I often wonder if Oliver listed refereeing our spats on his resume when he decided to become a teacher. I’d die for Lucy, and she’d do the same for me, but we’ve had some earth-shattering fights in our time.
“Sorry,” I sigh, meaning it.
“Me, too.” She reaches across the table, taking my hand.
“It’s not like you were wrong.” I let my head thud against the booth cushion behind me.
“I wouldn’t say you stew. Maybe marinate a bit here and there,” Oliver says. I give him a look.
“We’ll table our discussion of your love life.” Lucy squeezes my hand before letting it go. “For now.”
Our collective focus pivots to the set list for the night. Not that it was going to change much. I hadn't been able to make many rehearsals—or much of anything else—recently,ironically too tied up with running the bar to focus on entertainment for the bar.
“In all seriousness,” Oliver levels one of his signature concerned looks at me. “You good? You’ve been sparse lately, even by your own standards.”
The usual apology was always perched on my tongue, ready and waiting. Sorry for not being around, sorry for making them worry, sorry there were reasons they had to worry in the first place. It sat right next to the reassurances that I was ok, just a bit overworked, a little tired, that I'd do better.
A mass of red hair by the entry to the restaurant catches my eye and steals my ability to process any thoughts outside of her name:
Toni.
Toni with her curls piled on top of her head and her curves looking far too good in a leopard print satin slip dress and a leather harness.
Toni.
Walking toward us.
I immediately sink into the booth, cursing—not for the first time—my conspicuously large frame.
“Cilli—” Oliver begins.
“Shh!” I cut him off, shielding my face with my hand.
“Hey, Cillian...” Lucy trails off, the worry in her voice slapping some reason back into my skull.
Unfortunately, my best friends weren’t strangers to me hiding from some invisible threat. In those instances I was usually reacting to ghosts of my own shit decisions, not a stunning redhead.
Shame burns hot in my veins. Unwelcome as it is, I latch onto it, let it remind me of the core reason I have no business getting any closer to Toni—or anyone, for that matter.
You’re too much, Cillian. This is all too much.Kevin's voice echoes in my head.
I did not need this, any of this, right now.
“Sorry,” I say on an exhale. “I’m good. Just...” I gesture to Toni, making her way to the restaurant’s bar.
“No fucking way!” Lucy says too loudly.
“Could you chill?” I beg. I try to sink deeper into the booth, wishing it would open up and swallow me into another timeline where this isn’t happening to me.
“Chill?” Lucy turns a shocked expression on me. “Kismet is happening right before my eyes, and you’re telling me to chill?”
“Looks like she’s waiting on someone,” Oliver observes, leaning his chair back on two legs.
“See, not kismet. We just picked a stupid, trendy place to have dinner.”
Lucy returns her focus to Toni in the most conspicuous manner possible. “Waiting for someone who clearly isn't here.”
“Lucy!” I hiss.
