Page 6 of Lucky Break
“Thanks for stopping by tonight.” I shove my hands into my back pockets and rock back on my heels. I’m sure she’s only here because it’s my birthday; it’s not the kind of club she and her friends would frequent otherwise. Still, it means a lot, and I want her to know I’m grateful. “You missed my first set, but I go back on in another fifteen.”
Her eyes hold mine, her stare intense. Her mouth parts, then closes, before she finally blurts, “I think we should break up.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t see how this gets better. We used to be fun. But we’ve run our course, Callum. All we do is fight. And I’m tired of making up. We both want different things.”
“Okay.” My brows knit as I try to work out what comes next. Disappointment fills my chest, but also relief. That I don’t have to keep trying to fix something that feels broken. That I don’t have to feel guilt every time I leave her to play a gig. I think both of us have been too stubborn and too comfortable to end this. For the first time in weeks, I breathe a little easier. “How do you want to do this? Are you getting a new place or should I come get my things?”
Celeste tips her chin up and crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s it?” she scoffs, her head shaking. “So typical.”
Irritation surges through my chest. Confusion too. “You just said you want to break up.”
“I expected you to fight me on it.”
My shoulders sag and a tiredness settles over me. I’m done with these games. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to act like you fucking care!”
Her words reverberate and ricochet around my heart. She doesn’t think I care? Really? I would go to the ends of the earth for this woman. I fell in love the first time I laid eyes on her. I’ve poured my heart out to her. I’ve written songs about my love and devotion. We share an apartment. A life. Our dreams for the future. At least, we used to. “You don’t think I care?”
Celeste rolls her eyes before narrowing them my direction. “When was the last time you took me out? Spent a weekend together?”
“You know I have to work.”
“Every fucking weekend?”
“Yeah, love.” How the fuck else would we make rent? “Every. Fucking. Weekend.”
“That’s what I thought.” There’s a smugness in her tone that I cannot ignore. She looks down at me, teetering in a pair of ridiculous heels that I know I’ve never seen before.
“Those new shoes?”
“Yes.” Her words are clipped. “Thanks for noticing.” The accusation that I haven’t been paying attention—to her, to her clothes, to her life—is clear. Maybe I get in my own head too much. I’m not much of a partier. I don’t care what she wears, or how she looks, I never did. I was attracted to the girl new to LA, with big dreams like mine. Only, she’s changed. I get it. So many people do. This city does that to people. I just never thought it would change us. The realization that we’ve outgrown each other hits me square in the chest.
I bite back the urge to ask her how much her shoes cost and make the argument I wouldn’t have to work so much if she spent a little less. Because it’s pointless. It’s not about the money, it’s about how unaligned our values have become.
“Celeste, I don’t want to fight. I think we’ve done enough of that. You’re right. Things aren’t good between us, and we both deserve a relationship that brings joy, not distress. It’s time to move on.”
“I wish things were different,” she says softly.
“Aye.” I wish that too.
“You don’t hate me?” She bites at her lip and picks at her cuticles. One of her nervous habits.
“I could never. I wish you nothing but the best.”
“I’ll stay at Andrea’s this week. I already packed a bag.” She glances down at the dirty sidewalk. “Let me know when you’ve found a place so I can come back to the apartment.”
“Okay.” I swallow hard.
She glances over my shoulder and nods up the street where her friends wait at the curb next to a vehicle. She steps into my personal space, the closest we’ve been all night, and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. “Bye, Callum.”
She’s not just saying goodnight. This is goodbye. I’m not sad about breaking up. I’m sad for the finality of it all. For the loss of what could have been. We’d spent two years weaving our lives together and building a future, at least I’d thought so. Watching her walk away, a somber mood settles in my chest. I woke up this morning with a girlfriend, one I’d thought I’d marry someday. Now, I’m single, and apparently about to be homeless. Not the way I planned to spend my birthday.
A humorless chuckle rattles my chest. Fucking hell. I scrub a hand along the scruff of my jaw and start walking back to the bar. I’ve lived enough years to understand the end of this chapter is only a beginning to the next. I only wish I could skip to the good part.
6
