Fix You (12 page)

Too many emotions were piling up on him. Relief. Shock. Confusion. The one thing he didn’t feel—which surprised the hell out of him—was regret. He’d expected boatloads of that to fall on him, but it wasn’t there. Now he didn’t think it was ever going to be there.

Good. As long as that was true, the rest could be worked out. Maybe.

He walked inside and listened for Zoey. He hadn’t told her he was even considering leaving the band. Talk about blindsiding her. She’d had enough shit going on without him piling on his life problems. No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could have initiated this conversation a thousand times in the last few months. He’d been avoiding it.

In addition to worrying about her not wanting him to stay, he was concerned she’d think he was doing it because of her cancer. How could he convince her he was doing this for him? For them? And not because she was sick.

He knew she’d fight him on it. Tell him he was making a mistake. Why wouldn’t she? He’d insisted for most of his adult life that being in a band was what he wanted. He’d stood up to his father and a whole slew of other naysayers who’d suggested he consider college or the military or, as the years passed and he got older, simply finding a
real
job. How could he tell her he’d changed his mind?

He walked into the kitchen, expecting to find her there. He’d called half an hour earlier to tell her he was on his way home and she’d said she would start dinner. The smell of something burning assaulted his senses. Walking to the stove, he pulled what appeared to be two pork chops off the burner. They were at least ten minutes overdone and black as charcoal on one side.

Rob grinned. Looked like they’d be ordering takeout. Again. Zoey was—hands down—the worst cook he’d ever met. Unfortunately that didn’t stop her from thinking she could make edible meals. He turned off the stove and carried the skillet to the sink. As he moved, he caught a glimpse of something red on the counter. Glancing down, he saw more on the floor. Blood.

Shit.

“Zoey?” he yelled from the kitchen door. “Zoey? Where are you?”

Silence met his call. Had she cut herself? Great. The chemo impacted her immune system. What if she got an infection? What if she’d lost too much blood and had passed out somewhere?

Confirming she wasn’t in the living room, he took the steps to the second floor two at a time.

He found her standing at the bathroom sink, a wad of tissues pressed to her nose. Rob sighed with relief. She’d suffered from nasty nosebleeds since receiving the very first treatment. It was one of the few side effects they could count on.

He walked into the bathroom. “You okay?”

She flashed him an angry look through the reflection in the mirror. “Do I look okay?”

Her face was pale and she’d pulled off her wig, revealing the small wisps of hair that insisted on growing despite the chemo. He knew the patches of hair annoyed her more than if she’d just gone completely bald. The hair grew in spots rather than covering her whole head. She commented once it was like her hair was taunting her. Reminding her of what she’d lost.

“You need to pinch the bridge a little bit more.”

She closed her eyes and he could see something in her face he’d rarely witnessed—true anger. “Thanks so much, Dr. Granger.”

Damn. She was beyond pissed off.

Rob wasn’t sure what to do. Zoey was rarely in a foul mood. “Did you have a bad day or something?”

She laughed mirthlessly, tossing the tissues in the toilet. Bending over the sink, she splashed water on her face, then grabbed a clean tissue when the bleeding persisted. “Gee, Rob. What would give you that fucking idea? I mean just because I’m standing over the sink in this god-awful bathroom with more blood on this tissue than in my whole body, you assume I’m having a shitty day?”

“It’ll stop soon, you know that. I was going to order some food for dinner. What do you feel like?”

“I’m making—” She stopped and turned toward the door. “Fuck. The pork chops.”

He held up a hand to stop her from rushing to the kitchen. “I took them off the stove. I’m afraid they’re not quite fit for human consumption.”

She released a frustrated sigh. “Great. What a fucking waste of money.”

Oh yeah. Again with the F word. This was going to be a fun night.

Then Rob remembered. “Hey. It’s Thursday. Shouldn’t you be over at Laura’s with the wine girls?”

She shook her head. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? You look forward to Thursdays.”

