t want to sting someone that badly.

Hartwell, Delaware

Two Months Ago

Years ago, during a short time in my life, I used alcohol to numb my feelings. Gin would soak through the giant, aching ball of grief in my chest and it eased its grip on my soul. It made getting through the next day and the one after easier. However, it numbed not only the grief, it stopped me from feeling much of anything. It almost killed me.

Once I gave up alcohol and let myself feel, I had to give myself over to time and patience. And, thankfully, time and distance (and therapy) did what the alcohol had attempted to do. Time dulled the pain. There were moments when not even time could do that, but for the most part, I lived my life relatively content.

So I guess I forgot.

I forgot that life doesn’t let you have time and distance. You can’t coast through your existence with nothing ever happening again to throw you back into that place.