The Reason I Stay (36 page)

The life I chose for myself, the life I built and loved, is definitely gone. I’m back to the place that made me all the things I don’t want to be, and that cost me everything I wanted.

My head pounds and I close my eyes again, trying to escape this reality. In the middle of my shit-losing moment I hear a noise coming from the kitchen, alerting me that Fitz is here. I groan in frustration. Having a flatmate never annoyed me before, but right now, when I desperately need some alone time, it does. However, a second later the enticing smell of Three Grilled, my favorite grilled cheese sandwich and Fitz’s specialty, fills the room, and I thank the heavens for him being here.

Moved by hunger, I get up from the bed, and like a cartoon character I let my nose guide me out of my bedroom and into the open space that contains the living, dining and kitchen portions of the apartment. From the threshold leading into the space, I see Fitz at the stove.

Before I even say anything, he sees me, and in the traditional over-the-top Fitz fashion, he opens his arms wide and grins. “Darling, welcome back.”

The greeting creates an uncomfortable lump in my throat. I really don’t want to be welcomed back, since I viciously hate that I’m here. Still, seeing my best friend’s face again is nice. With the exception of his hair, which is slightly longer, causing dark curls to touch the tops of his ears, he hasn’t changed at all. He has the same round, bearded face, light gray eyes behind thick black glasses and casual attire I’ve seen since middle school.

I can’t help to smile. “It’s good to see you, sugar.”

He chuckles and blows me a kiss before turning his attention back to the stove, as I settle into one of the chairs at the breakfast bar.

“I call dibs on that Three Grilled. I’m starving.”

“I’m making two, so dibs aren’t necessary. But Caity will be happy to know you’re calling it on a sandwich, and not on my brain.” Fitz chuckles, and when I don’t, he stretches his tattoo-covered arms in front of him and grunts, “brains,” as if the joke needed further explanation.

Out of respect and consideration for the trouble he’s going to in making me breakfast, I refrain from rolling my eyes, and pull the corner of my lips in the most half-assed smile I’ve ever given anyone in my life, acknowledging the joke by lifting my chin. He narrows his eyes, but continues to laugh.

Out of curiosity, I ask, “Why did Caity think I’d turn into a zombie?”

He places the sandwiches onto plates. “You really don’t remember?”

“No. I remember driving and then waking up.”

He curses under his breath and places the plates in front of me, then returns to the kitchen to get the coffee. “Last night, Caity was here. We were watching a movie when you arrived. You looked like shit, man. You had dark circles under your eyes, a bird’s nest for hair, and you smelled like crap—actually, you still do. To make matters worse, as soon as you walked in, you face-planted on the floor and started hallucinating.

“I tried talking to you, but you just kept calling for Lexie, and babbling about supernovas and black holes. It scared her so bad she went home. After that I figured you were drunk, so I gave you some Advil and I dragged your ass to bed to sleep it off.”

For some reason, I feel a need to explain. “I wasn’t drunk.”

Fitz places a mug of coffee in front of me, and flops down in the seat beside me. “I figured. You stunk, but I didn’t smell booze.”

“How long have I been out?”

He takes a bite out of his sandwich. “Since around nine thrity p.m.”

I look at the microwave clock. It says
10:48 a.m
., which means I’ve been asleep for more than thirteen hours. It also means that it’s Monday, and that I should be working at the high school garden. I drop my head into my hands and sigh, as I try to think of a way to fix this mess I put myself in, but the only thing I can think is
fuck!

Fitz’s hand falls on my shoulder. “You’re the only person who comes back after a year-long vacation on a sunny beach and seems more stressed than when you left. Seriously, Matt, try to relax.”

I open my eyes, and look at him with my lips turned in a frown. “That wasn’t a vacation, Fitz. It was my life. I had a home, and a job, and a girl. I had friends, and pets. I was happy. It was an amazing life, and losing it has been fucking stressful.”

He cocks a brow and sighs. I look down at my plate and pick at my sandwich.

After a moment of awkward silence, a first for Fitz and me, he asks, “So it’s really over?”

Reluctantly, I nod. “Yeah. It’s really over.”

“Shit.”

I give him a forced smile, showing gratitude for his sympathy.

“Tell me what happened.”

I’ve never been one to talk about my problems, and though Fitz has always been my best friend, ours was never a friendship of deep conversations. Nevertheless, today I’m so anguished that I don’t wait a second after his request to start pouring my heart out.

I tell him about the fight and the breakup, and for the first few minutes of it Fitz nods and seems engaged in the conversation. Surprisingly, it makes me understand the appeal of talking, because this actually helps. But then, once his sandwich is gone and I move on to how broken and dead I feel, his eyes drift to the phone beside his coffee cup. At first it’s just a glance every couple of minutes, but in a matter of minutes his fingers join his eyes on the device’s screen, and that’s when his focus stops bouncing back to me altogether.

I must admit that in the past I’ve been guilty of getting distracted by my phone while talking to people, so Fitz’s actions shouldn’t piss me off so much. However, this situation is different. Even if we leave out the fact that I’m in such bad shape that he called me a freaking zombie, we’re best friends who haven’t seen each other in a year. Call me crazy and needy, but I think that qualifies as a good enough reason to keep your nose out of the fucking phone for half an hour. So yes, I’m angry and, quite frankly, hurt.

After fifteen minutes of basically talking to myself, I just stop mid-sentence. I keep my eyes on him, and count silently in my mind. It take’s Fitz exactly eleven seconds to realize I stopped talking.
Eleven motherfucking seconds
. When he finally looks at me, I see a fleeting glimpse of confusion, but being the king bullshitter I know him to be, he masks it with downcast brows, and the grim line of his lips.

