Maeve
Eight days.
Eight fucking days.
Eight long and painful days of Rhys showing up at my cafe.
He comes in, usually just before noon and orders a coffee.
He doesn't try to talk to me anymore. I guess he learned after four days of dead silence from me that I wasn't going to budge.
Everyday he comes strolling in. Simply orders a coffee, gives me a nod of his head and whispers,
"I'm sorry, Nova."
Every. Fucking. Day.
I've heard those three words for eight days.
Feels like a fucking lifetime at this point.
At least he hasn't shown up at the diner.
Five year old me would be so fucking confused on why we hate Rhys.
Why we dread his face. His voice. Him.
But five year old me didn't know what heartbreak was. Didn't know what loneliness was to no repair.
But seventeen years later, I've felt it all.
To think I used to love him and gave him everything I could offer.
I was so fucking pathetic.
Who the fuck does that? Idiots, apparently.
So that is why I've decided to go to a bar.
And get fucking wasted.
Liam is with our dad tonight because he practically begged me to see the fucker, apparently not seeing him for over a week was too long.
How bout' never?
Ava shuffles beside me, grabbing some fancy ass margarita before taking a long sip, adjusting her hearing aids when the song hits a weird note, making her flinch.
"Is there any particular reason we're here and not at home reading a book?"
I roll my eyes at her. "You're fetish for 6,5 billionaires who would burn down the world for his girl can wait one night."
She takes another sip before pouting. "Urgh. I hate you. You know I can't be away from them that long."
I wave my hand over the crowded bar. "How about instead of feasting over fictional men, you try and find a real one?"
She freezes. "No. I'm not looking to do...that again."
When I met Ava two years ago, she had just gotten out of a relationship with some fucker who played hockey in Alberta.
I've never met the dude and he should be thankful because once I do, I'm messing him up like he did with Ava.
He stops by every so often when he's in town, begging for her forgiveness but every single time, I've been at work.
"You should try. I know it's hard but you might regret it when you're older."
I try to come off gentle but she still winces and shakes her head.
"No, Maeve. I just can't."
I nod, giving her hand a squeeze before a loud holler forces me to look to my right where I see Rhys and his team.
"Well, do you think you can keep me company while I go say hello to my favourite hockey team?"
She perks up slightly, gazing over my head to look at the large group.
"Sure." It's barely a whisper and I just wish I could gain her confidence back.
"Beckett." I give a curt nod to Rhys, his smile turning into an ear to ear grin.
"Leigh-Foster." God, I hate my last name as much as he hates his.
I flip him off.
He just rubs my head like a fucking child before I swat his hand away.
"Ava?" Cam blinks in surprise when he sees her standing behind me, a quiet squeak coming from her.
"Hi, Cam."
Now it's my turn to blink as I look between them. "How do you two know each other?"
"I tutor him." Ava tells me.
Cam wraps an arm around her. "That's right. She helped me pass my Econ quiz."
Ava blushes when he meets her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she looks down at her feet.
"That was all you." She tells him, blushing again.
Maybe I don't need to help her build her confidence. She's got a shit load of confidence standing right in front of her.
I give her a knowing nudge, which earns me a scowl before Cam offers to buy her drink.
I take the empty seat beside Mike in the booth, choosing to ignore the empty one beside Rhys.
"Mike? Or do you prefer Mikey? Micheal?"
Mike snorts beside me. "Mike is fine."
"Are you sure? I think I would love to call you Mikey."
Is my voice slurring?
Nah.
"How drunk are you, Nova?"
I huff at the nickname, narrowing my eyes on Rhys.
"I think I'm...five beers in?" I hold up seven fingers.
Rhys looks concerned. "Maybe I should take you home."
"Why? So you can leave me all over again?"
He flinches as if I slapped him. Good.
"I'm not going anywhere with you." I point my finger at him before stomping over to the bar, throwing back a shot of vile stuff.
A hand grazes my shoulder. "Don't fucking touch me, Rhys."
"But I love touching you." His voice trickles into my ear.
I tilt my head at him, fog clouding my brain.
The world spins but Rhys stands still in front of me. He stands tall and clear even though I want him gone.
My feet trip over each other and I end up falling right into his chest.
And I don't even try and push myself away.
I mold right into him just like how I used to. And he just wraps his arms around me.
"Do you know I planned a funeral for you?" It's barely a slurred whisper in the air but he hears it clearly as he freezes under me.
"God, Maeve. I'm so fucking sorry."
The lights are too bright and the music is too loud but part of me is happy. Happier than I've felt in a long time.
So I let myself be happy. Just for tonight.
Because he's here.
I bury myself into the warm crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. His arms are still wrapped around my waist which I'm fucking glad they are because I'm pretty sure I would have fallen on my ass by now.
I let out a small giggle.
A. Giggle.
Is this is what I've been reduced to?
Giggling?
He pulls back, his eyebrows drawn into a V, cupping my cheeks with his big, strong hands.
If only they could inch lower.
"I hate you so much." I spit, suddenly sober.
I smack his chest, fire building inside. I'm shaking, pounding his chest with my fists like a toddler.
He doesn't try to stop me and I think that's worse. He just takes my hits with sad look on his face, his lips that are usually turned up now pulled into a fine line.
"I hate you. I hate you. I fucking hate you!"
I'm shouting towards the end of it but only he can hear me.
Like always.
I quickly send a text to Ava saying I'm going home and slap down what I owe on the bar table, stumbling through the bar until I'm out on the street.
I feel nauseous and wobbly even in sneakers, and I'm suddenly glad I opted for jeans and a top over a dress.
"Maeve! You can't walk through the skids this late at night."
I flip him off over my shoulder.
"Watch me!"
I hear heavy footsteps and then Rhys is right beside me, suddenly towering over me with distress.
"Let me walk you home."
He's grasping at straws but I'm too drunk to give a shit.
"I don't want to talk to you." I argue.
He wipes his hand through his hair, glancing behind us.
"You're so beautiful, you know that?" I run my finger over his full lips.
"Please, let me walk you home. I won't even talk. I can walk ten feet behind you if you want. You wont even know I'm here."
He sounds so desperate. So broken.
And I won't be the one to stitch him back up.
No. I already did that.
And when he left?
He left and never helped me thread the needle.