A Long Time Coming

“Dude, didn’t you just leave us?” JP asks when he opens his door.

I push past him and head straight to his kitchen.

“Uh, come in. Not like I’m doing anything important.”

“Where are your disgusting Bloody Marys?” I ask as I move around his kitchen.

“Uh, if you recall, the brunch was over at Huxley’s. He has everything,” JP says when he follows me into the kitchen.

“Then where’s your alcohol? I know you have some. Where is it?”

“Okay, I need you to slow down for a second.” He rests his hand on the counter. “Why are you all jittery?”

“Just give me fucking alcohol, okay?” I take a seat on one of his kitchen island seats and push my hands through my hair.

“What’s going on?” Kelsey asks, walking in with a concerned look.

“Breaker apparently needs alcohol but has yet to say why.”

“Because I’m in love with my best friend who’s getting married in four weeks. Do I need any other explanation?”

“No, I think that will do it,” JP says like a dick, and then he moves to a cabinet on the right of the fridge and pulls out a bottle of Scotch. “Will this do?”

“Yes, whatever, I don’t care. Just give me something, anything.”

Kelsey sits beside me and places her hand on my back soothingly. “What’s going on?”

“I feel like I’m going to lose it.” My body shakes with adrenaline as my emotions rip through me.

JP slides a glass of Scotch toward me, and I immediately down it and slide the glass back to him. “More.”

“Oh-kay,” he says.

“Breaker, talk to us,” Kelsey says.

I swallow the next glass and set it down, gripping the cylinder with both hands. “Do you remember when you two were in San Francisco, and you weren’t an item yet?”

“Yes,” they both say at the same time.

“And the night Kelsey was going out with that other guy and, JP, you didn’t know how to handle it because you really liked Kelsey? You got trashed that night and sent that stupid email.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Well, that pain you were feeling, that’s what I’m feeling right now.” I tug on my hair. “Fuck.”

“Where is Lia now?” Kelsey asks.

“At home . . . with Brian.” I slap my hand on the counter and say, “And the worst thing about it all is because thanks to your little girl chat at brunch, she was asking me all about sex because apparently Brian is a real fucking dud in the bedroom and doesn’t go down on her.”

“What?” JP asks in disgust. “That’s like the best fucking part, making your girl come on your tongue.”

“That’s what I said, and she was asking for advice on how to give a good blow job.” I hold out my glass, and JP quickly pours some Scotch in it. “And I fucking told her how to give a good one. Right there, I told her everything, so now she’s over at her place, probably kneeling in front of Brian, the fucking douche, sucking his dick, because I’m the goddamn asshole who told her how to do it. Fuck!” I lean back in my chair and down the Scotch before setting the glass back down again.

“Wow, there’s a lot to unpack there,” JP says. “You really taught her how to give a good blow job? Why?”

“I don’t know, because I lost my mind. Because I can’t look her in the eyes and see the sadness Brian puts there. Because I couldn’t let her feel bad about herself when she’s clearly trying, and he’s not. So yeah, I told her how to please him, and now that they’re in her apartment, I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t listen to her pleasure him. There was no fucking way, when all I want is for her to be with me. I mean, Jesus Christ, I was doing fine,” I yell, thrusting my arm out. “I was doing perfectly fine, and then I saw her in that wedding dress, and it’s like . . . my world snapped, and I can’t stop spiraling. Why couldn’t I have figured this out a year ago? A month ago, anytime where there wasn’t a countdown to doomsday when she attached herself to another man who does not fucking deserve her? Not even close.”

“To be fair, Huxley and I have been telling you for years you like Lia,” JP says.

I glare at him while Kelsey says, “JP, that’s not helpful.”

“Wasn’t trying to be helpful, was trying to make a point, like I’ve been trying to make for years now.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say to him.

“How do you want me to respond?” JP asks, thrusting his arms out. “Do you want me to hold your hand and tell you everything will be okay? That we’ll always know you as the better man? News flash, man, she’s getting married. And if you don’t do something about it, then she’s going to go off with the douche, and you’re going to be left to die alone in your apartment.”

“Seriously, JP,” Kelsey groans. “You’re being rude.”

“I’m being real. If he wants her, then he needs to tell her.”

“No, he can’t,” Kelsey says, surprising me. “Trust me, if he just knocks on her door and tells her he loves her, she won’t take it well. He needs to continue to show her how he’s better.”

