“No.” I bat her hand away, but I angle my face over hers, lowering my voice to a growl and staring down my nose at her. “Do not fucking touch me. You already got to touch me enough while you were sharing my bed for the past thirty-five fucking nights, and you’re never gonna fucking touch me again. You’re not gonna call me. You’re not gonna contact me. You’re gonna get in that car and travel across state lines with a stranger, and that virus is gonna land your ass in the ICU, and then...you’re gonna disappear forever.” I stand up taller, straightening my shoulders. “And I ain’t gonna lose any sleep over it ‘cuz I sheltered you from it as long as I could. My conscience is clear.”
Ava’s face is a mess of tears and splotchy pink cheeks, and her chin is trembling so hard that she looks like she’s shivering and freezing in the middle of this ninety-degree afternoon. She gives a tiny shake of her head, and her wet, matted eyelashes flutter. “So you’re saying that because I want to go back home, youwant me to get sick anddie.”
I nonchalantly flip one hand in the air. “I’m saying you have the freedom to leave now, and I have the freedom to forget all about you.” I pause for malicious effect. “Kinda like you forgot all about Patrick, right? I haven’t heard you mention him even once since he left, and now I know exactly what you are, Ava. It took me four fucking months, but I finally figured it out.”
Her trembling jaw goes rigid. “Dare I ask whatyou thinkI am?”
I raise my brows and lean even closer to her face. “A groupie. A backstage Betty. I’ve had a thousand versions of you, and it won’t be long before I forget all about this version just like I forgot about all the ones before you. So I hope you enjoyed your little extended vacation, ‘cuz it’s probably gonna be the last one you ever get.” I step away from her, doing the sign of the cross and then pressing my palms together like a mocking prayer. “Rest in pieces, Ava doll, and thanks for sucking my cock sonicely.”
She staggers backward, jaw falling open, and she looks like I backhanded her.
“Okay, Vin, that’s way toofuckin’ far.” Meyer jerks the lapel of my jacket, pulling me away from Ava, and then he shoves my shoulder to force me a few steps up the sidewalk. “That is low as fuck, even for you.”
I shove him back. “Fuck off, Lowenstein. This isn’t your goddamn problem.”
“It ismy goddamn problem when I’m standing here watching you browbeat that poor woman just because you’re used to gettin’ your way, and you’re not gettin’ your way right now, you fucking slimeball.”
I lunge toward him, bringing us toe-to-toe like we’re about to square up. “Oh, I’m a fuckin’ slimeball, Meyer? Yeah, I’m a real fuckin’ slimeball with the way I’m financing your entire fucking life.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He shoves me again and steps away, pacing the sidewalk and shaking his head. “You are such a petty, entitled piece of shit.”
I slip my hands back in my pockets and shrug. “Yeah well, it takes one to know one, asshole.”
“You are the only asshole here right now.” He flips his hand at the street behind me. “You really think she deserved all that? Just because she wanted to go home? Beyond all the personal shit that happened between you guys that actuallyisn’t any of my business, she literally saved your career, dumbass.”
That manages to shake me out of my blind rage and gives me pause. So does Meyer suddenly talking about Ava in the past tense. I turn back around to look at her, but she’s not there.
I glance way the hell up Chartres Street and only manage to catch sight of the car she left in as it’s turning the corner. All I can do is stare at the now-empty street. The adrenaline that drove me to lash out at her starts leaving my body, and I suddenly feel sick in the pit of my stomach as my mind replays the last words I said to her.
I called her a whore. I basically said I didn’t care if she died or not.
And she got in that car and left while I wasn’t even looking. She didn’t even throw afuck youin my direction.
She just disappeared.
That’s the most cut and driedwe’re doneI’ve ever witnessed.
I cover my mouth without even realizing it becauseholy fuck.
Holy fuck.
I really just said all that shit to her.
And Ava really just left without so much as a single word in response.
And this beautiful thing we created with each other...it’s really just over.
Twenty-Two
Ava
Five daysafter leaving Lucky’s Jazz Manor, I’ve realized the phrase, “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me,”is pretty much bullshit. The things he said before I got in the car and left have wrecked me so badly that I’ve become physically sick over them.
The first two days I was home, I was still basically in a state of shock, but also reveling in the fact that I was finally home again. But then I noticed the stark contrast of my small, silent, bland apartment. No music. No laughter. Just nothing but a whole lot of silence. The silence gave way to me getting lost in memories of all the fun I’d had during my unwitting extended getaway, and the feelings for Lucky that nestled deep in my heart, which I can’t ignore. And those thoughts gave way to reliving that awful last moment on the sidewalk and how utterly cruel he was, and that just made me feel ill.
By day three, I was waking up physically sore and exhausted. By day four, the pollen apocalypse had apparently descended upon Austin and thrust me into a sniffling fog, complete with a wretchedly sore throat. And by this morning on day five, my give-a-fucks are at an all-time low—even more so than when I realized I was going to be trapped in lockdown away from home that much longer—and nothing seems to make sense.
I blink the blurry haze out of my eyes as I scroll through a pre-event interest survey and dab my nose with a tissue. “Another thing I noticed was that the respondents were pretty...um...let’s saypassionateabout the idea of the training material being solely video-based.” I click to share my screen so that Zoey and the four other people on the video conference can see a sampling of comments from the potential virtual attendees that we surveyed.