“Because I’m not in the mood to go over there and pretend like I’m happy. I can’t fucking drink because I feel like shit. I look like shit. I just want to be alone.” Her voice rose until it filled the bathroom with an almost shrill yell.

“Fine.” Rob tried to stay calm, but he’d had a pretty tough day himself and his tenuous hold on his temper was slipping. “We’ll order a pizza and watch TV or something.”

“I don’t want pizza.”

He took a deep breath. “We don’t have to get it then. You want subs? Chinese?”

She turned toward him, her eyes narrowed, flashing fire. “I don’t want anything except to be by myself. What part of
alone
don’t you understand?”

He snapped. He’d turned his world upside down today for this? Jesus. Maybe he could muster up some regret after all. “I understand alone perfectly. In fact, it sounds pretty fucking good to me too. If you’re not going out, maybe I will.”

“Great. Awesome. I wasn’t looking forward to another night of your annoying hovering anyway. Maybe now I can actually breathe.”

He rubbed his hands over his jeans, trying to understand that this wasn’t Zoey. She was tired, sick. He sucked in some much-needed air and tried to calm down. Her next question destroyed that attempt.

“In fact, shouldn’t you be going out on tour again soon?”

The question struck deep. “Yeah. I should, but stupidly, I thought you might need me here.”

“Need you? I
need
you? I’m not an invalid, Robbie. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah. I can see that. We’re lucky you didn’t burn the goddamn house down with those pork chops.”

“Sorry,” she said, her tone indicating she was anything but. “It’s just that when blood starts gushing out of your nose, your first instinct is to get something to cover it. Since you couldn’t remember to get paper towels at the grocery store—even though there were only six fucking things on the list—I had to come up here to find a tissue.”

He rolled his eyes, letting his own anger fly. Fuck this. Fuck her. “Oh right. My fault. Everything in this fucking shoebox townhouse is my goddamn fault. I’m surprised you haven’t found a way to blame me for the cancer, Zoey. You’re slipping.”

“You’re a fucking asshole!”

“And you’re a whiny bitch! I’m leaving.”

“Good riddance!” she yelled as he pounded down the stairs. Grabbing his keys from the side table, he walked outside, slamming the door behind him.

What the fuck was that?
Robbie slumped down on the front porch, his anger evaporating in seconds. He’d planned to come home, have a nice dinner and relax with Zoey on the couch as they discussed the future, not enter a screaming match with her.

He leaned to one side and rested his head against the porch railing. They’d never fought like that, never yelled or called each other such hateful names. No. That wasn’t true. They’d had one other fight, a knock-down, drag-out killer of a fight. It happened the night Zoey had told him she was moving in with Drake. He’d held his tongue about the abusive asshole for months, but that night, he’d lost it.

Two years earlier

“What the hell do you mean you’re moving out? You’ve only dated the guy a few months. Don’t you think this is going a bit too fast?” Rob put down his wineglass before he snapped the thin stem. Zoey seriously thought he was up for celebrating that she was moving in with Drake?

“Drake and I are working on making something of this relationship, Robbie. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

He ran an angry hand through his hair. “You think I’d be happy about you moving in with a controlling prick?”

“He’s not controlling.”

“Jesus, Zoey. Of course he is. How can you not see that?” Rob hated the subtle changes he’d seen in his best friend over the past four months. She’d stopped going out with her girlfriends and made slight changes to her wardrobe because Drake didn’t like for her to show too much skin. Hell, she’d even stopped eating fish because apparently the smell of it made Drake sick.

“You have absolutely no room to speak. You don’t even know how to be in a relationship. Admit it, you and Jessica aren’t dating. You’re fuck buddies. I want more than that. I want to get married one day. Have kids.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting that, Zoey. Just pick a better guy. Pick one who likes you for who you are instead of one who’s working overtime to change you into someone else.”

