Ridge and Brennan have both exited Brennan’s car, but I’m still sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at the car parked next to ours. It’s Hunter’s car. But it’s not Hunter shutting the back door. It’s Tori. Which is why I’m frozen to my seat, because I wasn’t expecting to see her, and I really don’t want her to see me. I’m certain it won’t end up with me punching her again, but I still have no desire to talk to her.
It’s too late, though, because Ridge doesn’t recognize her, and he opens my door right as she’s rounding the front of our car. She pauses in her tracks when our eyes meet.
Dammit.
I take Ridge’s hand and slowly get out of the car. Tori looks like she’s seen a ghost. But she doesn’t run away like I wish she would. Instead, she walks the sacks of groceries to the hood of her car and sets them down. Then she turns to me, hugging herself.
“Hi,” she says. I can tell she wants to talk. And I just don’t have it in me to be a complete dick to her.
I look at Ridge. “You go,” I sign. “Two minutes.”
Ridge glances at Tori and then at me. He nods and backs away, falling into step with Brennan as they head up to Ridge’s apartment.
Tori looks good. She’s always looked good. I find myself pulling at my ponytail and wiping a wisp of hair out of my face.
“Is that your boyfriend?” she asks.
I glance up at the top of the stairs. Ridge is walking into his apartment backward, looking down at us with concern. I give him a reassuring smile before he closes the door. I turn my attention back to Tori, folding my arms over my chest. “Yeah.”
There’s a knowing look in Tori’s eye. “He’s the guy from the balcony, right? The one you were writing lyrics for?”
I suddenly become protective of everything going on in my life, and I don’t want to reveal anything to Tori. I don’t even know why I’m out here right now. She just seemed like she really wanted me to stop and talk to her. Maybe so she can move past everything that happened between us.
I look behind her, at Hunter’s car. There’s a “For Sale” sign posted in the side and back windows.
“Hunter is selling his car?”
Tori looks over her shoulder at it. “Yeah. We think it got water damage or something. It’s been smelling weird for a while now.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, ensuring she doesn’t see my smile breaking through. When I’m certain I can hold it in, I move my hand and grip the strap of my purse. “That’s too bad. I know he loves that car.”
Tori’s phone rings, and she glances down at it, then answers it, turning away from me a little. Almost as if she doesn’t want me to be privy to her conversation.
“What?” she whispers. The way she answers the phone makes it seem like she’s irritated with whoever is on the other line. She glances up at her apartment and says, “I still have another load of groceries to bring up. Give me a sec.”
She ends the call and slides her phone into her pocket. She walks over to the hood of her car and starts grabbing the sacks of groceries. She stands in front of me, two sacks in each hand, arms down at her sides. “So, um…” She pauses and inhales a sharp breath, exhaling it just as quickly. “You wanna grab coffee sometime? I’d really like to catch up. Hear all about the new boyfriend.”
I stare at her a moment, wondering why she would think I’m okay with that. I realize I was also a Tori at a very short point during mine and Ridge’s friendship, but as mad as I am at Hunter and as mad as Maggie must have been at Ridge, there are few betrayals on earth that hurt worse than the betrayal of your very best friend. She’s the person I shared my life with. A home with. All my secrets with. And the entire time we lived together, she was betraying me on a daily basis.
I don’t want coffee with her. I don’t even want to be outside chatting with her, acting like she didn’t break my heart with ten times the strength that Hunter ever could.
I shake my head. “I don’t think coffee is a good idea.” I choose to walk around the back of her car so that I don’t have to get even closer to her. Before I head for the stairs, I look up at her. “You really hurt me, Tori. More than Hunter ever could have. But I still think you deserve better than a man who doesn’t even bother to come down and help you carry up groceries.”
I walk away and run up the stairs, away from her, away from that smelly car, and away from the sad reality that she still hasn’t found happiness yet. I wonder if she ever will.
I walk inside the apartment, and Brennan is on the couch with his guitar. He nods his head toward Ridge’s room. When I open the door to Ridge’s bedroom, he’s lying across the bed on his stomach, hugging a pillow. I walk
over to him, but he’s asleep. I know he’s had a long twenty-four hours, so I don’t bother waking him. I let him rest.
Brennan is at the table now, playing the song he and Ridge just wrote. I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. There’s only enough left for one glass. Bridgette and I really tore through their stash. Ridge is probably going to start keeping the wine in a Windex bottle.
