I just wasn’t that girl.
I’m pretty sure my dad was relieved when I told him I wasn’t going to marry Perry. He seemed to relax, let go of a tension I didn’t even realize he was harboring in his shoulders and on his chest. He had just sat me down and said, “Lena, sweetheart, don’t be afraid to go after what you want. Life is too short to settle for something that truly doesn’t make you happy.”
As I glance at Mack in the soft light filtering in from the main living space, I’m torn once more between going after what I want and settling. What if I’m only comfortable with Mack now because we have a history? What if the reason we’re so in sync is because he’s known me longer than any other human presently in my life, my dad excluded?
Of course we’re comfortable.
We used to love each other.
I’m not sure I can figure out what to do with my life while I’m here, and yes, the thought of packing up and leaving Mack and Oliver behind makes me want to cry, but if I stay, I could be cutting us both short. I want the best for them, even if that’s not me.
So why do I feel as if my soul is being removed from my body and chopped into pieces with an axe?
I know what I have to do.
Reaching for my phone, I look up that agency I had found my first few days in Los Angeles. They come highly recommended in multiple forums and promise to find the right caring individual for anyone’s needs. Without scanning through the dozens of profiles posted, I go right to their inquiry page. With a deep breath, I fill in my contact information, requesting interviews within the next week. My heart pounds and tears prickle my eyes as my finger hovers over the submit button.
I know this is the right step.
So I click submit.
I shove my phone beneath the pillow and curl onto my side. The moment I’m settled, Mack is there, his arms wrapping around me as he brings me to his warm chest. The action makes the tears fall even harder.
How will I let him go?
I don’t know.
I just know I have to.
Chapter Sixteen
Mack
She’s different.
I can feel her pulling away.
It started on the way home from Portland Sunday night and has continued all week. By Friday, I can barely take it anymore. The moment I get home from today’s team meeting, I’m going to sit her down and try to figure out what’s going on. Even if it’s to tell me she’s out of here in ten days and doesn’t want to blur the lines between us any longer, at least that’s something. It’s just so damn hard to read her lately.
“Still on for Sunday?” Fish asks at the end of the meeting.
“Yep. Come over any time after one. We’ll get that car of yours running before the end of day,” I tell my best friend, grateful we’d been planning this afternoon in the garage for a few weeks. It’ll hopefully help me get my mind off the one woman who drives me absolutely insane.
In a good way.
“Lena gonna be there?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
I go ahead and throw a punch to his stomach. Not hard, but with enough force for him to feel for a bit.
“Damn, why’d you do that?” he huffs, bent over and sucking in oxygen. The few guys still milling around the conference room laugh.
“Serves you right.”
“I didn’t even say anything about her wanting my body!” Fish bellows before covering his nose before my fist meets it. “Okay, okay, Jesus. Stop being all sensitive and shit. Damn,” he grumbles, standing up straight and keeping just out of arm’s reach.
If anyone knows how to get a rise out of me, it’s Fish. He’s practically mastered it in our short three years of friendship. Three years, but it feels like forever. He’s the one I leaned and counted on when I moved here and lost Lena.
When everyone leaves the room, after a few side-eyes to make sure I wasn’t about to fight my friend, I lean back against the chair. “Big plans tonight?”
He stands up straight and mirrors my relaxed stance. “Chinese food and that Michael Jordan documentary.”
“I hear it’s good,” I add.
“I’d invite you to come over and watch it with me, but you’ll be balls deep in Lena before I even get my sweet and sour chicken open.”
I snort at my friend. “Probably not.”
He gives me a look, reading me like an open book. “Trouble in paradise?”
I exhale and run my hand through my hair. “I’m not sure, man.” Then I swallow over the thickness in my throat and add, “She’s leaving in ten days.” The words make me want to vomit.
“Don’t let her leave, dude.”
Exasperated, I reply, “I can’t exactly force her to stay, Fish.”
His eyes brighten with something I know I’m not going to like. “Well, you could. I bet she’d look fucking amazing tied to your—”
I launch myself at him before he can even finish the sentence. Fish might be taller than me, but I have him in strength and flexibility. That’s why it’s easy for me to catch him off guard and knock his ass to the floor.
Fish gets me in a headlock as I twist him around like a pretzel. “Dammit!” he hollers, trying to fight against me, but failing.
“Stop saying stupid stuff and you won’t get your ass kicked,” I warn, no real bite in my words.
“Stop being so dramatic and go get your girl, Cruz,” he huffs.
Suddenly, we both just stop and flop back on the floor, breathing hard. “You’re getting soft in your old age,” I tease, my hand instinctively going to protect my groin.
“Fuck you, man. I’m a lean, mean, chick magnet machine.”
I roll to the
