Desperate Chances (33 page)

“In west Philadelphia, born and raised…” I started to sing.

I could hear Mitch in my mind singing along with me.

Mitch.

Why hadn’t he called or messaged me. I wondered if he had found the note and was simply ignoring me.

More importantly, I wondered how the dissolution of his band would affect him. I worried about how he was feeling. And really, I just wanted to talk to him.

But I had left the ball in his court.

There would be no pathetic phone calls from this chick.

Nope. If he wanted to talk to me, he knew where I was.

Yep.

That sounded good.

So I pulled my knees up to my chest and watched television. I laughed when Alfonso Ribeirio did the Carleton. I ate my popcorn and I tried to not think about how much I wanted Mitch beside me.

But when I fell asleep, it was with his name on my lips.

Because, for once, there was no doubt. Not anymore.

I knew what I wanted. I just hoped, for once, I got it.

Earlier that day

I
woke up for the first time in a long time feeling like things were going to be okay.

Which was fucking crazy considering the phone call with Pirate was later today. That meant the official end of Generation Rejects in its current incarnation.

I was sad for the band to be over, but at the same time I was ready for whatever came next. Even though I didn’t know exactly what that was.

I got up at seven. I hadn’t been up that early since I was a kid and hadn’t ye discovered how awesome sleeping in was.

I showered and dressed, checking my phone for messages. Garrett had left me one a few hours ago saying that his flight came in around seven-thirty.

I thought about calling Gracie. There was so much I wanted to say to her.

We had a lot to sort out and it was way past due.

After leaving Jordan’s last night I had driven to Sophie’s house. She had met me outside, per usual.

“You ready to go?” she asked, heading towards my passenger side door.

“Uh, can we go inside for a minute?” I asked her, cutting off the Jeep’s engine.

Sophie looked surprised. “Why?” she asked.

“Because I need to talk to you, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit out here,” I had said testily. What was her big deal about letting me inside? It was weird.

“Um, sure. My dad isn’t home, so I guess it’s cool.” I followed her up the porch steps and waited as she unlocked the door. She flipped on the light and let me inside.

It was a normal house, nothing out of the ordinary. I half expected there to be taxidermy animals or mummified family members hanging around.

“The living room is through there. Just down the hallway,” Sophie instructed, pointing in the direction that I was expected to go. I went into the room that she had indicated and sat down on the plaid sofa.

The room smelled like tobacco smoke and air freshener. The furniture was shabby but clean. Her dad was obviously into fishing if the rods hanging on the wall were any indication.

“Here,” Sophie said, holding out a glass of water, even though I hadn’t asked for one.

“Thanks,” I had said, taking the drink. “Sophie, I think you and I need to talk— ” I had started to say.

“You’re breaking up with me,” she interrupted, taking a sip of water and appearing unbothered by the suggestion.

“Well, uh, I just think that you and I are really different—”

“Are we? How would you know that?” Sophie asked blandly.

This conversation wasn’t going well, but I had exected it.

But she had asked a really good question. How
would
I know that? I didn’t know much about her, except that she let me sleep with her when I was heartbroken and lonely.

Sophie leaned over and put her glass on the table. She faced me, her hands folded in her lap. “Mitch, I like you. I’ve always liked you. You’re hot. You’re sexy. You’re incredible in bed.”

“Uh, thanks,” I muttered, feeling self-conscious. Why was she listing my attributes? Where was she going with this?

“You’re in love with Gracie,” she finished, a pained smile on her face. “I knew that from the beginning.” She shook her head. “What kind of woman gets involved with someone whose heart belongs to another woman?”

“I’m so sorry, Soph. I’m an asshole,” I said, my head hanging low.

“Yeah, you are,” she agreed and I winced. I deserved that.

“But really, this is my fault. I thought I could give you time and you’d get over her. But she never. Went. Away!”

“Hold on a sec—” I started to say, but she cut me off.

“She was always around, talking to everyone like she belonged. Giving you those sad,
I’m so tortured
, eyes. Practically flaunting in my face that she had you first.” Sophie let out a growl of frustration. “You think I liked being the cuckold? Do you think I didn’t know that every time we were together, you wished I was her?”

“That’s not true, Sophie. I really did care about you. I wanted to be with you. You helped me get through a really tough time—”

“Give me a break, Mitch. Don’t come over to my house with your sob story and expect me to roll over and say ‘
I understand. You love her. I get it. Go have a happy life together.’
Fuck that!”

I recoiled in shock. I had never heard Sophie cuss before. But I had never seen her that angry either.

“I’m sorry—”

“Just get out, Mitch. Leave,” she said, her anger fading away.

Should I touch her? Give her a hug maybe? I’d never broken up with someone before. I didn’t know what to do. Should I have brought flowers or chocolates?

Shit, I should have taken the dick way out and done this via text.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” I said, getting to my feet. I turned to look at her before I left.

“You’ll find someone—”

“Ugh, Mitch, please don’t tell me I’ll find someone who loves me. Otherwise I’ll have to hit you. And I’d really like that right now.”

I scrambled off the porch, glad that her dad wasn’t there to chase after me with a shotgun or something.

