Page 65 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

He chuckles. “Oh, she did. But her father had gone to war, too. She used to tell me her home felt like a museum. It was cold and quiet. It held no love. Just… things. And people.” He brings us toward my apartment, rounding a corner and slowing for a set of lights.

“She never saw her parents fight. Hell, she couldn’t even be sure she’d heard them speak to one another.

So, by the time we met, she intended to irritate me to death.

It never occurred to me, not until now as you tell me your story, that maybe she intended to break us before we started.

Send me away early, which she might’ve considered preferable to losing me later. ”

She was scared.

It’s easier to ruin things when they’re new. When the stakes are lower and the pain, less crippling.

“This is why I enjoy meeting new people,” he murmurs. “Because understanding them helps me understand myself, too.”

“Welp…” I rest my chin on my chest. “You’re welcome.”

He chortles. “Of course, we eventually reached a point where it no longer felt like she was pushing me away. In fact, she threatened bodily harm to anyone who dared stare at me too long.”

“Possessive,” I smirk. “That’s when you know you’ve roped her in. She was sticking, and you were, too—whether you liked it or not.”

“Right. But still, she planted the flowers I never asked for and cooked meals I told her I didn’t much fancy.”

“If you were smarter, you would’ve told her you didn’t like the things you did. Trick her.”

“If you were less focused on your heartache, you’d realize I loved spaghetti all along,” he counters smugly.

I bring my eyes up and catch his, dancing in the mirror.

“I made it my business to know her better than I knew myself. Though, naturally, I wasn’t infallible.

Twelve years ago, as we were approaching our fiftieth anniversary, my sweet Maggie decided we should buy a new bedroom suite.

I had no clue why, since the one we had was fine.

You can’t buy quality furniture like we could before, and I had no desire to trade solid oak for whatever cheap crap was at the shops.

But that woman usually got whatever she wanted, and a few weeks after our initial conversation—where I said no, we did not need a new bed—I arrived home from work and walked into our bedroom to find a whole new look.

Instead of dark brown, our new furniture was white.

Instead of the mattress my body was used to, I was forced into this monstrosity I hated.

Ohhh,” he growls under his breath. “When I tell you I was cranky…”

My cheeks ache from my smile, which is a thousand times better than the ache I feel in my heart. “I think she and I would’ve gotten along.”

He rolls his eyes. “No doubt. The point of my story is that I stubbed my toe on that damn bed the very next morning. And then I stubbed my toe again the next day. And the day after that. Until eventually?—”

“You learned where the new bed was and stopped running into it?”

He snorts. “No. My toe broke, and now I have a calcified lump that bothers me every single day. But Maggie…” He exhales a sad sigh.

“Well, she died. Almost a year to the day after that bed was delivered, she was diagnosed with the kind of cancer that kills. And just seven weeks later, she was gone.”

“Jesus!” I shove up straight. “This isn’t a happy story! You’re breaking my heart.”

He pulls onto my street and slows, counting numbers on the side of each building.

Finding mine, he brings the cab to a stop and slides the gear into park, until finally, he twists in his seat and meets my eyes for the first time without a mirror between us.

“For eleven years, I’ve lived without the love of my life.

But I kept the bed. Because even though I stub my toe, and even though that calcified lump continues to grow and ache?—”

“You kept it because you love Maggie.”

His eyes glisten, but he draws his lips into a close-mouth smile. “If I got rid of the bed, just because I kept stubbing my toe, I wouldn’t wake up to the little love note she scratched into our brand-new wood on that first day.”

Surprised, I massage my aching heart. “She scratched it?”

“She knew I’d be cranky, and she figured I might even insist we return it all and get our money back.

She knew me, just as I knew her. So she scratched our names into the wood and made damn sure I’d never see that refund.

Maybe you stub your toe sometimes in these places where you think you don’t belong, but if the cruel passage of time has taught me anything, it’s to not focus on the mild inconveniences.

Search for the love note, missy. Someday, you might find yours.

” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Can I walk you to your door? I’m dying to know if he’s waiting for you. ”

“God.” I wipe fresh tears from my eyes. Digging a hand into my purse, I take out enough money for the ride and a little extra for the story. “I dread getting out of this cab because if he’s not there, I might crawl into the corner of my bathroom and sob a little bit.”

“Maybe he’s here. Or maybe he’s sitting in the corner of his bathroom right now, waiting for you. It’s entirely possible you may be two hearts breaking as one because you’re both in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I wish Maggie was my cab driver tonight.” I show him my smile, if only to soften the blow of my words, then I push my door open and step onto the sidewalk. “I bet she’d have better, more direct, problem-solving advice.”

