"You hit him for me. You stood up for me, and now I'm repaying the favor," she says, looking at me like I should know why she's acting like a madwoman.
I shake my head slowly. "I didn't hit Ben."
"Yes, you did!" she snaps. "I got mad and pushed Allison, called Ben a few choice names, and then stomped off. When I turned back around, Ben was holding his cheek and you were standing in front of him." I continue to shake my head slowly, discrediting what she's saying. Her face falls and I almost feel bad for telling her the truth. "Yes, I specifically remember I cocked my eyebrow at Mason and he pointed his finger at you, indicating that you did it."
"I'm not the one that hit Ben. I'm sorry, Quinn. I hate that you thought I stood up for you like that and I didn't. I mean, I totally would. You know I'd smack the shit out of any man that hurt you, but I didn't smack the shit out of that man."
"Who did?"
"Mason."
"Mason?" Her jaw drops and she stares at me, but I can tell she isn't looking at me. She's looking through me, trying to remember the events of that day.
"I'm sorry." Avery approaches the two of us cautiously. "I really don't mean to interrupt your trip down memory lane, but does this mean that you aren't going to throat punch me now?"
Quinn is still staring at me, dumbfounded. "No,” I answer for her. “There will be no women's bathroom MMA fight tonight."
Quinn seems to snap out her funk and she whips her head around. "Damnit, Harley. She stole your man! You have to fight for him!" Avery opens her mouth to talk, but Quinn and I both raise our hands at her and she snaps her mouth shut.
"No, Quinn. She didn't steal my man. Tyson is not mine. He never was." The last part is whispered because it physically hurts to say.
"Ummm…" Avery raises a hand and tries to interject, but Quinn and I keep bickering.
"You're wrong. He is your man. He was yours five years ago when he walked away and he is yours now." I appreciate that she’s fighting for us, but there's really no point. I'm done fighting. Done dreaming. I'm just done. I've spent the last five years being regretful, mad, sad, angry, and hopeful…I want to be happy. I want to be normal. I want to fall in love. I want to find a nice man, one who will love Max and me the way we deserve to be loved. And that man might not be Tyson—like I'd hoped—but that man is out there...somewhere. I just have to find him.
"Quinn," I whisper, touching her arm gently. "You are the best best friend a girl could ever ask for." The emotions, mixed with the amount of alcohol in my system, prove to be too much and tears start dripping from my eyes. I bat them way. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. You've been with me through everything. You've held me, cried with me, and laughed with
me. And the fact that you are willing to fight for me tonight…" I gesture toward Avery, who appears to be fighting to hold back her own set of tears. "Well, it just reiterates what I already know. You are amazing and wonderfully loyal and I will love you forever. But this thing with Tyson…I need you to let it go. Please," I beg when she opens her mouth. "Please, for me. I can't do this anymore." My voice thickens and then cracks, and my hand fists my blouse over my heart. "I. Cant. Do. This." Quinn steps forward and engulfs me in her arms, holding me like she's done so many times before.
"Can I just say someth—” Avery starts to speak when the door handle turns and Levi walks in, key in hand, followed by Tyson. "Goddamnit. Why do I keep getting interrupted? I need to fix this," Avery says as Levi and Tyson walk further into the room, trying to gauge what the hell they just walked in on.
Tyson is watching me. I can tell he wants to say something, but I'm on a roll. May as well get this over with.
I pull back from Quinn. My face is throbbing, but I'm not sure if it's from the alcohol or the crying. I tend to be one of those ugly criers. You know the kind…red face, snotty nose, puffy eyes. Yup, that's me. I'm sure I look extremely unattractive right now. Regardless, I wipe my face and turn toward Tyson, who is now standing where he should be—next to Avery.
"There is nothing to fix," I say to Avery and then turn toward Tyson. Quinn stands next to Levi, and for some reason I feel like I'm on a stage and they are all my audience.
"Harley?" Tyson whispers, taking a hesitant step forward. "Are you okay? What's going on in here?" he asks, looking at both Quinn and Avery before turning back to me.
"No." I let my lids droop over my eyes and cast my gaze down. "Everything is not okay." I don't want to him to see how he affects me. I showed him my hand five years ago and he walked away. I showed him again last night what I was willing to give him and he rejected me. I'm done handing him my heart, just to have him throw it right back in my face. I take a deep breath and search for the resolve that I lost the night I saw him again for the first time...here at this very club.
"We can't be friends, Tyson." There. I said it. It's out there. And now I feel even worse.
"What? Why not?" he asks. I look at him, surprised to see that he appears angry. I'm not going to lie, I was hoping he'd look a little sad.
"Why? Why? Are you a damn idiot? Why can't I be your friend?" I yell incredulously, throwing my hands in the air, then letting them fall back to my side. "Because…" I swallow back the lump in my throat and push forward. "Because you hurt me, Tyson. You know what?" I shake my head swiftly. "Hurt isn't even a good word for it. You fucking wounded me." Jesus Christ, these fucking tear ducts are getting on my nerves. My eyes have met their threshold, but I wipe them before any tears are able to fall.
"I know I did, Harley!" Tyson yells back, pounding his fist into his chest. "I know I fucking hurt you. And it fucking killed me, I told you that! I thought we were past this. I thought you forgave me and we were moving forward." His hands are fisted at his side and his shoulders are tense, but some of the anger has drained from his face. Now he just looks lost, and maybe confused.
I hate that we’ve come to this point. We shouldn't be fighting—this just isn't us. I soften my voice, trying to diffuse the situation. "We were, and I thought I could move past it. But you've given me so many mixed signals this past week that I don't know whether I'm coming or going."
"I gave you mixed signals? What about y—"
"I'm not done talking," I snap. He rubs his hands over his face in frustration but lets me continue. "Maybe I was the stupid one. Maybe I misread everything. But you did—you gave me mixed signals. You flirted with me. You found small ways to be close to me and touch me. You were persistent in wanting us to spend time together. And then you pulled away from me and started acting funny. I thought it was me. I thought maybe I was giving you mixed signals, so I wanted to make it clear."
Goddamnit. Remind me not to have these conversations again when I've been drinking. I stop trying to prevent the tears from falling. What's the use? My therapist told me once that I need to let things go, that it's not healthy to hold it all in. So this is me…letting things go. Tyson's body instantly reacts at the sight of my tears and he reaches forward, gripping my arms gently.
"Harley…"