“Sydney?”
I turn toward Brennan, and he’s hugging his guitar, his chin resting on it. “I’m really hungry. Do you think you can make me a grilled cheese?”
I laugh as soon as the question comes out of his mouth. But then I realize he’s serious. “You’re asking me to make you a sandwich?”
“It’s been a long day, and I don’t know how to cook. Ridge always cooks for me when I’m over here.”
“Oh, my God. How old are you? Twelve?”
“Transpose those numbers and you’ve got your answer.”
I roll my eyes and open the refrigerator to take out the cheese. “I can’t believe I’m making you a sandwich. I feel like I’m disappointing every female that has ever fought for our equality.”
“It only counts against feminism when you make your man a sandwich. It doesn’t count if it’s just a friend.”
“Well, we won’t even be friends if you think you can ask me to cook for you every time you visit your brother.”
Brennan smiles and turns back toward his guitar. He starts strumming it to a tune I haven’t heard from him before. Then he starts to sing.
Cheddar, swiss, provolone. That is where I feel at home.
Slap that cheese on some bread. I like it more than getting head. Grilled cheese,
Grilled cheese,
Grilled cheese from Sydney. Blake. Not Australia.
I’m laughing at his impressive improv abilities, even though it was a terrible song. He’s obviously just as talented as Ridge is. He just suppresses it for some reason.
He sets his guitar on the table and walks over to the bar. He grabs a paper towel and places it in front of him. I guess that’s the extent of his sandwich prep.
“Do you even have trouble writing lyrics? Or do you pretend you can’t write because of your guilt?”
“What would I have to feel guilty for?” Brennan asks, taking his seat at the bar.
“Just a hunch, but I think you hate that you were born with the ability to hear, but Ridge wasn’t. So you pretend you need him more than you actually
do. Because you love him.” I flip the grilled cheese over. Brennan doesn’t respond right away, so I know I have him pegged.
“Does Ridge think that, too?”
I face him full-on. “I don’t think so. I think he loves writing lyrics for you. I’m not telling you to stop pretending you don’t know how to write lyrics as well as he can. I’m just saying I understand why you do it.”
Brennan smiles, relieved. “You’re smart, Sydney. You really should consider doing more with your life than just making sandwiches for hungry men.”
I laugh and pick up his sandwich with the spatula. I drop it on the paper towel in front of him. “You’re right. I quit.”
He takes a bite, right as the front door opens. Bridgette walks in holding a sack, wearing her Hooters uniform and a scowl. She sees us in the kitchen and nods, then walks to her room and slams the door. “Did she just nod her head at you?” Brennan asks. “That was an oddly nice gesture that didn’t include a middle finger. Does she not hate you anymore?”
“Nah. We’re practically best friends now.” I start to clean the kitchen, but Bridgette yells my name from her bathroom. Brennan raises an eyebrow, like he’s worried for me. I walk toward her bathroom and can hear a lot of commotion. When I open the door, she grabs my wrist and pulls me inside and then slams the door shut. She turns toward the counter and begins dumping out the contents of her sack into her sink.
My eyes go wide when I see five unopened boxes of pregnancy tests. Bridgette starts frantically ripping into one and hands me another. “Hurry,” she says. “I have to get this over with before I freak out!” She pulls a stick out of the box and then grabs another one to open.
“I think one is enough to indicate if you’re pregnant.”
She shakes her head. “I have to be sure I’m not pregnant or I won’t sleep until I have twelve periods.”
I have two of the tests open, and she rips a third one open, then grabs a mouthwash cup from next to the sink and rinses it out. She pulls down her shorts and sits on the toilet.
“Did you even read the instructions? Are you supposed to pee in an unsanitized cup?”
She ignores me and begins peeing in the cup. When she’s finished, she sets it on the counter. “Dip them!” she says.
I stare at her cup of pee and shake my head. “I don’t want to.”
She flushes the toilet and pulls her shorts up, then shoves me out of the way. She dips all five sticks into the cup at once and holds them there. Then she pulls them out and lays them all on a towel.
This is all happening so fast, I’m not sure I’ve had time to process the thought that we’re about to find out if Bridgette is going to be a mother. Or
whether Warren is going to be a father.
“Do either of you even want kids?” I ask.
