Chapter Thirty-Three
This comes in from Bluma the next morning, and I read it over. And over. And over again.
She’s okay. She’s. Okay.
In my periphery I see Anne approaching and tuck my phone away.
“What the hell is going on with you?” she demands.
“Nothing.”
She narrows her pierced brows. “Oh, really? Then why, I ask, have you gone from sucking faces behind a soundboard to openly ignoring West?”
I take a step back. “Who said I’m ignoring West?”
“You’re something else.” Anne throws her hands up. “Now you’re going to deny it?”
I turn away, grab a cable, and start coiling it, more to give my hands something to do than anything else.
“I asked West what was going on,” she says.
My hands still. Oh, no, did he tell her what he saw? What he felt?
She points at me. “Ah-hah! You don’t like that I talked to him, do you?”
I go back to coiling and ignore the pain wrenching around within me. “I don’t care if you talked to him.”
“I call bullshit.”
I shoot her a look, but I really want to ask her what he said.
Anne plants her hands on her hips. “Did that bastard try something?”
“No!” Oh my God, I don’t want anybody to think that.
“Do you want to know what he said when I asked him what was going on?”
I pick up another cable, pretending an indifference I absolutely do not feel.
“He said you guys had a little disagreement about something personal, and that was it.”
“Oh…” I think that through. “Listen, I told West I need some time. Now you can be a good friend and accept that, or not. Either way, it’s what I’ve decided. This is about me, not him.”
Just admitting that makes me feel weary.
Anne gives me a very long look. “All right. I’m always on your side. But know that West is hurt. I can tell. Whatever happened is about him, too.” She points a finger at me. “And I swear to God, if you disappear on me, I will hunt your ass down and kick it across whatever state I find you in. Got it? And I mean that with every ounce of love in my cynical heart.”
I chuckle, despite the whole situation. “Got it.” Anne knows me too well.
Whatever happened is about him, too. Anne’s words seem to be all I can think about the next hour as I work with Ford soldering connectors.
“All good?” he asks, and I nod. “All right, I’ll be at the soundboard if you need me.” With that, he heads off.
I double, triple check my work before I put one connector down and start on another.
“You slacking around this place?”
I jump and almost burn myself with the soldering iron.
West cringes. “Sorry.”
“Th-that’s okay,” I answer.
I consider making an excuse and getting out of here, but I know that’s idiotic of me. This conversation’s inevitable, so I look up at him, and neither one of us moves for a few seconds as we hesitantly study each other.
“How are you?” he finally asks, and his voice works its way through me, warming me, waking me.
I start to get up, and he immediately moves, kneeling down in front of me. “I missed you on our big bus,” he tells me.
I go back to soldering, noting my hands are shaking now. “I decided to ride with Tech.”
He reaches out to hold one of the wires that is shaking in my grip, and I concentrate all my energy on not burning him. The scent of melted copper wafts around us, and I let go of the connector, and he puts it aside.
“Can we talk now?” he asks, picking up a new wire and handing it to me.
I take a breath. “West… I think you and I should cool things. Okay?”
He doesn’t immediately respond, then says, “I see.”
We stay that way for a few seconds, him kneeling in front of me, me sitting, and him holding a wire while I solder it to a new connector.
All kinds of awkwardness floats in the air between us, and I just don’t know what to do. As usual the wrong thing comes out, “I can do this by myself.”
He lets go of the wire and drops his head. Out of the side of my eyes, I see him shaking it in what can only be frustration and disappointment. “Why are you shutting me out?” he demands.
“I’m not, okay?” Although I know full well I am.
“No, it’s not okay.” He shoves to his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why won’t you just talk to me?”
I clench my jaw against the tears I suddenly feel inside.
“Is it about your back? I don’t care. Do you hear me?”
Sucking in a breath, I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes so I don’t have to look at the pain on his face.
“I don’t care,” he repeats. “Just talk to me.”
His voice, his words, they pull at me, but I shake my head and groan, “Just go away.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, and I wince. “I don’t need this shit.”
I hear him turn, and I take my hands down to watch him walk away. With each step he takes something deeper and deeper aches inside of me.
At the exit door, he glances back, his face hard, and I blink my blurry vision. He’s better off without me, I tell myself. Yet everything in me says differently. And way down deep in me I wish he would’ve just pulled me into his arms and insisted everything’s going to be okay.