“That’s not working out for him. Lia is giving the other guy a blow job because my idiot brother taught her the tricks of the trade. Were you trying to turn her on? Were you trying to be all sexy-like?”

“Don’t fucking say sexy-like,” I say. “And it was a hot moment, okay? I saw her cheeks blush. I was showing her that I’m the kind of man who’d make her orgasm several times in one night, not stupid Brian.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“Not fucking well,” I answer and press my fingers into my forehead. “I think Kelsey is right, though, I don’t think I can just tell her. I feel her questioning him, questioning herself. But fuck . . . she’s also the person who doesn’t like to give up. So she’ll do anything to make it work, and I bet that’s what she’s doing tonight. Maybe . . . maybe I can fake getting hurt or something.” I perk up. “Yeah, like, I can break a leg or something, and then you guys can call her and tell her I’m in the hospital, and that will drag her away from Brian tonight, and she won’t give him a blow job.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“I am.” I stand from my chair now to pace the kitchen. “This is a great idea because it will gather me sympathy, and she’ll want to take care of me of course because that’s who she is, and when she’s taking care of me, I can move in more, steal her from Brian. This is genius.”

“This is stupid because if you break your leg, how the hell are you supposed to run away when Brian finds out what you did? The guy might be a douche, but that man has simmering rage, and I think he could be a good fight,” JP says.

“Uh, besides all of that, breaking a leg is not the way to get the girl,” Kelsey says. “God, you guys are such idiots.”

“Breaking my leg is the best idea so far. What else should I do? Oh!” I snap my fingers. “I can tell her I got food poisoning from the Bloody Mary.”

“The fuck you will,” JP says. “Don’t fucking taint me for your own benefit.”

“That’s the only thing I had that she didn’t, and food poisoning will drag her away from Brian.”

“Uh-huh, and how do you suppose you throw up in front of her?” JP asks.

I glance around the kitchen. “Have any raw chicken?”

“For God’s sake,” Kelsey says, rising from her chair. She takes me by the arm and sits me down. Her hands rest on my shoulders as she stares me in the eyes. “You’re not going to do anything tonight—”

“But—”

“If she happens to give him a blow job, then so be it. That’s the price you pay for trying to show her how you enjoy one. But what you need to remember is that she heard everything you said. She listened intently, and if I know Lia like I think I do, that will stick in her mind. Every time she looks at you, she’s going to think about how you like to be sucked, how you like to be between a female’s legs, and how easily you can please a woman. She will remember that, and that’s the new foundation you work off.”

“Babe, seriously, keep talking like that and we’re going upstairs.”

Kelsey glances up at JP and says, “Unless you start being helpful to your brother, who clearly is in agony, then I won’t be going upstairs anytime soon. He loves her, JP, and he deserves to be with her.” She turns her attention back to me and continues, “This is go-time, Breaker. Forget about what happens between Brian and Lia. Act like he never came home and charge forward. Trust me, we spoke about you in our little girls’ gathering, and there’s intrigue there, and it’s not best friend intrigue. I think you have a chance, but you need to do this right. Brian will falter. He already has, so be patient.”

“I have four weeks,” I say in desperation.

“She will break before that, trust me. Between you and Brian, you have the history, the sex appeal, and the ability to make her happy. She’ll see that quickly. Brian is a blip. You are forever.”

“Babe.” JP clutches his chest. “Damn, that was sweet.”

“That was sweet,” I say.

“You’re making my heart all aflutter,” JP adds. “And naturally, my dick hard.”

Jesus.

Ignoring my brother, I ask, “You really think Lia and I are forever?”

“If anything, Breaker, I love love, and I would never mess with that. I truly believe you and Lia are soulmates. I’m just glad you’re seeing it now.”

“Okay.” I nod. “So what do I do now?”

“Well, when I was spiraling, I decided to donate money to make me feel better,” JP says. “I know of a great pigeon rescue that could use another donor.”

I look him dead in the eyes and say, “I’m not feeding into your pigeon obsession. You can fuck off with that.”

LIA

“SO HOW WAS YOUR FLIGHT BACK?” I ask, unsure of what to say to him. His presence is completely unexpected. I’m having a hard time processing he’s even here, let alone digesting the conversation I just had with Breaker.

“It was fine. Got some work done, thankfully,” Brian says as he loosens his tie.

Yes, thank God for that. Can’t imagine what would happen if he didn’t get work done.

“Well, uh, are you hungry? I can order food.”