Bridgette shakes her head adamantly. “Not even a little bit. If I’m pregnant, you can have it.”
I don’t want it. My idea of Hell is having a child comprised of pieces of Warren and Bridgette.
“Bridgette!” Warren yells, right before the front door slams shut. Bridgette cringes. The bathroom door swings open, and I suddenly don’t feel like I should be in here anymore. “You can’t text me something like that in the middle of my study group and then ignore me when I call you back!”
Warren…in study group? I laugh, but my laughter causes both of them to turn their glares on me. “Sorry. I just can’t picture Warren in a study group.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s a mandatory group project.” He turns his attention back on Bridgette. “Why do you think you’re pregnant? You’re on the pill.”
“Pickles,” she says, as if that’s a good explanation. “I stole three pickles off my customers’ plates tonight and I hate pickles. But all I can think about are pickles!” She turns back toward the pregnancy tests and picks one up, but it hasn’t been long enough yet.
“Pickles?” Warren says, flabbergasted. “Jesus Christ. I thought this was serious. But you craved a fucking pickle.”
Warren is stuck on pickles, but I’m still stuck on the idea of Warren in a study group. “When do you graduate?” I ask him.
“Two months.”
“Good,” Bridgette says. “Because if I’m pregnant, you need to get a real job so you can raise this child.”
“You aren’t pregnant, Bridgette,” Warren says, rolling his eyes. “You craved a pickle. You’re so dramatic.”
This entire conversation is making me want to ensure Ridge and I use double the protection from now on. I take my birth control religiously, but there’s been a time or two that we haven’t used a condom. Never again, though.
Bridgette picks up one of the pregnancy tests and presses her hand against her forehead. “Oh, fuck.” She turns and tosses the stick toward Warren. It hits him in the cheek and then he fumbles as he tries to catch it.
“Is it positive?” I ask.
Bridgette nods, running her hands down her face. “There’s a line! Shit, shit, shit, there’s a really long, visible line! Fuck!”
I look at one of the boxes. “A line just means it’s working. It doesn’t mean you’re pregnant.”
Warren is holding the stick between two fingers when he drops it back on the towel. “That has your pee on it.”
Bridgette rolls her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. It’s a pregnancy test.”
“You threw it at me. There’s pee on my face.” He takes a hand towel and wets it under the faucet.
“You aren’t pregnant,” I reassure her. “It’s not a plus sign.”
She picks up another one of the tests and studies it, leaning against the counter. “You think?” She picks up one of the boxes and reads it, then sighs with relief. She pours the cup of urine out in the sink.
“Why didn’t you pour that in the toilet?” Warren asks with a grossed-out look on his face. This, coming from the guy who ate a bar of cheese after Bridgette tried to wash herself with it.
“I don’t know,” Bridgette says, looking at the sink. She turns the water on to rinse it out. “I’m distressed. I wasn’t thinking.”
Warren slips in front of me and wraps his arms around Bridgette, bringing her head to his level. He brushes her hair back gently. “I’m not going to get you pregnant, Bridgette. After our first scare, I wrap my Jimmy Choo up hella tight every time.”
I was on my way out of the bathroom to give them privacy, but I freeze when I hear Warren refer to his penis as a Jimmy Choo.
I turn back around. “Jimmy Choo?”
Warren looks at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, that’s his name. Ridge doesn’t nickname his penis after cool things?”
“Cool things?” I say. “Jimmy Choos are designer shoes.”
“No,” Warren says. “A Jimmy Choo is a rare Cuban cigar. Right, Bridgette?” he says, looking at her. “You’re the one who named him.”
Bridgette tries to keep a straight face, but she sputters laughter. She brushes past me and runs into the living room, but Warren is right on her heels. “You said Jimmy Choos were huge cigars!” They end up on the couch, Warren on top of her. They’re both laughing, and it’s the first time I’ve ever really seen them affectionate.
It’s disturbing that a pregnancy scare is what brings out the best in them as a couple.
Warren kisses her on the cheek and then says, “We should go celebrate with breakfast tomorrow.” He sits up and looks at me and Brennan. “All of us. Breakfast is on me.”
Bridgette pushes Warren away from her and stands up. “I will if I wake up on time.”
Warren follows her out of the living room and into their bedroom. “Girl, you aren’t even sleeping tonight.”
Their door closes.
