Page 65
Story: All Your Fault
I knew I sounded petty. But I didn’t care. I stormed out the kitchen door for the living room leaving Will Archer behind me.
16
Will
They say Christmas in New York City really is magical, but I was having a hard goddamned time seeing it as I tromped toward the subway with Remy hissing epithets into her phone at Draco.
It was only a week before Christmas, and as usual, I’d cut gift shopping close. Only this time, it wasn’t because I was too busy with work. It was because I was dreading the day. Not only were the girls going to be with their mother this year, but on top of everything, I was still confused as hell about whether I’d done the right thing with Michelle two weeks ago.
It was dusk by the time we reached the subway entrance, and a light snow was falling. Strings of lights glowed in all the windows, and on every other corner, Santa Clauses clanged their bells. We even passed a group of carolers at the top of the stairs.
But I could barely register any of it. All I could think about was Michelle. How she’d felt under my hands. How she’d looked. How her voice and breath and body still clung to me. For a moment, the feelings came rushing back to me like a hot, burning blade. Every time I’d thought about that moment over the past two weeks I’d been brought to my knees, the air leaving my lungs.
Then I thought of the other part. How she’d asked me to be her fake fucking boyfriend for her stupid fucking blog.
How she talked about her dead husband the way…fuck.The way I wanted her to talk about me. I felt like a dick. And the whole thing felt like a joke. A cruel, shitty-ass joke that only underscored the whole reason I was never supposed to get involved with someone again.
I thought of my dad, the way he barely cracked a smile his whole damn life. How Mom kept up the sunshine for all of us. If, in some alternate universe, Michelle and I ever ended up together, that’s what it would be like only worse because she’d still be in love with a fucking ghost. What kind of life would that be?
As the doors closed behind us and sweat beaded on my temple from the uncomfortably thick crowd in the subway car, I tried to focus my thoughts on the rest of my life. We were about to meet Hannah, who I hadn’t seen since Thanksgiving, and that truly made me happy. I’d tried to keep that at the forefront of my mind as I trudged through all the shopping Remy and I had done today while Hannah finished up her last day working before the holiday.
But the city wasn’t helping. The line-ups. The cranky people buying overpriced gifts. I couldn’t believe I used to live here—and that I’d liked it. Granted, it was only for a few years when I was doing my MBA and shortly after, but I’d loved the run-down apartment Jill and I had lived in with its clanging radiator and shouting neighbors.
Now, I longed for the winding roads leading back to Jewel Lakes; the peace and quiet after the first snowfall, and the spread of stars that reached all the way down to the horizon on a frosty winter evening.
“This is our stop,” I said to Remy, who looked up from her phone and nodded.
I wouldn’t think about Michelle.
Then I saw her.
We were almost to the stairs when she appeared—just her back. Thick brown curls springing from a white wool hat. A navy coat, snug against a body as voluptuous as a 50s pin-up.
Then she turned. And of course it wasn’t her. This woman had a longer nose. A slightly dour expression. But it was enough to throw me back down into the dark place I’d been since leaving Michelle’s place.
For fuck’s sake.
“Dad!” Remy called. She’d slipped ahead of me, and I had to sidestep a slow-moving couple to reach her. I was supposed to be watching out for her. Not the other way around.
Not that Remy needed watching out for.
Finally, we got out onto the street level. It was quieter here, more residential, though there were still shops up ahead on the corner. “There it is,” I said to Remy, pointing out the hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street. Antonio’s—my favorite restaurant in all of New York City.
For a moment, the darkness cleared.
“We’re going to meet my sister now,” Remy said tersely into the phone. I hadn’t even noticed her answering it. Or had she called him? I was sick to death of Draco drama.
“Remy, for god’s sake,” I said, my mood faltering. Seeing that Michelle doppelgänger—and now thinking of her and a gorgeous restaurant that would never be in Barkley Falls—had me scowling.
That night at Michelle’s place was only two weeks ago, but each day had been a battle. A hundred times I’d wanted to call her and tell her I’d do whatever she wanted. That I’d make a damn fool of myself if it meant I could be around her.
Instead, I’d texted her a couple of times and gotten nothing.
It didn’t matter. I couldn’t do what she wanted me to. There was no way. The idea of posing as Michelle’s love interest for her blog—parading around as if we were together—was so deeply painful, it made me hurt. Physically.
Plus, I’d meant what I’d said to her. I didn’t think it would actually help her.
Sure, I’d seen the blog posts—the one with me in it, which I’d scrutinized a thousand times over the past few days, along with the other one she’d posted this week about Christmas cookies. I saw the comments—one after another asking Michelle where her ‘friend’ was. If she had any plans with him over the holidays. Sure, the readers would probably go nuts to see Michelle pretending to be happy with a guy. But that was just it—she’d be pretending. Living a lie.
