Gavin and Roxanne ✔️

SIX

⚠️ SEXUAL CONTENT WARNING: Toward the end of this chapter, things get pretty hot and heavy! If that's not for you, you might skip Chapters 6 and 7. ⚠️

Now Roxanne takes a turn listening.

I give her almost my whole life's story – my family, my childhood, Duke, and of course the detailed version of my history with Tierney. Even though I didn't experience betrayal and heartbreak to the extent that she did, her expression as I tell my tale lets me know she truly understands. She gets it.

Roxanne's tears may have stopped, but by the time my story finishes, I'm the one bawling. It's the first time I've had a good cry since the breakup – the first time I've allowed myself to grieve what I lost.

She lays her head on my shoulder and hugs my midsection again, not saying a thing. She doesn't need to. Her warmth and soft touch are enough to tell me she's feeling my pain in the way only someone can who's been through the same thing. And in that way, she's unique in my circle of friends and family. Jeremy has been a tremendous support, but he's in a stable, loving relationship; he's endured breakups before, of course, but they're ancient history to him. I've talked to my dad about it, but he's one of those stoic, 'real men don't show their emotions' kind of guys, and he's still processing his own grief – we lost my mom to ovarian cancer last year. My older brother Sean is in a similar place; Mom's death was especially hard on him, and he and I were never that close to begin with. Everyone else in my life thinks I've merely been under the weather.

"She's a damn fool for letting you go," Roxanne says, her husky voice breaking the tender silence. "A sweet, kind, good-looking young man like you? She didn't know how good she had it. There's someone better out there for you. I'm sure of it."

I'm hardly sure of it myself, but I appreciate the sentiment.

"Well, I think your ex is the real fool," I say. "And that's being kind. I really hope our paths don't cross someday." I'm not the kind of guy who solves his problems with violence, and I dislike that stereotype. But there's something about Brian and the way he treated someone who stood by him for thirty years that makes me understand why some men think that way. That jerk. That asshole. That piece of shit. Just thinking about him gets my rage simmering again.

"No need to worry about that," Roxanne says, her expression flat. "He moved to San Antonio right after the divorce."

To be with Lindsey. Because of course he did.

By now Roxanne seems eager to move on from the agonizing topic at hand. "As lovely as it's been, I suppose I really should be on my way," she says, her words fuzzy but not quite slurring. "I don't want to keep you up all night." She takes her handbag from the dining table and rises to her feet.

But as soon as she's standing, Roxanne's body starts to sway – so much for holding her liquor well. She reaches for the table in an attempt to regain her balance. I stand up myself, placing my hands on her waist to steady her. She leans into me for some additional support, and her forehead comes to rest against mine. Her scents envelop me – grapefruit, tropical flowers, alcohol – and I'm overcome with the urge to kiss her. It takes some serious restraint to fight it back.

Now aware of just how tipsy she is, Roxanne lets out a piercing laugh. "Well, then. I'm not driving myself anywhere tonight, am I?"

"I sure hope not," I respond with my own nervous chuckle. I've had enough to drink myself that, even if I had a car, I'd be in no condition to drive her. "Why don't I call you an Uber?"

Roxanne backs up a step, separating our foreheads, and looks at me with the saddest eyes I've seen that didn't belong to a dog. Seriously, she reminds me of Duke after I caught him shredding one of my percussion parts. Messiaen, I think – it wasn't easily replaced. That was a fun one to explain to the orchestra librarian.