My Best Friend's Ex (Edited)

Part 15 (edited)

Just as I'm settling in to the sweet pickings of a guitar, the distinct voice of Zac Brown chimes in. I've known Colby for loving emo growing up, so his choice in a country song is very surprising to me, but when I look up at him, pure hometown country boy sitting across from me, it makes perfect sense.

And then the lyrics hit me. My Old Man. Zac sings about his father, hoping he's proud of the man he's become. I'm transported back to a dreary day in Blue Valley, where we grew up, when Sadie called me one Saturday morning. I was getting ready for the day. We were in middle school. Colby's dad was killed by a head-on collision. He'd only recently had started talking his father about more and became closer to him. Those next few days—and weeks—were a whirlwind of sorrow. Attending his funeral, my first ever funeral, seeing the look of devastation on Colby's face, wondering what he might be feeling, trying to channel his hurt, it was so much to take on as a teenager.

Glancing up, I take in Colby's expression. He's lost in the music, in the words, just like me. When the song ends, I lean over and place my hand on his; our eyes meet and there is an unspoken understanding between us. I don't have to say anything about his dad, about the tragedy he experienced so many years ago. We all felt his loss. It's all said between this silent exchange.

Clearing his throat, he asks, "What did you think?"

I take a moment to answer. "I think your taste in music has drastically changed. You actually impressed me with your selection."

"Yeah?" A slow smile spreads across his face. "Told you, DJ Hot Cock knows what he's doing." He looks down at his watch and cringes. "I have to get going. Think you can handle the dishes? I cook, you clean?" Good God, he eats fast. Shovels it right in there, doesn't he?

It's obvious he's trying to lighten the mood with his jokes, and I'll let him get away with it because there isn't enough time to get into why he chose that song, why he wanted to share it with me. "If I knew I was going to have to clean, I would have gotten up earlier to make you breakfast."

"Ha, yeah right. You barely dragged your carcass out of bed this morning. Nice try though, girly."

He stands from his chair and pockets his phone. "Off to classes today?"

"Yup, all day, then clinicals, then studying. That's my life."

"All right, have a good day."

"You, too. Thanks for breakfast."

He walks out to the kitchen to the side door that is attached to the driveway. In the distance, I hear him say, "You're welcome," but it's drowned out by the shutting of the door.

I look around the house and assess the space. The emptiness. It's . . . consuming. It really is a cute place, but the man needs to decorate terribly. I pick up our plates and mugs and do the dishes quickly before I head to the bathroom. I spend most of my time in my bedroom because honestly, it still feels weird staying in Colby's place. Maybe it's the bare palette on the walls or the echo of each step that reverberates when you walk around the place, or the sterile feeling I get when I step outside of my bedroom. It might be a while before it feels like home.

Maybe with my short time here, I can help Colby transform this shell of a place into a loving home for him. That is . . . if he will let me.

********************************************

"Hand me another slice."

I quickly take count of the slices in the pizza box. "You realize you've eaten over half this pizza, right? We were supposed to split it fifty-fifty."

A charming smile, those light green eyes, and scruffy hair. It's hard to stay mad at this man, or even pretend to be. Instead of waiting for me, Logan picks up his own piece of pizza and takes a large bite. While chewing, he replies, "You weren't going to eat it anyway, so why bitch about it?"

"Uh, leftovers."

He pauses for a brief second and then nods. "Oh right, I didn't think about leftovers." He holds out the pizza he just took a bite of and asks, "Want me to wrap it up in some foil for you tomorrow?"

"No." I giggle. "Finish it. But next time we get pizza, I'm taking one of your slices."

"Fair enough, but can we make it a small slice? This guy likes to fucking eat." Which is true and crazy at the same time because I've seen Logan with his shirt off and his muscles don't make it look like he loves to eat, more like workout.

"We'll just have to see." I lean back and assess the mess of my bedroom. Pizza box, soda cans, paper plates, studying materials, and Logan sitting on my bed. Yup, it's a typical night for me.