“I just really want to talk to you.” His eyes go to my hair as he approaches me. Does he still hate it? He hasn’t said he loves it, that’s for sure. He takes my hands in his and asks, “Is everything okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, let’s sit,” he says as he brings me over to my couch. Once we’re seated, a few inches between us, he continues. “I know the wedding planning has been stressful on you, and I’m worried that maybe you’re not handling it all well, hence the haircut and color.”

Excuse me?

“What do you mean? I cut my hair and highlighted it because I wanted to, not because of the stress of the wedding.”

“Lia,” he says in his condescending tone. “I’ve known you for over a year now, and you’ve never made such a drastic change like this before. I’m just worried the stress is overwhelming, your parents aren’t around, you’re trying to find some semblance of control, and your appearance is the one thing you feel you can control. So you cut your hair. I’m worried this pattern will continue, and who knows what you will do next.”

I rear back, absolutely offended by his assumption. Firstly, where does he come off, even thinking he has a say in my appearance? Secondly, does he truly not see how happy I was in that picture I sent him?

“Brian, it’s a haircut. It’s not like I went off and tattooed a penis on my face. And my decision to do this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I wanted to feel pretty.”

“You were just fine before. There’s no need to change anything.”

“Just fine?” I ask, rising from the couch. “I was just fine before? Couldn’t think of a better adjective than that?”

He presses his hand to his forehead. “Pretty, I meant pretty.” He lets out a huff. “It’s been a long day. I’ve been worried about you, and getting this flight was hard, so excuse me if my words are not what they’re supposed to be right now.”

“I need your words to not be condescending, and I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Where is this all coming from?” he asks. “I feel like you’re angry with me.”

What clued you in? Good God.

“I am angry with you,” I shout. “Jesus, Brian. This whole wedding and dealing with your mom and your reaction to my hair, it’s been a nightmare. And you . . . you never want to have sex with me. Why is that?”

He looks at me, confused. “Yes, I do,” he says.

“No, you don’t. We haven’t had sex in two weeks. Don’t you think that’s weird? Don’t you think we should be at each other’s bodies every chance we get, peeling off our clothes and finding pleasure in each other?”

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks, Lia.”

“We didn’t even have sex the night you proposed. I fell asleep while you were on a business call.”

“With clients from Japan. What choice do I have?” he asks, his voice growing angrier.

“You have a choice, and it’s called me, but you don’t choose me. Am I just some sort of . . . accessory to your life check-off list?”

“No, Lia,” he says as he stands and moves toward me. “I love you. You’re going to be my wife.”

“Then why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

“I do,” he says, his hands going to my shoulders. “It’s just . . . it’s been hard lately, okay?”

“Are you . . . are you cheating on me? Are you getting sex somewhere else, and that’s why you don’t want to do it with me?”

“Lia,” he says sternly. “Don’t even fucking say that. You know that’s not the kind of man I am.” And I believe him because he might work long nights and sometimes say the wrong thing, but I know for certain that Brian would never do that. His dad cheated on his mom many times, and he saw how that hurt her. He always said he would never do that to his wife.

“I know. I’m sorry,” I say, feeling shameful for bringing it up. “Do you think we’re in some sort of rut? I mean, you don’t even like it when I give you a blow job.”

“I’ve never liked them, Lia. It’s not just you. I feel bad when a girl has to just sit there and suck on my dick, okay?”

“But what if I wanted to?” I ask, trailing my fingers up his shirt.

He stops my touch and links our hands together. “I still feel like it’s demeaning. You deserve better than to have to pleasure me like that.”

“It’s not demeaning,” I say. “It’s a way to show your partner how you love them.”

He shakes his head. “It’s demeaning to me.”

“Okay, then what about like . . . spanking or toys? We’ve never tried that.”

“Because we don’t need that kind of fanfare. I don’t need a vibrator to get you off. I can do that myself.” Not every time, though . . .

“It’s not about you not being able to get me off. It’s about having fun, doing new things.”

“Let’s just stop talking about it, okay? That’s not a concern at the moment.”

“It is for me,” I say, my voice rising. “I don’t want to marry someone who doesn’t want to have sex with me, Brian.”

“Excuse me?” he asks. “You don’t want to marry me?”

“No, I do. I’m just saying we’re having some issues, and I think they need to be sorted before we get married. I think it’s important.”

“The only issue I have is that you seem to be getting these ideas in your head about me, and I have no clue where they’re coming from. We were fine before all of this, so why now? Why are you second-guessing our relationship?”

