What He Really Feels (He Feels Trilogy) (4 page)

“What the fuck?”

“Just kidding. I am tired. Really tired.”

“Go to bed.”

She ignored me. “I just talked to Mom. Are you okay?”

God, the last thing I needed was my older sister’s sympathy. The bigger problem was that her best friend was Jules’s older sister, Jamie. Thank God Jamie was days away from delivering her second
kid, or I’m sure Liz would’ve had additional sisterly details to share with me. Details I didn’t want to know about. 

“I'm dealing.”

“You’re dealing by running away. Is that smart?”

“Fuck smart. I thought I was being smart, and it got me here.”

“Oh, Trav. I’m sorry you’re hurting. I talked to Jamie.”

Fuck. I had spoken too soon.

She was waiting for me to respond. “And what did Jamie have to say?” I didn’t want to know, but I knew my sister wanted me to know.

“She said Jules was torn up over what to do. She didn’t want to hurt you.” Her voice was soft and soothing, and I had the sudden image of her rocking one of my nephews on her lap while she talked to me.

“Well, mission not accomplished.”

“Think about it from her shoes.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Travis, she loved two men. She was torn, and she did what she had to do. There had to be one winner in that situation.”

“And one loser. You’re not helping me feel better.”

“I think there was more than one loser.”

“Can I get back to what I was doing now?”

“I’m not done talking.”

I sighed, frustrated, as I drummed my fingers on the countertop in front of me. I figured she wasn’t done, but I wasn’t in the mood for this conversation. I was pretty sure I’d never be in the mood for this conversation. “Fine. Finish up. I’ve got shit to do.”

“She may be back with Nick, but you can’t just leave your life here behind.”

“Watch me.”

“What about the boys?”

She was hitting where she knew it would hurt me. “Liz, it’s manipulative of you to try to get me to stay by using your children.”

“I’m not using them. I’m thinking about how much they’re going to miss you.”

“I’ll visit. They’ll visit. They’ll love the beach.”

“Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”

“No.”

“I love you.” She never said that to me. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. We were more into sparring and joking than into hugs and declarations of love.

“Thanks, Liz. I love you, too.” And in that moment, I felt a swell of love for my family and the unwavering, unconditional support they showed me.

“Talk to her before you leave.”

“We’ll see.”

“Just think about it.”

“I will think about it. For you. And the boys.”

“Get back to whatever you were doing.”

“Thanks for your condescending bossiness.”

“Thanks for being my douche bag little brother.”

I chuckled as I ended the call, one thought sticking in my mind from our conversation.

My sister had told me to talk to Jules before I left. I didn’t think I could face her. Seeing her silky blonde hair and her bright blue eyes and her perfect body and knowing that I could never have her would kill me. I needed to somehow get the hell out of town without seeing her again.

But there was one person who I did want to talk to before I left.

I checked my personal email before work the next morning, and I had a new email from my sister:

Travis,

I’m here for you if you need me, and I’m sorry for what you’re going through.

I saw the attached picture on the someecards.com website and thought of you.

Have a great day little bro,

Liz

I opened the attachment and found a sketch of a doctor talking to a patient with the quote, “Seems like you have a case of being a little bitch. I’m prescribing you a heavy dose of man the fuck up.”

What a bitch.

But it did get a laugh out of me. It felt good to start the day with a laugh instead of with the gut-wrenching hole in my chest that used to be my heart. That was dramatic, but it was also accurate.

I scrolled through the someecards.com website and found a good one to reply to her with: “You should stop worrying about your weight and start worrying about your boring personality.”

I poured myself into my projects at work. My plan was to finish out the week and do as much as I could before handing shit off to my colleagues, and then I’d pack up the U-Haul over the weekend and head out to San Diego sometime Sunday afternoon.

My days were fairly
routine. Throw myself into work, stay late, go home, pack a box or two, try to get some sleep, toss and turn and maybe fall asleep the hour or two before my alarm clock was set to go off, and then get up and repeat.

Wednesday started a little differently. Despite Sunday’s vow that I would never drink again, I partook in a few beverages on Tuesday night, thinking that maybe it would help me sleep. It hadn’t, but I did manage to fall asleep at 5:30 in the morning and sleep through my alarm that went off at 7:15. When I opened my eyes, it was 9:03. I was supposed to be at work at 8:30.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

I hopped out of bed and skipped the shower, running some water through my hair and brushing my teeth. I looked like shit and I knew it. But I had looked like shit for the past week, and it wouldn’t get better until I got away. There were too many reminders of Jules everywhere I went. I passed the neighborhood where we grew up on my way to the office. I passed her office on my way to work. I knew she was in there; I saw her car in the parking lot, and I felt angry. It wasn’t healthy to surround myself with the very things that were making me miserable.

You know how one minor event can ruin the whole day? That happened at lunch on Wednesday.

I kept shit in the fridge in the break room to make sandwiches when I didn’t have the time (or the energy) to go out to lunch. I pulled out two pieces of bread, found my ham and cheese, and grabbed a knife out of the drawer. I opened the fridge again to get the mayo out, and it wasn’t there.

The place where I kept my mayonnaise was empty.

Fucking.
Empty.

I glanced around the fridge, thinking that somebody moved it on accident.

But there was no mayo anywhere in that fridge.

In the back of my mind, I knew it was just mayonnaise, but it was enough to push me over the fucking edge.

“What the mother fuck?” I muttered.

Casey, our smoking hot receptionist, had snuck up behind me. “What’s wrong?”

