Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(56)
Author: Lauren Blakely

I nod. “Yeah.”

“It’s better that it ended now than later,” she continues, and I’m reminded of why she’s good at her job as a shrink, because she knows what to say. She knows what people need.

“I know,” I say with a heavy sigh.

“Why don’t we go somewhere and get a drink?”

“I cannot think of a better thing to do right now. I need a whole f**king bottle, in fact.”

“Then a bottle it is.” She leans forward and gives the driver the address of a bar a few blocks away. Then to me, “Good thing I know all the best places in Manhattan for drinking and eating. This is the perfect spot to forget about a girl. Want me to call Clay to join us?”

“Let’s make it a party,” I say dryly, and she calls Clay and tells him his presence is required.

Soon we pull up to The Last Stand on Lexington, and the name is apropos. I toss my bow tie and jacket on the seat of the car, unbutton the top two buttons on my shirt and head inside with my sister.

The Last Stand is like a railroad apartment, long, narrow, and all bar. There are no cozy booths for intimate encounters, or low-lit nooks where you’d take someone you’d want to touch under the table. This watering hole has one purpose—to get smashed.

“Glenlivet?” Michele asks.

“Fuck Glenlivet. I’ll take a Macallan tonight.” I don’t need anything to remind me of her.

Clay joins us, and it feels right to be with these two people right now. People I know, people I trust. Soon, I’ve downed my third glass and my head is feeling fuzzy, and the vise around my heart is starting to loosen as we drink and talk about everything except show business.

At two in the morning, the bartender says it’s last call and far be it from me to deny The Last Stand another chance to pour another drink. We finish off a final round, and stumble out into the middle of the night.

“You guys take my car uptown. I’m going to take the subway.”

Michele raises an eyebrow. “In your state?”

“The subway was made for times like this.”

On the train, there’s a woman in a nurse’s uniform dozing off a few seats away, a hipster in a hoodie listening to music on his phone, and a skinny guy weaving down the car who’s probably had more drinks than me. I slump down in my seat, the guy in the tux who spoke at the Plaza, who dedicated a song to an actress.

Who’s heading home well past midnight, in a lonely subway car.

* * *

Jill

It’s better this way. It’s better this way. It’s better this way.

I repeat that all night long as I sleep fitfully. I say it over and over in the morning as I run along the West Side Bike Path. I mutter it under my breath as I head over to Central Park.

This is who I am. I am a girl who runs, and today some of the ladies I coach are running a half-marathon so I am here to cheer them on. I blot out the fact that they didn’t expect to see me at the finish line. That I told them I had an event the night before but would be rooting for them from far away. But this is where I should be because there’s no room in my life for anything more. There’s no room in my heart for Davis, or Patrick, or anyone.

My fate was sealed long ago, and I’m better off this way. When I am alone I can’t hurt someone again. As the first of my gals cross the finish line, I raise an arm in the air and cheer wildly, as loud as I possibly can. I jump up and down to prove how goddamn happy I am. She sees me and smiles broadly.

“You did it!”

She jogs over to me and collapses into my arms, and I hug her.

“I’m so happy for you,” I say, because I am. I am happy, I am happy, I am happy.

This is my life. This is safe. Running.

But after they’ve all crossed the finish line, and celebrated, and had their pictures taken, and high-fived each other, they disperse. Heading home to families. Heading elsewhere. And I am where I’ve always been.

Alone, with this bruised and worn-out heart of mine.

I leave the park, and though I’m tempted to walk past The Plaza, what would be the point? I can’t have him, I can’t have us, and I can’t bear the reminder so I walk down Broadway, thinking that I could get lost in the theater district, that I could buy a ticket, catch a matinee, and let myself believe that the razzle dazzle of Chicago or the underground lake in Phantom could take all my cares away. So I make a go of it. I head for the scene of the crime and buy a nosebleed seat for the matinee of Wicked at the Gershwin Theater and settle in to watch the witch fly across the stage and fall in love with the hot guy, but remain misunderstood even through the end.

For a few hours, I forget about the past. But when the curtain rises and the actors take their bows, I am reminded that I’ve been there, done that, and still have the empty space in my chest to prove that my tricks and techniques don’t always work. I leave and wander downtown.

I check my phone once, but he hasn’t called, and he hasn’t texted. Not that I expected either. He’s not a texter, and I don’t deserve a call.

I don’t deserve him.

There is nothing left to save me from what I did, and maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow I’ll man up and say I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to say anything more than that. Since I can’t have him.

I return to my apartment. It’s early evening now and Kat is curled up on the couch watching You’ve Got Mail, one of her favorite movies ever. One she made me watch a year ago, and I fell in love with too.

“Bryan’s out of town for the weekend,” she says, patting the couch. “Come join me.”

I shake my head. “I’m tired.”

She hits pause on the laptop, and eyes me up and down, taking in my fleece jacket and running pants. It occurs to me that I went to the theater dressed like this. It also occurs to me that I don’t care.

“Have you been running all day long?”

“Something like that.”

“Hey, you don’t seem like yourself. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you, Jill. Did something happen with Davis at the gala last night?”

I flinch, but then turn stoic. “No. Nothing happened. It was fine. We had a fine time. I’m beat though. I need to go nap.”

I don’t nap. I shower, put on pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, and settle into my room. I read Aaron’s last letter again and again, and I watch a video where the woman my brother loves shares her whole heart on TV. And I wish I could find a way to be like her. But that’s not a choice I have.