“I’m not second-guessing, I’m just trying to iron out some kinks, and I don’t think I should be chastised for that. I mean, when I’ve asked you for your support with your mom about the wedding stuff, you take her side. Don’t you think you should be taking your future wife’s side?”

“Why does there have to be a side? Why isn’t there a compromise?”

“Because your mom doesn’t understand the word compromise.”

“Pretty sure she’s cut down the guest list, we’re now getting married in a garden rather than a church, and there are daisies in the wedding to represent your mom. None of those were on my mother’s list to begin with.”

“Your mother shouldn’t even have a list. Your mother shouldn’t be this involved.”

“She’s representing me, Lia. Since I’m busy, she’s taking on the responsibility of standing up for what I want.”

“Oh really?” I ask. “So you believe it’s imperative to have roses at your wedding?”

“Yes, I think they’re eloquent.”

“Please, Brian. You couldn’t care less what’s happening at the wedding. You’re just going to show up.”

“That’s not true. I want what’s going to look nice, what’s going to represent the family, and a day we can remember forever.”

“It’s not always about image,” I say as I move past him.

“Why do you keep arguing about this? You’re getting your way with things. Why are you making a big deal about it?”

“Because if this was what I wanted, we wouldn’t be having it at the club, we wouldn’t be inviting people I don’t know, and I wouldn’t be changing into three dresses.”

“But it’s not all about you, Lia. You might be the bride, but I’m the groom, and there has to be pieces of me in the wedding planning as well. My mother knows what that is.”

“Well, maybe if you talked to me about what you wanted, I could help pick those things out.”

He blows out a heavy breath. “You’re creating a fight over nothing. Like I said, something has gotten in your head, and you’re trying to find any excuse not to . . . not to go through with this. And if that’s the case, Lia, just tell me now. I don’t want to get to our wedding day and have you run out on me because you finally found the courage to do so.”

“Brian, I’m not trying to get out of this,” I say, feeling defeated. “I’m just trying to get you to understand where I’m coming from. I want us to be okay. I want you to be on my side. To want me. To not think I’m going through some sort of crisis because I changed my hair. I mean . . . are you going to judge me when I walk down the aisle? Are you going to think my dress is ugly? Is that something I should worry about?”

“No, my mother sent me a picture. It’s a pretty dress.”

I pause and tilt my head to the side. “Your mother . . . sent you a picture of my dress?”

“Yes, she wanted to make sure I approved.”

“That’s not . . . that’s not something you need to approve. That’s my decision.”

“Do you hear yourself?” he asks. “You’re being so selfish. This wedding isn’t just about you, Lia.”

“I didn’t say it was,” I yell. “God, you’re so infuriating. I’m so glad you freaking came here to fix things. Good job.” I move toward the kitchen and grab myself a sparkling water.

“Does any of this have to do with Breaker?”

I pause, the hairs on the back of my neck spring to attention, and I feel my inner rage spike to DEFCON 1 levels.

“I swear to God, Brian,” I say as I spin on my heel. “Bring him up one more time, and I will end this engagement, this wedding, and this relationship. This has nothing to do with him and everything to do with us and our disconnect.”

“I don’t feel a disconnect.”

“Because you’re not here,” I shout. “You’re so blind, so clueless. I mean, hell, I’m offering to put your dick in my mouth, and you can’t even fathom the idea. You should want your dick in my mouth.”

“You want to suck me off?” he yells. He sits down on the couch and leans back. “Fine, Lia. Suck me off.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I say as I walk back to the bedroom.

BREAKER

“I DON’T FEEL VERY GOOD,” I say as JP and Huxley walk me to my apartment.

“Because you had three shots of Scotch in ten minutes, realized your mistake, tried to counteract with buttery croissants and water, and now your stomach has no idea what to do with itself,” JP says.

“If you puke on my shoes, I’ll murder you,” Huxley says.

“Why did I have to come home? I don’t want to hear her having sex.” I rest my head on Huxley’s shoulder. “I bet she’s a sweet moaner.”

“Can you not speak so closely to my face?”

“I bet she has the best-tasting pussy ever, like . . . a fresh field of flowers.”

“When was the last time you ate pussy?” JP asks as we reach my door. Huxley unlocks it and lets us in.

“I can’t remember, but I bet you hers is fantastic.”

“Just dump him on his couch,” Huxley says.