“Drake’s not changing me. He makes me happy, makes me laugh.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. That bastard wouldn’t know a joke if it bit him in the ass.”

She gave him a humorless snicker. “You’ve never liked any of my boyfriends.”

“That’s not true. There was that one guy…with the brown hair…”

She turned away from him, her shoulders stiff. “I think you just need to get to know Drake better. Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole every time he came around, he wouldn’t insist I…”

Her words died away and Rob knew she hadn’t meant to say so much. “Insist you what?”

She shook her head. The truth hit Rob like a punch to the gut. “He’s insisting you move out of here because of me, isn’t he?”

She looked at him once more, her eyes leery, sad. “It’s not easy for any guy to accept that his girlfriend is roommates with another man.”

His head exploded. “Bullshit! He’s a jealous shithead. Don’t you see? No matter how much you give up or change for this guy, it’s never going to be enough. Never.”

“You’re wrong. How dare you try to tell me how to live my life! Who do you think you are?”

“I thought I was your best friend. I thought I knew you, but I can see now, I’ve been living under the misapprehension that you actually had a fucking brain.”

“Fuck you! You can’t breeze in and out of this apartment, a few weeks here, a few weeks there, and pretend like you know what’s best for me. You have no idea what’s going on in my life most days. You come home from your concerts and expect me to roll out the red carpet, welcome you back with open arms and party it up until the next time you decide to disappear from the real world and take off on some fantasy tour.”

“I didn’t realize our living situation was putting such a strain on you.”

“Only the times when you’re here.” Her tone of voice couldn’t have been shittier if she’d tried. He shook his head, furious, hurt. This wasn’t Zoey speaking. He knew it. Her anger toward him had been fueled by her jealous, poisonous boyfriend. God only knew what nasty things he’d fed her that had turned her away from their friendship.

“That’s really funny, Zoey. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you and Drake are a match set. The asshole and the bitch.”

She closed her eyes and he sensed some of the anger leaving her. “I’m tired of living my life on pause. I’m over thirty and my clock is ticking. Drake has a good job and a nice house. He’s smart and reliable and he loves me.”

“You’re settling.”

Her gaze captured his. When had she become so distant, so cold? “No, I’m not.”

He could tell by her dismissive tone the argument was over. Whatever hold Drake had on her had been strong enough to do something he’d previously thought impossible. It had broken their friendship. He’d lost her.

But he hadn’t. Something he’d said must have resonated with her because Zoey decided to push a few buttons with Drake, to test the waters to see if Rob was right. She was back in the townhouse in less than a week. With a black eye and a wounded heart and pride that had taken months to heal.

Something had changed between them after that fight. It had been the first time in his life, he’d been forced to imagine a life without Zoey. He hadn’t liked the feeling. Shortly after she returned home, he and Jessica broke up and neither he nor Zoey had dated anyone since.

The pain he’d felt the day she packed her bag and moved out was nothing to how he felt now. How could he have been so cruel to her?

“That’s not a happy face.”

Rob glanced up to see Kristen standing before him on the sidewalk. She had a chunk of cheese and a bottle of wine in her hands.

Rob checked his watch. “Aren’t you a little late for happy hour?”

“I got stuck in the office. Big trial coming up in a couple of days and I needed to prepare. You know, it’s damn cold for spring. Why are you sitting out here?”

Until Kristen mentioned the weather, he hadn’t felt the chill. “Zoey needed some time alone. I was thinking about going down to the Brew Pub, but—” But he didn’t have the energy to move.

“Zoey’s not at Laura’s?”

He shook his head. “She’s not feeling so hot.”

Kristen narrowed her eyes, studying him too closely for his comfort. Of all Zoey’s friends, Kristen unnerved him the most. She and her partner were the best defense lawyers in town. As a result, she’d obviously seen the worst society had to offer. Rob suspected her talent as an attorney stemmed from her ability to look into a person’s soul, bypass all the bullshit and find the truth.