I jumped at her voice. “My fucking mayo. That’s what’s wrong.”

She stared at me in confusion. I was a professional (most of the time) at work, and I think it shocked her that I dropped an F bomb in the break room.

“What about the mayo, Travis?”

“It’s gone.”

She looked nervous, like she didn’t know what my next move would be. “Want me to go out and get you some?”

“No, Casey. I want it to be in the refrigerator where I left it.”

“I’m sorry it’s not there. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. But there’s something I can do.”

I abandoned my sandwich without mayo, leaving it on the counter. I had enough messes going on in my life, and today I was going to clean up one of those messes.

Since I got in late, I felt bad leaving early, but I did it anyway. I finished a major project I had been working on with renewed energy, knowing that I was going to set one thing in my life straight.

I was starving as fuck, having skipped lunch and returned to my office after the mayo incident. If I couldn’t have a sandwich with some goddamn mayo, I didn’t want to eat.

I got in my car at 4:45 and headed over to the building that housed the McMillan office. I silently prayed that I wouldn’t run into her, but I wouldn’t blame God if he didn’t want to answer my prayers. I hadn’t exactly been a good boy lately.

I walked through the front to the elevators and pressed the button for the seventeenth floor. I glanced at myself in the mirrored doors as they closed. Jesus. I really looked like shit. My beard had filled in because I’d been too lazy to shave it, and my eyes were red from a week’s lack of sleep. I missed my good friend sleep, but I wasn’t sure how to mend that friendship, either. Hot mess, just like Brooke said.

My heart started beating wildly in my chest with the knowledge that she was in the same space as me, but I
wouldn’t let myself think about her. I had a mission to accomplish.

The receptionist up front greeted me, and my mind registered that she was hot, but I couldn’t focus on that. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Nick Matthews.”

“Your name?”

“Travis Miller.”

She pressed a few buttons on her phone and said, “Travis Miller here to see you.” She listened to his response, and then she looked at me. “Take a seat. He’ll be right out.”

I sat for exactly three minutes, drumming my fingers nervously on the arm of the chair, and then he appeared before me. We were quite the contrast; he was composed and cool where I was wildly abandoned and totally agitated.

“Travis,” Nick said.

I glared up at him.

“Come on back.”

I followed him to his office. He shut the door behind us.

“Take a seat,” he offered.

“No thanks,” I said. “This won’t take long.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Are you two back together?” I knew the answer, but I needed him to confirm it for me.

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yes.” I appreciated his honesty.

“Did she tell you everything?” I glanced around his office, not really seeing much of anything, nervous for what I was about to do. I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to talk to him, but I did. And I wanted him to know everything that had happened between Jules and me. I had a nagging suspicion that she had left out some of the details, and I felt like the fairest thing to do would be to make sure he knew everything before he went any further with her.

Maybe it was my way of exacting revenge. In hindsight, I’m positive that’s what it was, but at the time, it was me striking out to hurt her because she had hurt me.

It was self-preservation.

“What do you mean?”

“Did Jules tell you what happened between us after you dumped her?”

“She told me that you had gotten together.”

“Did she tell you I fucked her?”

He looked like I had punched him. His shoulders visibly tensed, and a sudden anxiety worked its way over his face.

Composed and cool no longer, he stared at me.

Clearly she had left out that little detail.

“What did you just say?” His voice was sharp as he ran a hand through his hair. He looked pretty fucking pissed. In fact, he looked like he wanted to kick my ass. And you know what? I kind of wanted him to try. I kind of wanted to fuck up that pretty face of his.

“I fucked Julianne. When you broke her heart, she turned to me. And I know her well enough to know that she would’ve avoided that detail to protect your feelings.”

There was a knock at the door while he processed my words. He continued staring at me, his gaze hateful and intense, and then he opened the door.

My prayer had been denied.

There stood Julianne in all of her gorgeous glory. My body immediately responded to her presence.

She was it for me. And I wasn’t sure how I would ever get over this tragic turn of events.

Her face paled as she looked first at loverboy and then at me.

“Travis came here to talk to me,” he said to her by way of explanation.

“Hi, Travis,” she said, coming toward me to hug me. I backed out of her reach. Fuck that. If I let her touch me, if I touched her, I would never recover. I had to get out of there.

“Don’t, Julianne. I’m not here for your pity. I came to talk to Nick, not you.” I wanted it to feel good to strike out at her, but it didn’t. It just hurt my heart even more.

When she heard me call her “Julianne” instead of “Jules,” she knew I was serious.

Tears filled her eyes, but I refused to give into my need to comfort a crying woman, most of all when it was Jules. “Travis, I am sorry for hurting you. I want you to be my friend again more than anything.”

Her friend. I would never be anything more than her friend, and in that moment, I knew that to be an incontrovertible truth.

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m
outta here.”

I had said my piece to Nick, and I was done. I headed toward the reception area and then opened the door and let it slam shut behind me. I got in my car and went straight home. I was starving after my little mayo fit at lunch. I stared into my refrigerator and realized that I had very little left. Only the staples, really; the things I always kept in my fridge: a gallon of milk, some American cheese, Dr. Pepper, and beer. I munched on a slice of cheese as I poured a bowl of
Cap’n Crunch. I ate my cereal quickly and then cracked open a can of beer. I had fifteen cans and four bottles left in my fridge, and I wasn’t going to pack beer for my move to San Diego. So I got started on finishing what was left in my fridge. I had four days to clean the place out, and I suddenly wondered if nineteen beers would be enough to get me through the next four days.