Sophie stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

I stood in her front yard for a minute, looking up at the girl that I had been with for over a year. It was sad how easily our relationship disintegrated. It only reinforced that it shouldn’t have ever started.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. It was the only thing I could say. Because it was true. Sophie Lanier was my collateral damage and I felt like shit because of it.

Sophie sighed and shook her head. “It hurts, Mitch.” I cringed, expecting that. Her face hardened, her mouth setting into an uncompromising line. “But you’re not breaking my heart or anything. You’re not that important to my life. I’ll survive. What you and I had wasn’t love. It wasn’t even passion. It was
convenient,”
she sneered, turning on her heel, and slamming the door behind her.

What she said didn’t sting. Not even a little. It probably should have. She had meant it to. But it didn’t, because she was right.

I had driven home and gone to bed, hoping the guilt would lessen by morning.

And it had. Somewhat. I worried about what kind of man that made me that I was able to end a year long relationship and feel so fucking
neutral
about it all. I felt the guilt but mostly I was relieved. I finally fixed a mistake that I should never have made.

I couldn’t look behind me any longer. I could only go forward.

I made myself a cup of coffee and went through the local want ads. I wasn’t expecting to find anything that I’d be interested in. So it was with surprise that I saw an opening for a guitar tech at a custom shop in Southborough. It wasn’t the sort of job that would bring me fame and fortune, but I had had my fair share of all that stuff.

It was eight in the morning when I grabbed my keys and my wallet and left the house.

Maybe I’d land myself a job.

“H
ey, Ma, how are you?” I gave my mother a hug as she let me inside.

The day had gotten cold and they were calling for snow later. I had made sure to fill my car up and stopped by the grocery store to load up on the essentials. Bread. Milk. And of course beer. And a couple packs of Twizzlers just in case I was stuck inside for a few days.

“Mitch! What are you doing here?” she asked, taking my coat and hanging it on the hook beside the kitchen door. She was cooking chili and my mouth immediately began to water.

“I knew you had to be making some sort of snow day food. I was hoping to snag some,” I said, heading to the Crock-Pot and lifting the lid.

My mother swatted my hand. “It’s not ready yet,” she scolded.

I sat down at the kitchen table as my mother fussed around making me a sandwich, and pouring me a glass of iced tea. She put a plate loaded with food in front of me and sat down across the table.

I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. I had forgotten, in my haste to leave the house, to get anything to eat. Now it was almost lunchtime and I was starving.

“This is amazing, Mom. I wish you’d come to live with me at Garrett’s so you can make my meals all the time,” I said, giving her a toothy grin that I knew she loved.

“You’re welcome here anytime and I’ll make you whatever you want,” she offered, giving me an indulgent pat on the cheek.

“I got a job today,” I said without preamble, swallowing another bite of my sandwich.

Mom frowned, looking confused. “You got a job? Doing what?”

“As a guitar tech at Bobby’s Custom Sound over in Southborough. I’d be helping out in the custom shop. It’s a fulltime position with benefits and paid time off,” I told her, sounding tentatively excited. Because I was. It was a real job with real potential.

“I don’t understand, Mitch. What about your band? Have you spoken with the label already?”

I finished my sandwich and wiped my mouth with a napkin. I got up and carried my plate to the sink, washing it, and putting it on the rack to dry.

“Mitch, what’s going on? You’ve been playing music since you were a boy. Why are you stepping away from it now?” Mom sounded worried.

“I’m not stepping away, Ma, but I can’t depend on that particular gravy train anymore. Jordan’s having a kid—”

“He and Maysie are having a baby? That’s wonderful news!” Mom cut in enthusiastically.

I smiled. “Yeah, it’s great for them, but it also means he doesn’t want to go on tour or spend days in a recording studio when he has a newborn at home. Not that I blame him or anything. I also have a feeling Garrett’s going to move up to Boston to be with his girlfriend. Things are changing and I needed to change with them or get run over.”

Mom looked thoughtful. “What does Sophie think of you getting this job? What are your plans?”

“Sophie and I broke up,” I said, returning to my seat at the kitchen table.

“My goodness, you sure like to do everything at once,” Mom commented, pursing her lips. “Though I can’t say that I’m surprised. There’s a reason you refused to bring her around to see your family. And when a man can’t introduce his lady to his mother, that says a lot.”

“I didn’t
refuse
to bring her over, Ma,” I protested.

“I met the girl twice, Mitch. Twice. You used to bring Gracie around all the time. Sophie seemed nice enough, she just wasn’t for you.” My mother got up and went over to stir the chili. “Does that mean you’ll bring Gracie over for dinner sometime soon? I miss that girl. She always loved my carrot cake. She has good taste.”

My mother was observant. Way too observant sometimes. She had the mother’s intuition thing down to a science. “What makes you think this has anything to do with Gracie?” I asked, more for my own amusement than anything else. There was no fooling Eileen Abrams.

Mom gave me a look that could only be described as a
bitch, please
. I covered my mouth with my fist and coughed to cover my laughter.

“I may be old, but I’m not stupid, child. Now get into the cabinet and find the chili flakes for your dear mother.”