“This fucking sucks, Matt. I know you really liked this chick.”

I stare at him with wide, shocked eyes as I wonder exactly what he thinks sucks, because he paid even less attention than I’d thought he did. In fact, he probably didn’t pay shit’s worth of attention to anything I’ve said in the past eight months, because if he had, he’d know that I don’t
like
Lexie. I haven’t in a long time.

To make matters even worse, he adds, “Not to be insensitive and shit, but you kind of ruined everyone’s vacation plans. We all had plane tickets and hotel reservations to go see you for your birthday and all. They were refundable, but still. You could have waited a week to call it quits.”

Despite his laughter at what I’m sure he believes to be a joke, I envision myself grabbing his overgrown hair and knocking his face on the table until his nose pops through the back of his head. Lucky for him, he gets up from the chair and walks to the living room before the shock dissipates, and I get a chance to turn that fantasy into reality.

I close and rub my eyes, trying to alleviate some of my anger. Although I make some progress on that front, by the time I hear him walking back, the silent mutiny still rages on inside my head.

“I’ve never thought this day would come, but here it is.”

The words, and what is sure to happen next, prompts me to open my eyes just in time to see Fitz slide back into his seat with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two shot glasses in his hands. This is the moment when I realize that everything about this morning was a big mistake.
I should have stayed in bed until he left for work.

He pours the whiskey into the glasses, pushes one toward me, and raises the other. I want to refuse the drink and the toast, but I can’t find my words.

When he speaks, I hear my own voice instead of his. “To my best friend Matt, and his first broken heart. May Jack Daniels cure you of this evil, and easy women help you forget why you needed a cure in the first place.”

For years that was my toast to Fitz, and every other friend who went through a break-up. I’ve always thought it was solid advice, and maybe, for my reality at the time, it was. However being on the receiving end of the toast, after learning how not to be an asshole, makes me realize what a monumental pile of horseshit it is to say to a grieving buddy, and that puts everything into perspective for me.

Although I want to be mad at Fitz and call him a shitty friend, I can’t, because I see that everything that is making me mad at him now—the lack of attention, the self-involvement, the stupid toast—are characteristics that we shared, and in a big way, the very things that ensured our friendship survival for so many years. He’s still the same funny, careless Fitz he always was, and he’s being the very best friend he knows how to be, for which I’m actually grateful. The problem is that I've changed. During my time in Jolene, I outgrew him.

With all of that in mind, I pick up the shot glass and bring it to my lips. I toast, and down the contents in one gulp. When I place the empty glass on the counter, Fitz smiles at me, drapes an arm around my shoulder, and gives me an awkward hug. “I have to go to the agency, but it’s really good to have you home, darling. I missed you.”

“I did too, sugar. Thanks for breakfast.”

He winks, pockets his phone, and walks toward the front door. Before leaving, he looks at me again. “We’re going out with Jeremy and Rico for dinner. I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

I smile, and shake my head. “I’ll pass. I’m still on Alabama time, and I have a bunch of shit to organize, but y’all have fun.”

Fitz crocks a brow at me. “Driving a truck, and saying y’all? The south really got you by the nuts, didn’t it?”

Even though that was my first time ever using the contraction, I chuckle, and shrug at the amount of truth in the statement. He waves a hand as he walks out the door.

As I look around my empty apartment that is not my home, I feel lonelier and more out of place in the world than I ever have before. Everything in me aches and misses Lexie and our life, but I know that I can’t go back. Leaving was the right thing for Lexie, and staying away, letting her heal from the pain I caused her so she can be happy, is the selfless thing to do. It may kill me, but I’ll do it.

Despite how tired and crappy I feel, I clean the dishes and take a shower because, as Fitz pointed out, I do in fact stink. The shower helps replenish my strength, but does nothing about the crappiness. That’s a lost cause, I think.

Clean and wearing sweats, I grab my phone and computer and walk to the living room to call Luke and Joshua, the two guys who work for me, to give them their instructions for the day. After all, Rosie Landscapes & Gardens now depends entirely on them. When I turn my phone on, I see eleven missed calls, all from Eric.

I call him back, and he answers after only one ring. “Matt?” I acknowledge that it’s me, and he curses under his breath. “Man, I’ve been worried sick. Where are you?
How
are you?”

For some reason, his worry makes me smile a little.

“I’m in Seattle, and feeling like three-day-old shit.” I clear my throat, and cross my fingers that what I’m about to ask won’t make him hang up the phone in my face. “How is she?”

He sighs. “Haven’t seen her yet. Tanie spent the weekend there, though, and said she’s a mess.”

The hole in my chest grows and pushes against the other parts of me, causing more pain than before. I want to curse or punch something, my own ass if at all possible, for continuing to cause Lexie pain, but I also don’t want to seem unhinged to Eric. So I hold my breath, pinch the bridge of my nose, and keep my crap together.

“You sound like a mess too.” I huff at the understatement as he continues. “Before I decide if I should hate you and get myself another best man, tell me what happened. And don’t bullshit me. If I’m gonna help ya outta this mess, you better be straight.”

I finally let out the breath I’m holding. Even though he can’t see me, I smile in relief and gratitude as I tell him every last detail of everything that happened. Like a true friend, he listens carefully and without judgment, he asks pertinent questions and, although there aren’t many, discusses possible solutions. It makes me feel a tiny bit better.