I look at Brennan. He looks away from their door, toward me. We both just shake our heads.
“I’m heading home,” he says, standing up to pack his guitar. He grabs his keys and walks toward the door. “Thanks for the sandwich, Sydney. Sorry I’m
a brat. It’s Ridge’s fault for spoiling me for so long.”
“That’s actually good to know. If Ridge is the one who spoiled you, then I’m not going to have to break up with him for expecting me to make him sandwiches.”
Brennan laughs. “Please don’t break up with him. I think you might be the first thing that’s ever made Ridge’s life easier.”
He closes the door behind him, and I can’t help but smile at his parting words. He didn’t have to say that, but the fact that he did makes me think Brennan and Ridge are more alike than I initially thought. Both thoughtful.
After Brennan leaves, I lock the front door. I hear a thumping sound behind me, so I spin around and listen for a few seconds to see where it’s coming from.
Warren and Bridgette’s bedroom. Oh. Gross. Gross, gross, gross.
I rush to Ridge’s bedroom and close the door, then crawl into bed with him. I wasn’t planning on staying here tonight. I still have homework I haven’t finished this weekend, and really do need to have some alone time in order to get it all done. Ridge is way too distracting.
“Syd,” Ridge says, rolling toward me. His eyes are closed, and I think he might even still be asleep. “Don’t…be scared…the chicken.” He signs the last word.
He’s talking and signing in his sleep. I grin at his nonsensical words. Did he talk in his sleep before he started verbalizing? Or is that something new?
I kiss him on the cheek and fold his arm over me as I snuggle against him.
I wait to see if he speaks again, but he doesn’t. He just sleeps.
•••
I was awake by seven, but Ridge was still asleep. He woke up sometime in the middle of the night and took off his jeans and shoes, but then went right back to sleep.
I was making a pot of coffee when Warren walked out of his bedroom and told me to stop. “I’m treating you to breakfast, remember?” Then he went to wake up Ridge, but Ridge told him he needed two more hours of sleep.
“Let’s let him sleep,” I said. “Let me go change out of my pajamas and we can go.”
Warren told me no, that the place we’re going to eat actually requires pajamas.
I have no idea where we’re going, but Bridgette wanted to sleep in, so now it’s just me and Warren, going to breakfast in our pajamas to celebrate Bridgette’s negative pregnancy test. Without Bridgette.
Nope. Not weird at all.
“Did this restaurant just open?” I ask Warren. “Is that why I’ve never heard of it?” He told me earlier it was called Fastbreak Breakfast, but it doesn’t sound familiar.
“We’re not going to a restaurant.”
I glare at him from the passenger seat, just as he pulls into the driveway of a hotel and drives around to the side of the building. “Wait here,” he says, hopping out of the car. He takes his keys with him.
I sit and watch him as he stands next to the side entrance to the hotel. I start to text Ridge to ask him what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into, but before I can type out the text, a businessman walks out of the side door and doesn’t even notice as Warren grabs the door handle and holds the door open. He waves me out of the car, so I get out and follow him inside, shaking my head. It’s finally registered why he told me to wear pajamas. Because he wants it to look like we’re guests here.
“Are you kidding me, Warren? We’re sneaking into a free continental breakfast?”
He smiles. “Oh, it’s not just any free breakfast, Sydney. They have Texas- shaped waffles here.”
I can’t believe this is his idea of treating people to breakfast. “This is stealing,” I whisper, just as we walk into the breakfast area. He reaches for a plate and hands it to me, then grabs his own.
“Maybe so. But it doesn’t count against your track record because I’m the one who brought you here.”
We make our plates and take a seat at an area by the window that’s not visible to the front desk. For the first ten minutes, Warren talks about school, since I was so intrigued by the idea of him actually sitting in a study group. He’s majoring in management, which is something else that intrigues me. Baffles me, even. I can’t imagine him in a position where he’s in charge of other people, but I guess he does manage Sounds of Cedar pretty well.
I don’t think I give Warren enough credit. He has a job, he goes to school full time, he manages a successful local band, and he manages to keep Bridgette somewhat happy. I guess it’s just his addiction to porn and his inability to clean up after himself that leads me to assume he’s got a lot of growing up to do.
When we’re finished eating, Warren grabs a tray and piles muffins and juices on it, then brings it back to the table. “For Ridge and Bridgette,” he says, covering the muffins with a napkin.
