This is the first time I’ve acknowledged the pain I know is carved deep inside Amelia. From the moment I saw her at the funeral, hysterically crying in her mother’s arms, I knew she was broken.
I also knew I was too.
We were two people who loved the same person in different ways.
Two people who didn’t know why that person had done what he did, so we pointed fingers at the other one. We played the blame game, and we played it so well.
I stare at her, taking in the short distance separating us in her laundry room. When I woke up this morning, my arm slung over her waist like I didn’t want her to leave me, I was confused. But as I forced my eyes open, it all came crashing down on me.
Showing up here, drunk.
Admitting that I’d wanted her to love me instead of my best friend.
And then pleading with her to let me stay.
I broke bro code.
I’d been breaking it for years, I guess.
I don’t know how much she cares about me saying, “I’m so sorry.” Or if she even believes me, but it’s the truth.
I am fucking sorry because had I been the one to find him, I don’t think I could even sleep on this damn street without wanting to run away. Chris and I had a close friendship, but he and Amelia had something deeper.
She doesn’t reply to what I said.
I smack my palms on the floor. “I’d better get home.” I look at her and put all my strength into exposing the truth in my eyes. “I really am sorry.”
It’s as if her brain went into a different world at my apology earlier, so she nods, not meeting my eyes. Instead, she stares at the wall over my head. Groaning, I bring myself up, shoot her one last glance, and leave the room.
As I make my way outside, I’m reminded of how much I drank last night. The sun hurts my eyes, and my head spins with each step I take. I don’t make it past the sidewalk when I realize I didn’t drive here.
Shit.
I turn around, grateful she didn’t get up and lock the door behind me, and head back into Amelia’s. I hear the faint sniffle as I grow closer to the laundry room, and when I walk in, I find Amelia still on the floor. She scooted to the wall, taking the spot where I was, and her head is bowed. Her body is shaking in a clear sign that she’s distraught.
“Amelia,” I whisper, but she doesn’t look up.
I drop to one knee in front of her and whisper her name again, and she raises her head in what feels like slow motion. She releases a whimper as our eyes meet. Her face is blotchy, her cheeks wet from tears, and she stares at me in agony.
Not even a few minutes have passed since I walked out, and it’s as if she’s an entirely different person.
Was she waiting until I left to break down?
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go.”
“What?” she stutters.
“I can’t have my business partner crying on the floor.” It’s the best response I could come up with fast.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“It’s not like this is the first time this has happened. I’m used to it. You can go.”
I gently grab her wrist. “Come on.”
She doesn’t give me trouble as I help her to her feet.
“Grab some shit.”
“What?”
“Where are your keys?”
“Jax, you—”
“We can talk later.”
“They’re in my car.”
I snatch an armful of folded clothes from a laundry basket and tuck them under my arm, and somehow, someway, my hand finds the small of her back. It’s a silent walk into the garage, and I toss her clothes into her Jeep before helping her into the passenger seat.
Another bro code violation.
But I don’t care anymore.
All I can think about is seeing her on the floor, crying and needing someone to take care of her. Even if for a minute.
I’m no knight in shining armor, so don’t get it wrong.
But I’m here, and he’s not, so I have to be the one to take care of her.
I ignore thoughts of Chris as I drive us to my apartment.
To the apartment I once shared with him.
My mind is only on Amelia as I lead her to my bed, lift the blanket, and motion for her to get in. She sniffles, wipes her cheeks, and does what I silently said. And this time, I feel no regret when I slide into bed with her.
We deserve some decent sleep for the rest of the morning.
Even if it means being in bed with the wrong person.
God, I need to stop this.
To stop caring.
I need to hate Amelia Malone, so I don’t love her.