16
Will
They say Christmas in New York City really is magical, but I was having a hard goddamned time seeing it as I tromped toward the subway with Remy hissing epithets into her phone at Draco.
It was only a week before Christmas, and as usual, I’d cut gift shopping close. Only this time, it wasn’t because I was too busy with work. It was because I was dreading the day. Not only were the girls going to be with their mother this year, but on top of everything, I was still confused as hell about whether I’d done the right thing with Michelle two weeks ago.
It was dusk by the time we reached the subway entrance, and a light snow was falling. Strings of lights glowed in all the windows, and on every other corner, Santa Clauses clanged their bells. We even passed a group of carolers at the top of the stairs.
But I could barely register any of it. All I could think about was Michelle. How she’d felt under my hands. How she’d looked. How her voice and breath and body still clung to me. For a moment, the feelings came rushing back to me like a hot, burning blade. Every time I’d thought about that moment over the past two weeks I’d been brought to my knees, the air leaving my lungs.
Then I thought of the other part. How she’d asked me to be her fake fucking boyfriend for her stupid fucking blog.
How she talked about her dead husband the way…fuck.The way I wanted her to talk about me. I felt like a dick. And the whole thing felt like a joke. A cruel, shitty-ass joke that only underscored the whole reason I was never supposed to get involved with someone again.
I thought of my dad, the way he barely cracked a smile his whole damn life. How Mom kept up the sunshine for all of us. If, in some alternate universe, Michelle and I ever ended up together, that’s what it would be like only worse because she’d still be in love with a fucking ghost. What kind of life would that be?
As the doors closed behind us and sweat beaded on my temple from the uncomfortably thick crowd in the subway car, I tried to focus my thoughts on the rest of my life. We were about to meet Hannah, who I hadn’t seen since Thanksgiving, and that truly made me happy. I’d tried to keep that at the forefront of my mind as I trudged through all the shopping Remy and I had done today while Hannah finished up her last day working before the holiday.
But the city wasn’t helping. The line-ups. The cranky people buying overpriced gifts. I couldn’t believe I used to live here—and that I’d liked it. Granted, it was only for a few years when I was doing my MBA and shortly after, but I’d loved the run-down apartment Jill and I had lived in with its clanging radiator and shouting neighbors.
Now, I longed for the winding roads leading back to Jewel Lakes; the peace and quiet after the first snowfall, and the spread of stars that reached all the way down to the horizon on a frosty winter evening.
“This is our stop,” I said to Remy, who looked up from her phone and nodded.
I wouldn’t think about Michelle.
Then I saw her.
We were almost to the stairs when she appeared—just her back. Thick brown curls springing from a white wool hat. A navy coat, snug against a body as voluptuous as a 50s pin-up.
Then she turned. And of course it wasn’t her. This woman had a longer nose. A slightly dour expression. But it was enough to throw me back down into the dark place I’d been since leaving Michelle’s place.
For fuck’s sake.
“Dad!” Remy called. She’d slipped ahead of me, and I had to sidestep a slow-moving couple to reach her. I was supposed to be watching out for her. Not the other way around.
Not that Remy needed watching out for.
Finally, we got out onto the street level. It was quieter here, more residential, though there were still shops up ahead on the corner. “There it is,” I said to Remy, pointing out the hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street. Antonio’s—my favorite restaurant in all of New York City.
For a moment, the darkness cleared.
“We’re going to meet my sister now,” Remy said tersely into the phone. I hadn’t even noticed her answering it. Or had she called him? I was sick to death of Draco drama.
“Remy, for god’s sake,” I said, my mood faltering. Seeing that Michelle doppelgänger—and now thinking of her and a gorgeous restaurant that would never be in Barkley Falls—had me scowling.
That night at Michelle’s place was only two weeks ago, but each day had been a battle. A hundred times I’d wanted to call her and tell her I’d do whatever she wanted. That I’d make a damn fool of myself if it meant I could be around her.
Instead, I’d texted her a couple of times and gotten nothing.
It didn’t matter. I couldn’t do what she wanted me to. There was no way. The idea of posing as Michelle’s love interest for her blog—parading around as if we were together—was so deeply painful, it made me hurt. Physically.
Plus, I’d meant what I’d said to her. I didn’t think it would actually help her.
Sure, I’d seen the blog posts—the one with me in it, which I’d scrutinized a thousand times over the past few days, along with the other one she’d posted this week about Christmas cookies. I saw the comments—one after another asking Michelle where her ‘friend’ was. If she had any plans with him over the holidays. Sure, the readers would probably go nuts to see Michelle pretending to be happy with a guy. But that was just it—she’d be pretending. Living a lie.
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