Loving a Man Who Forgot Me Novel Chapter 83
I dropped Abbi’s hand and looked over my shoulder at my brother.
Abbi cleared her throat again. “What’s up, Aid?”
“I wanted to talk to you both about something I need your help with.”
“What is it?” I turned to face him and leaned back against the counter.
“Ever since the accident, I’ve felt like I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what. I think I figured it out though.
I want to do some kind of benefit drive. I was researching it and there are a lot of foundations that deal with drunk driving.
They support victims and families as well as fund treatment centers and programs.
I want to raise money for one of them, and maybe tie it into a pledge at school.” He scratched at his head.
“Get kids to pledge not to drink and drive. I’d like to do it before the homecoming game, but that doesn’t leave me much time.
I know it’s not much, but it’s something.” He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pants pocket. Abbi gave him a proud smile. “I think it’s a great idea.” “Me too,” I said. “What do you need from us?”
“Well,” he looked to Abbi. “I was hoping you could help me pitch it to Headmaster Higgins, and be the faculty advisor or sponsor or whatever, and help me put it on.” “Absolutely,” she said without hesitation.
Then he shifted to me. “I was thinking it could maybe be a concert. I know you’re kind of taking a break or whatever from music, but—” “Dude, you don’t even have to ask. I’m in.
And you know Dad and the guys will be too. I can try to wrangle you a local up and comer or two if you want as well.” “Really?” His face lit up.
“You just tell me the night, and Dad and I will take care of it.” His excitement grew, and he and Abbi started tossing back and forth ideas while I watched and listened. How backwards was it that I found myself looking up to my little brother in that moment?
I pressed my head to the door. I couldn’t open it. Physically I could. All I had to do was twist the handle. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Couldn’t bring myself to go in there.
I turned the lock instead and walked away. The realtor could deal with it after I was out. There was nothing in there but some drop cloths and a few cans of paint anyway. At least Katya had gotten rid of the crib. No doubt returned it and got my money.
It’d been almost two weeks since I came back from Boston to find her gone, as promised. The place was mine again. Quiet and empty. The way I preferred it. And it’d taken me all of one day to decide to sell it.
I shuffled down the hall into my nearly empty bedroom. All that remained were a few books and journals on the nightstand, a phone charger still plugged into the wall, and the bedding on the bed.
I stripped the blankets and sheets, stuffing them into the big empty box on the floor, and then grabbed the remaining few things and tossed them in as well. That was it. The furniture was staying. I’d buy new shit when I figured out where I was going next.
For now, it was back to my parents’. Isn’t that what people did these days? When shit doesn’t work out the way you planned, you go crawling home.
I folded the box closed and looked for where I’d left the damn roll of packing tape. The front door buzzed before I found it, and I straightened up. Who the hell had the doorman let up? What could the damn realtor possibly want now? Hadn’t she taken enough pictures already?
I was grumbling to myself on my way to answer the door, but when I pulled it open, it wasn’t the realtor. I would have rather it been her.
“Hey.” Katya shifted nervously. She met my eyes for a fraction of a second and then darted them away. She looked . . . not good. On edge. Maybe on something else. “Can we talk?” she muttered almost unintelligibly, shifting on her feet. She was definitely on something.
I tamped down the loathing and disgust, and with a blank face, stepped back and held the door open wider. Katya hesitated but then ducked inside. She stopped, taking in the place and the stacks of boxes all around. “So, it’s true? You’re selling it?”
“Yeah,” I grunted, folding my arms across my chest. Her eyes flashed to mine. “Are you staying in New York?” I shook my head. She nodded slowly, hands fidgeting furiously with the hem of her shirt. “Are you really walking away from your music?”
I dropped my arms. “I didn’t let you in to talk about my music career, so if you’re hoping for a scoop to sell, you won’t get one.” She chewed her lip and took another look around before meeting my hard gaze again.
“Why did you let me in? Instead of just slamming the door in my face. That’s what I expected.” “I wanted to,” I admitted. “But I can’t leave shit the way we did. I’m still pissed off, and it still feels like you stuck a fucking knife in my gut, but I don’t have the energy to keep hating you.
I just want to understand. I want you to tell me the truth. I want to know so that I can let go and move on.” Kat’s eyes found the floor and stayed rooted there. “I have to tell you something that might make you change your mind about hating me.”
My stomach clenched. “Was the baby Gio’s?” Her head snapped up. “What?” “He said something, that it might have been his. Were you sleeping with him too?”