On the Way Down

Chapter Four

Cool air hits my skin, reminding me I've left the refrigerator door open. The sudden chill smacks my brain awake and unravels the pretzel my tongue just became, thank God.

"Cute. Does that line work for you?"

I at least sound nonchalant over my heartbeat hammering in my ears. Phoenix's fingertips now rest against the side of my neck. Can he tell how fast my pulse is racing?

"You tell me. It's the first time I've used it."

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. His hand lingers where it is for another moment, his touch feather light, then he slowly draws it away. The idea that he finds this even remotely funny or entertaining is a match to dry tinder as far as my temper and irritation level go.

"Drinks are in the fridge if you want something. I saw one of those whiskey things you used to like so much."

My last sentence drips with sarcasm. I'm sure he knows why. Sobriety was not his strong point for several months before we broke up. He left a few empty bottles of the same whiskey drink on my living room table when he walked out and didn't come back.

Phoenix leans in and takes a water bottle from the shelf, brushing against me as he does. My instinct is to step back like I've gotten too close to an open flame.

"Water is fine. I don't drink anymore."

"That's probably good."

Ava would be proud of me for my passive-aggressive response if she was in the room to hear it. She was always the one to pull me together when the aftermath of Phoenix's benders tore me apart.

"It is." He twists the cap off the bottle, then pauses. "I'm completely sober now. Drugs, too. I've changed since those days."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Does he expect me to say he's forgiven, and it's all water under the bridge? Or that I'm proud of him for whatever epiphany he finally had to change his life, after the damage to so very many things was done? Neither of these would be true.

"Glad to hear it. I should go find Ava."

"Wait. Please."

I bite back a retort about how I did wait once, and that his time ran out years ago. It won't help, and heaven knows he and I have argued enough to last several lifetimes. So I fold my arms across my chest instead, lean back against the counter, and stay silent.

He continues. "I was horrible to you when I drank, and I was probably worse when I was high. I put you through hell, and I'm sorry—more than you'll ever know. There might not be anything I can say or do now that will make up for the things I did, but I'd like to try."

Those damn expressive eyes of his. He always had a way of melting my heart with a certain kind of stolen glance when we were together. It's the one he gives me now.

Don't fall for it. Not again. Remember how we got here.

There's a saying about how the opposite of love is indifference. My insides are twisted in knots, but I'll be damned if I come across as anything but indifferent to his apology and intent to make amends.

"Why?" I uncross my arms. "Anything we had has been dead and buried for a long time, and you did that. It's what you wanted."

"I did awful things to people I love during that time of my life, but I still care about you. I never stopped."

Stop. Back this train up. Something is still off. I stare at a spot on the wall for several seconds so I can summon the reason and courage to say what's on my mind.

"You didn't answer a single phone call or text from me after you left. It's been years since I've heard from you, so forgive me if I have a hard time believing you care about anyone but yourself."