“How often do you come here? You seem to be experienced in the art of breakfast theft.”
“Not very often. I have a few hotels around town that I frequent, but I try to mix it up every now and then. Don’t want the desk clerks becoming suspicious.”
I laugh, sipping the last of my orange juice.
“Ridge has never been on board. You know how he is, always trying to do the right thing. Maggie came with me a few times, though. She liked the thrill of possibly getting caught. She’s actually why I call it fastbreak breakfast. We had to make a break for it once because a clerk walked around, writing down room numbers and checking them to last names.”
I look down when he says Maggie’s name, not wanting to hear how good of friends he is with her. Not that I care if Warren and Maggie are friends. I just don’t want to hear about it. Especially this early in the morning.
He notices my reaction, because he leans forward and folds his arms over the table. He tilts his head in thought. “Our friendship with her really bothers you, huh?”
I shake my head. “Not as much as you probably think. What bothers me is how much Ridge stresses about it.”
“Yeah, well, imagine how much Maggie stresses about it.”
I roll my eyes. I know how much Maggie probably stresses about it. But just because she stresses more than I do doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to stress. “I already told Ridge it’s just going to take me a little time to get used to it.”
Warren laughs under his breath. “Well hurry up and get used to it, because I already told you once that he’ll never leave her.”
I remember that night very clearly. I don’t need Warren to point it out again. It was when Ridge and I were hugging in the hallway. Warren walked inside the apartment and didn’t like what he was seeing, because Ridge was dating Maggie at the time. Ridge didn’t know Warren was in the apartment, but before Warren walked to his room, he made sure I was aware of his thoughts on our predicament. Warren’s exact words were, “I’m only going to say this once and I need you to listen. He will never leave her, Sydney.”
I lean back in my seat, growing defensive like I always do when Warren talks about Ridge and my relationship. He always seems to take it a step too far, even though I feel like I’ve been more than accommodating and understanding when it comes to Ridge’s friendship with Maggie. “You did say that,” I agree. “But you were wrong, because they did break up.”
Warren stands up and begins gathering trash from the table. He shrugs. “They broke up, sure. But I didn’t tell you they’d never break up. I told you he’d never leave her. And he won’t. So maybe instead of trying to convince yourself that you just need time to warm up to the idea of her always being a part of his life, you should remind yourself that you already knew that. Long before you agreed to start a relationship with him.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded, as he walks the trash to the trash can. He comes back to the table and reclaims his seat. I forget what a casual asshole he can be to everyone. I recall his words again, only this time they mean
something completely different.
“He will never leave her, Sydney.”
This whole time, I thought Warren was saying Ridge would never break up with her. When all along, Warren just meant that Maggie would always be a part of Ridge’s life.
“You know the one thing that could make this entire situation a little easier?” Warren asks.
I shake my head, unsure about anything anymore. He looks at me pointedly. “You.”
What?
“Me? How could I make it easier? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve worked really hard to try and have the patience of a freaking saint.”
He nods in agreement. “I’m not talking about your patience,” he says, leaning forward. “You have been patient. But what you haven’t been is apologetic. There’s a girl you seriously wronged, who is a huge part of Ridge’s life. And even though she claims not to blame you, you probably still owe her an apology. Apologies shouldn’t happen because of the response of the person who was wronged. Apologies should happen because of the wrong.” He slaps his hands on the table like the conversation is over and he stands up, grabbing the tray of food he made for Ridge and Bridgett.
My stomach turns at the thought of being face to face with Maggie after everything that has happened. And even though I don’t take any responsibility for all the resentment she and Ridge have been building up toward each other over the years, I do take responsibility for the fact that I was a Tori for a hot minute and never once reached out to her to apologize.
“Come on,” Warren says, pulling me up and out of my stupor. “There are worse things in life than having a boyfriend with a heart the size of an elephant.”
•••
I stay silent during the ride home. Warren doesn’t attempt to make conversation. When we arrive back at Ridge’s apartment, he’s still asleep. I leave a note on the bed beside him.
Didn’t want to wake you—you deserve your rest. I’ve got a lot of homework to catch up on today, so maybe I can come over tomorrow night after work.
I love you. Sydney.
I feel a pang of guilt for lying. I’m not going home to do homework; I’m heading home to change clothes.
This drive to San Antonio is long overdue.