“No, my bedroom. I want to smell the pillow she used the other night. It smells like her. I want to clutch it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more embarrassing display of a man,” JP says. “If only Kelsey didn’t take my phone away so I couldn’t record anything.”

“Kelsey is an angel sent from the heavens above,” I say while clutching JP. “And Lottie, well, she’s funny, and I like that she busts your balls all the time, Huxley. I’ve never seen a woman put you in your place like her. God, the way you grovel around her, talk about embarrassing. But that’s what I’d do with Lia, I would worship the ground she walks on.”

“That’s great,” Huxley says as he pushes me back on my bed. I tumble onto it with a plop.

I hold my feet up and say, “Shoes. Please take off my shoes.”

Huxley points at me, then JP, and says, “Go ahead, remove the shoes.”

“Why don’t you remove the shoes?”

“Because I’m the older brother, which automatically puts me in the managerial role.”

“Are you saying you’ll manage how I take off his shoes?”

“Yeah, now take them off.”

“How about you both take one off?” I say, wiggling my feet. “I could also use some more water. And maybe a bucket. I don’t want to puke on the floor, and I have a good feeling that might happen.”

JP turns to Huxley and says, “Shoes or puke pail and water?”

He groans and walks off toward the kitchen.

“He’s such a grumble gus, isn’t he?” I ask.

“I hate you right now, you know that? You interrupted my entire Sunday. Kelsey was supposed to spend the day naked in the house, and now I’ve had to drag your sorry carcass around and take off your goddamn shoes.”

“And socks.”

He slips off my shoes, followed by my socks, just as Huxley comes into the bedroom with water and a puke pail.

“Wow, you two are true heroes. The best brothers a guy could ask for.” I spread my arms wide on my bed. “Come give me a hug.”

“And risk you puking all over us? No, thank you,” says JP.

Huxley pulls on the back of his neck, observing me. “Do you think we need to stay with him?”

“He’s not that drunk, just stupid drunk. He’ll sleep it off and be fine.”

“I can tell there’s a headache in my future.” I pause and then sit up. “Wait . . . did I donate to the pigeons?”

JP shakes his head. “I tried to get you to, but Kelsey stopped me.”

“Thank fuck for that angel of yours.” I let out a large sigh, then grab the pillow Lia used, pulling it into my chest, where I give it a large squeeze. “Fuck, she smells so good. Like a field of flowers.”

“I thought that’s what her pussy tasted like,” JP says. “You need to work on your descriptors.”

“She’s just flowers everywhere. One giant flower.” I moan out her name. “Oh, Ophelia.”

“Okay, shit’s getting weird,” JP says, taking a step back. “I think we have the right to vacate the premises.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Huxley pats my foot. “Call us if you need anything.”

“I need you to break up the wedding. Thank you, and have a good day.”

“Yeah, we’ll get right on that,” JP says as they both walk away.

“Angels, all of you are angels.” And then I pass out into my pillow.

LIA

THE FRONT DOOR SHUTS, and I bring my legs to my chest, holding them closely.

After another two hours of fighting, Brian and I both thought that maybe it was best to take a moment to cool off. He’s going to his place for the rest of the night while I’m staying here. He asked if I was going to go talk to Breaker, and I told him I had no intention of going over to Breaker’s place. I’m not even sure he’s home, as I heard him leave earlier, so I have no idea what he’s doing.

And I’m not in the mood to see anyone.

Am I wrong in this situation? Am I being selfish? I don’t think I am. I’m not asking for much from him. I’m just asking him to talk to me, to want me, to be the fiancé I deserve. And if he can’t give me the attention I deserve right now, who’s to say he’d be able to give it to me when we’re married? And The Beave sent a fucking photo of the dress I chose to see if he approved? What am I? A preschooler?

I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused in my life.

I rest my head against the couch just as my phone lights up with a text message.

Breaker: How was the blow job?

If only he knew.

Lia: Nonexistent.

The dots pop up, indicating he’s texting back, so I lie on my side on the couch and pull a blanket over me while I wait for him to respond.

Breaker: Shame. I gave you some good tips. Really good. Like . . . so good.

Lia: I’m sure you did.

Breaker: I really like the sucking of the tip, it feels so fucking good, Lia.

Uhh . . . okay. Not sure what’s going on, but maybe it’s a continuation of the conversation from earlier.

Lia: Yes, you stated that earlier.

Breaker: What about you, do you like . . . the tip?

Lia: Uh, wouldn’t know, you know, since I haven’t done it.

