Desperate Chances
Page 73

“Uh, can we go inside for a minute?” I asked her, cutting off the Jeep’s engine.
Sophie looked surprised. “Why?” she asked.
“Because I need to talk to you, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit out here,” I had said testily. What was her big deal about letting me inside? It was weird.
“Um, sure. My dad isn’t home, so I guess it’s cool.” I followed her up the porch steps and waited as she unlocked the door. She flipped on the light and let me inside.
It was a normal house, nothing out of the ordinary. I half expected there to be taxidermy animals or mummified family members hanging around.
“The living room is through there. Just down the hallway,” Sophie instructed, pointing in the direction that I was expected to go. I went into the room that she had indicated and sat down on the plaid sofa.
The room smelled like tobacco smoke and air freshener. The furniture was shabby but clean. Her dad was obviously into fishing if the rods hanging on the wall were any indication.
“Here,” Sophie said, holding out a glass of water, even though I hadn’t asked for one.
“Thanks,” I had said, taking the drink. “Sophie, I think you and I need to talk— ” I had started to say.
“You’re breaking up with me,” she interrupted, taking a sip of water and appearing unbothered by the suggestion.
“Well, uh, I just think that you and I are really different—”
“Are we? How would you know that?” Sophie asked blandly.
This conversation wasn’t going well, but I had exected it.
But she had asked a really good question. How would I know that? I didn’t know much about her, except that she let me sleep with her when I was heartbroken and lonely.
Sophie leaned over and put her glass on the table. She faced me, her hands folded in her lap. “Mitch, I like you. I’ve always liked you. You’re hot. You’re sexy. You’re incredible in bed.”
“Uh, thanks,” I muttered, feeling self-conscious. Why was she listing my attributes? Where was she going with this?
“You’re in love with Gracie,” she finished, a pained smile on her face. “I knew that from the beginning.” She shook her head. “What kind of woman gets involved with someone whose heart belongs to another woman?”
“I’m so sorry, Soph. I’m an asshole,” I said, my head hanging low.
“Yeah, you are,” she agreed and I winced. I deserved that.
“But really, this is my fault. I thought I could give you time and you’d get over her. But she never. Went. Away!”
“Hold on a sec—” I started to say, but she cut me off.
“She was always around, talking to everyone like she belonged. Giving you those sad, I’m so tortured , eyes. Practically flaunting in my face that she had you first.” Sophie let out a growl of frustration. “You think I liked being the cuckold? Do you think I didn’t know that every time we were together, you wished I was her?”
“That’s not true, Sophie. I really did care about you. I wanted to be with you. You helped me get through a really tough time—”
“Give me a break, Mitch. Don’t come over to my house with your sob story and expect me to roll over and say ‘ I understand. You love her. I get it. Go have a happy life together.’ Fuck that!”
I recoiled in shock. I had never heard Sophie cuss before. But I had never seen her that angry either.
“I’m sorry—”
“Just get out, Mitch. Leave,” she said, her anger fading away.
Should I touch her? Give her a hug maybe? I’d never broken up with someone before. I didn’t know what to do. Should I have brought flowers or chocolates?
Shit, I should have taken the dick way out and done this via text.
“Okay, I’m leaving,” I said, getting to my feet. I turned to look at her before I left.
“You’ll find someone—”
“Ugh, Mitch, please don’t tell me I’ll find someone who loves me. Otherwise I’ll have to hit you. And I’d really like that right now.”
I scrambled off the porch, glad that her dad wasn’t there to chase after me with a shotgun or something.
Sophie stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.
I stood in her front yard for a minute, looking up at the girl that I had been with for over a year. It was sad how easily our relationship disintegrated. It only reinforced that it shouldn’t have ever started.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. It was the only thing I could say. Because it was true. Sophie Lanier was my collateral damage and I felt like shit because of it.
Sophie sighed and shook her head. “It hurts, Mitch.” I cringed, expecting that. Her face hardened, her mouth setting into an uncompromising line. “But you’re not breaking my heart or anything. You’re not that important to my life. I’ll survive. What you and I had wasn’t love. It wasn’t even passion. It was convenient,” she sneered, turning on her heel, and slamming the door behind her.
What she said didn’t sting. Not even a little. It probably should have. She had meant it to. But it didn’t, because she was right.
I had driven home and gone to bed, hoping the guilt would lessen by morning.
And it had. Somewhat. I worried about what kind of man that made me that I was able to end a year long relationship and feel so fucking neutral about it all. I felt the guilt but mostly I was relieved. I finally fixed a mistake that I should never have made.