Don't Deny Me Read online

  How could she not know that?

  Mick flipped open his phone and dialed her number. He was going to lay it all out to her, right there in the kosher foods aisle. He did think about her, he did want to see her, and he did love her. Okay, so it wasn’t easy for him to say things. Most guys were like that, weren’t they? Did she have to expect so much from him?

  Angrily, Mick listened to the ringing of his unanswered call, but hung up before it went to voice mail. He wasn’t about to leave her a message that she could ignore and not answer just to get back at him. That shit wasn’t right, he told himself as he pushed his cart, filling it with stuff he barely paid attention to. Playing games.

  Fuck that. He wasn’t going to call her again. No matter how much he wanted to talk to her, or see her. Let her come to him, Mick thought bitterly.

  Let her wait.

  * * *

  Alice waited a week before she deleted his name from her instant message list. It had killed her to see him come online every night, same time as always, but never ping her. So had the silence of her phone. But she’d meant what she’d said. No matter how quickly the words had slipped from her lips, they’d been sincere.

  Call me when you have time for me.

  No call. Therefore, no time. It stung, first like a slap and then every day after that with the slow, dull throb and ache of a muscle-deep bruise that refused to heal.

  Another week passed. A third. She gave up believing he’d call her, but not hoping.

  She didn’t speak of it to Jay, who asked only once or twice before wisely choosing to change the subject. Things with him and Paul had been patched up. Jay was happy about it, and if Alice didn’t quite believe Paul wouldn’t end up breaking her friend’s heart, she knew better than to taint him with her own bitterness about her situation.

  Wendy hadn’t been quite so understanding.

  “Men,” she said flatly, “are assholes. Why are they such assholes?”

  Alice picked at her salad. No appetite. At least she wasn’t eating her feelings.

  “Hey. Don’t let him do this to you.” Wendy rapped a fingertip on the table to get Alice to look at her.

  Alice shrugged. “He didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t let him do. Things happen. Sometimes the things that burn the brightest also die the fastest.”

  “He said he loved you ‘on some level,’” her sister said with a sneer. “That’s just gross.”

  Her sister’s affront on her behalf made her want to cry. “I don’t know. I guess I’d rather he said that than lied to me about how he felt.”

  “He’s scared.”

  “That’s just what we always say about men when they don’t give us what we want,” Alice said. “It’s a nice way of making ourselves feel superior, or something.”

  “Okay, so he wasn’t scared, he was just a dick!” Wendy said.

  Alice dragged her fork through the pile of unappetizing lettuce and gave her sister a small smile. “I’m trying to be philosophical here, and the best you can come up with is that he’s a dick?”

  “A giant one.” Wendy nodded. “Riddled with oozing sores. No, not a big one. A tiny, teeny weeny blister-covered prick!”

  Alice snorted laughter. After a second or so, the giggles turned to chuckles, and then to guffaws. In another minute, she and Wendy were laughing hard enough to send tears rolling down their cheeks … and then she was crying. Sobbing. Alice buried her face in her hands.

  She hadn’t cried at all this entire time, but now the gasping sobs rose up and choked her. The tears seared her, burning. Everything tasted of salt and sorrow, and Alice pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop herself from crying but could not.

  “Thank God you came here for lunch instead of Olive Garden,” she heard Wendy say, and lost it all over again.

  She cried long enough to soak the tablecloth in front of her, and her sister handed her tissue after tissue until finally, Alice was able to stop. Her eyes had swollen so much her sister was nothing more than a blurry lump. Her nose, a running faucet. Even her tongue felt cracked and sore.

  Wendy handed her a wet cloth from the sink and squeezed her shoulder gently. “Feel better?”

  “No.” Alice shook her head as she wiped her face with the cloth. Another surge of tears threatened, like waves of sickness, but she pressed the cool cloth to her face and managed to keep it under control. “I fucked up, Wendy. So much.”

  “Shh, hey,” her sister said. “He fucked up. Not you. Even if you did, I mean, we all do, he still should call you. You told him to when he had some time, and he hasn’t. That’s just a dick move.”

  Alice wiped her face and took the cloth away to look at her sister. “It’s playing games, and it’s stupid, but I’m doing it, too. So we’re both idiots.”

  “So … call him,” Wendy said.

  Alice gave her sister a long, hard look, until Wendy nodded with a sigh. “It’s a thing with him, Wendy. And it will probably always be a thing with him. So, the question is, can I deal with that thing? Or will it keep making me crazy?”

  “It will keep making you crazy.” Wendy shook her head.

  “So … I call him, he doesn’t call me back. Then I’m right back where we started. It sucks. It’s stupid. We’re both stubborn, we’re both assholes.” Alice shrugged helplessly, feeling the tears welling again. Hating herself for not being able to stop feeling so fucking sad. “But I told him to call me when he had time for me, and he hasn’t. Should I chase him?”

  “No. But do you want him to chase you?”

  Wendy had a point, one Alice had thought about a lot. “He doesn’t have to chase me. I’m right here. Right where I’ve always been. All he has to do is reach out, and here I am.”

  “I’m sorry.” Wendy reached to grab Alice’s hand for a squeeze. “It sucks all around.”

  “Yeah. It does.” Alice drew a deep breath and gave her sister a water-logged smile.

  “Hey, I know what would make this better. Soft serve from Peggy’s.” Wendy waggled her brows and grinned.

  The last thing in the world Alice wanted was ice cream, really, but her sister was trying to cheer her up.

  “By the time we get there,” Wendy said, “you’ll want some. I promise.”

  Face washed, positive attitude implemented, in her sister’s passenger seat, Alice turned the music up loud and rolled down the window to let the wind blow her hair. It was summer. She was with her sister. And ice cream really could make everything better.

  They were both laughing and singing along with the radio when the pickup truck ran the red light and rear-ended them.

  * * *

  He’d known there would be questions when he showed up to Sunday dinner without Alice, but all Mick said was that she hadn’t been able to make it. Jimmy and Jack didn’t give a shit, of course. Pop, God bless him, wouldn’t have noticed the Pope if he walked in. Mick’s mother gave him an extra-long hug and pat on the back and served him two portions of turkey before she’d even let Jack have a second. It was Mary who cornered him in the kitchen after dinner, when Mick was getting something down from the high cupboard for Ma.

  “What happened?”

  Mick set the platter on the table and gave his sister a shrug he knew damn well wouldn’t put her off for long. Mary, who could be a dog with a bone, gave him a sad look. Mick shrugged.

  His sister watched him, her arms crossed. She’d started looking so much like their mother it was scary, except that Ma was soft-spoken and never pried. Mary could take a lesson, Mick thought, and felt bad at once.

  “She was good for you,” Mary repeated. “What did you do?”

  Mick cracked open the bottle and took a long pull. He could escape into the living room and the TV with his dad, brothers, and nephews, but he stayed. Not sure why.

  “I didn’t call her back.”

  Mary groaned. “Oh. That. What is it with you? With most men, actually. It’s not brain surgery. Someone calls you, you call them back, why is it so hard