Breaker: You would like it. I know you would. I can see it in your eyes. Fuck, I bet you give the best head.

My cheeks flush again, and I’m so unsure of what’s happening that I consider walking over to his apartment to see if he’s okay. Instead, I just text him back.

Lia: So far, reviews aren’t in my favor.

Breaker: Because you’re sucking the wrong dick.

Lia: Apparently.

Breaker: What did he do? Did he get to taste you?

Lia: No.

My breath picks up, becoming more labored as I wait for him to text me back.

Breaker: Good.

Good? I sit up now as I stare down at my phone.

Breaker: He doesn’t deserve to taste you.

I glance over at the wall we share as if I can see through it. What’s he doing? Is he home?

Lia: Is everything okay, Breaker?

Breaker: You tell me.

Lia: What is that supposed to mean?

Breaker: Why are you texting me and not fucking Brian right now?

My palms sweat, my fingers slide along my phone, nothing making sense, but also, the sound of his sultry voice from earlier repeats in my head.

Lia: We got in a fight, and we’re taking a second to cool down.

Breaker: Did he say some bullshit about you again? I swear to God, I will end him if he did. You’re so fucking beautiful, Lia. Don’t let him make you think otherwise.

I drop my phone onto the couch and stand, my heart racing.

What is actually happening?

This is Breaker. We always stand up for each other, but this feels different. It sounds different.

My phone buzzes again, and I see that it’s from Breaker. My mind tells me not to look, but my heart is begging me to.

The heart wins out.

Breaker: What did he say to you?

I pace the length of my living room as I text him back.

Lia: Just asked me if I’m having some sort of crisis because of my haircut and my questions about sex.

Breaker: Bro is a goddamn fool. He should be fucking you every chance he gets, especially with your new hairstyle. So sexy, Ophelia, fuck . . .

I let out a low groan, my eyes swimming with uncertain tears. Because how can Breaker, my best friend, talk like this? How can he say everything I want Brian to say? Brian can hardly even look at me, kiss me, or acknowledge that I’m a slight distraction from his ever-consuming work.

Another text comes in.

Breaker: Why isn’t he fucking you?

Giving up on trying to figure out what is going on, I move to my bedroom, where I flop on the bed, my headboard hitting the wall.

Lia: I don’t know, Breaker.

Breaker: Did you just lie down in your bed?

Lia: Yes, are you home?

Breaker: Yes, in my bed, thinking about you.

I squeeze my eyes shut and count to five before I answer, before I say something stupid—because I’m extremely emotional.

Lia: Why are you thinking about me?

Breaker: I’m always thinking about you.

Lia: You can’t always be thinking about me.

Breaker: I am. When I wake up, I wonder how I can possibly interact with you, how I can catch a glimpse of your smile. Throughout the day, I know that if I need a pick-me-up, some comfort, or fun, you’re the person I want to see. And at night, when I go to sleep, you’re the last thing I think of before I shut my eyes.

My teeth roll over my bottom lip as I text him back.

Lia: You say that as if it means more.

Breaker: Maybe it does.

Lia: What are you trying to do?

Breaker: Nothing.

Lia: We don’t say things like that to each other.

Breaker: Yeah, well . . . maybe we should.

Lia: What are you talking about?

Breaker: Never mind. You won’t get it. You have Brian.

Lia: Breaker, what the hell are you trying to say?

Breaker: Nothing. Not a damn thing. I need to sleep this shit off. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

Lia: No, talk to me now.

When he doesn’t reply, I text again.

Lia: Breaker, do I need to come over there?

Lia: Breaker . . .

I stare at my phone, waiting for a response as my heart races. What is he talking about? It almost seems like . . . like he has feelings or something, but that can’t be right. This is Breaker. He doesn’t do feelings, right?

When he doesn’t text back, I almost walk over to his apartment until I hear one solid, heavy knock against the wall.

Then four.

Then three.

And then there’s silence.

One knock. Four. Three.

My mind quickly translates it: I love you.

He’s never knocked like that before. Never three words, never by himself. So what does that mean? What does this all freaking mean? Tears of frustration rise to my eyes as my phone dings with a text message.

Hoping Breaker is texting to explain it all, I quickly check the screen, but I’m quickly disappointed.

Brian: I’m sorry about our fight. I love you very much, remember that. You’ll be my wife in four weeks, and we have the rest of our lives to figure out the details.

Groaning, I toss my phone to the side and cover my eyes with my hands.

I need to escape from all of this.