He follows me out and opens the trunk, and though I slide my purse along my arm and reach forward to get my suitcase, he playfully slaps my hand away and does the work for me. “If you want her advice, I bet I could predict what she’d say. Easily .”

“You did have a habit of knowing her as well as you knew yourself.” I accept my case when he sets it on the road, tugging the handle up while he closes the trunk. Finally, I place my purse on the case and straighten my back.

It’s time to be brave.

“I don’t know your name.”

“Eugene, ma’am.” He offers his hand and wraps mine in his over-large palms. “I’m Eugene. And you are?”

“Fox. I know,” I add when his brow shoots high. “Strange name. Tell me please, Eugene. What would Maggie advise me to do?”

His eyes dance with taunting humor. “She’d tell you to stop fussing over a dumb guy and do whatever makes you happy. Then, once you’re doing that, you inform that sorry son of a bitch that he’s to fall in line, or else .”

“Ironic.” I snicker and shake my head. “That’s basically what Alana said. I have to figure out what I want and go for it. Then if the rest is meant to be, it’ll be.”

“Sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.” Sobering, he tilts his head toward my building. “I won’t follow you up, since that would not be proper. But maybe, when you get to your door, you could let me know if he’s there?”

“Let you know?”

“Yeah. Like, if he’s there, flash your living room lights a little bit. If he’s not?—”

“No flashing.” God, it hurts already .

I said we were just friends! And then I declared I was moving to Rome.

Of course, he won’t be here .

“I’ll do the light thing.” I bring my gaze up and meet Eugene’s eyes one last time. “Thanks for the ride. You’re the first person I’ve talked to today who didn’t annoy me.”

He takes my hand between his and squeezes. “And you’re the first person I’ve met in eleven years who kind of reminded me of Maggie. That was a gift.”

God! Tear my heart out!

“Wherever you go, Fox, and whatever you choose to do with your life, I hope you waste none of it doubting how truly special you are. Take up space and know you matter. Our lives are too short to worry about what other people think of us.”

“Ominous and inspiring at the same time.” I take a step forward, nervous and jittery. “C-Can we hug? I feel like this is a hugging moment.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He drags me in and crushes me close, his beard tickling my neck and his heart thudding heavily against my chest.

He lingers, even when I try to pull back, reaffirming his grip and chuckling because he already knows me so well.

When he’s done, he steps back and holds my arms in his broad hands. “My wife and I never had children. It’s not that we didn’t want to. It just wasn’t meant for us. But if we had…” His lips curl higher. “I think our daughter might’ve been a little like you.”

“You have no kids.” I reach up and swipe my eyes. “And I have no parents.”

“The universe usually knows what she’s doing.” He presses a kiss to his fingers, then he places his fingers on the center of my forehead. “I’m thankful you chose my car tonight, Fox.”

And to think, I would have gotten into the other.

“Now go.” He releases me and takes a step back, shooing me along with a flick of his hand.

I don’t want to leave, and yet, I want nothing more than to lock myself inside my apartment so I can cry in peace. But to get there, I have to go through the part where I discover if Christian is here, waiting for me.

Or not.

I draw a deep breath, expanding my chest until it aches. Then I wrap my palm around the handle of my bag and wee-woo-wee-woo along the sidewalk. Through the building door. Onto the stairs.

I haul forty pounds of clothes and shoes and a few snacks, too—since I’m a weirdo—up three flights, and when I arrive at the next, I round the landing and consider holding my breath to stave off the panic building in my chest .

But I don’t do that either, since passing out on the stairs would only send me back to the bottom again.

“If you’re up there, maybe you could stomp twice.

” Great, I’m talking to myself . “I know I suck at communication, and I know I said we were friends. That was shitty of me. But if you’re here, then maybe that means you love me, too.

And if that’s true, then I would really appreciate it if you stomped to save me from the stress of wondering. ”

I stop and wait. I look up and tilt my head to the side. But all I get is silence… and the sounds of a game show coming from one of my neighbor’s apartments.

“No?” Dropping my head, I continue up the stairs and onto my floor, and lugging my suitcase behind me, I steel myself and pray I survive the pain. Then I look at the area in front of my door and find it exactly how I expected I would.

Empty.

“Well…” I wee-woo-wee-woo all the way to the door, slipping a key into the lock and opening it to reveal five-week-old air that tastes nothing like the rich, fresh breeze coming off the lake in a little town in Hillbilly Nowhere.

I wasted five weeks hating that place, when all along, it was me I hated the most.

I drag my case over the threshold and toss my keys into the bowl by the door. Then, switching my lights on, I allow my hand to linger a little longer.

There will be no flash coming from my apartment tonight.

You can leave now, Eugene. Show’s over.