R. Griffin - Seamless

She sighed. She missed him. He refused to take her calls and was ignoring her texts, which she completely deserved.

Millie was on a date with a lobbyist who wore bowties and Stella had the condo to herself. She was enjoying living in companionable silence with someone else; she had mastered the art of staying out of Millie’s way and Millie hadn’t asked her when she would be leaving.

She dialed his number for the millionth time in the last week and, just like always, he put her straight to voicemail. Fucker. Stella threw the phone as hard as she could on the bed. “Fuck!” She walked into the closet and put her feet in flip flops, even though it was freezing outside, and ran down the stairs. She got in her car before she could talk herself into staying home and angrily chewed the side of her mouth as she drove to her old house. This is stupid.

She let out a breath when she saw Billy and Patrick’s cars in the driveway; it was odd that they were both home on a Saturday night. She pulled in front of the house, walked determinedly up to the door, and knocked. Hard. Billy opened the door mid-laugh, but it caught in his throat when he saw her.

“El.”

She stepped around him and walked into the house. She saw Billy’s girlfriend sitting in one of the chairs in the den and looked around for Patrick. She turned to Billy, her face a question.

Billy leaned towards her and pulled her into a hug. It was the first time he’d seen her since Jamie was shot. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said loudly. Then he whispered, “You broke him,” and released her.

She glared at Billy, wondering what he meant. She turned to his girlfriend and gave her a fake smile. “Hey, Kayce.”

“Hi, Stella,” the cute brunette said, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I just need to give Patrick something.” She started walking toward Patrick’s room.

“You may want to wait!” Billy called after her.

Just then, Patrick came out of his room in only boxer briefs and walked to the fridge. He looked into the den casually and stopped short when he saw Stella. He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and drank it all in one gulp.

“Oh, shit,” Billy muttered behind her.

“Why aren’t you answering my calls or texts?” Stella asked.

Patrick’s eyes bored into her, hardening as he stared. He reached silently into the fridge for another bottle of water.

“Patrick?” a leggy blond girl in only a t-shirt asked from the doorframe. She smiled at Stella with her just-fucked face.

Stella fumed. Of course. Patrick threw the blonde the bottle of water. She caught it and gaped at Stella.

“Answer my fucking question,” Stella demanded.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. Do you?”

They continued to stare at each other, making everyone else in the room decidedly uncomfortable.

Patrick shrugged. “I’ve been busy,” he relented.

Stella stepped into him and hissed, “See, I was right. I can’t trust you to do what you say.” She turned on her heel and stomped away, making it to the den before she felt his hand grab her arm hard, stopping her in her tracks.

“Fuck. You. Stella!” Patrick yelled into her ear.

The force of his words knocked her sideways and she closed her eyes. She felt like she’d been slapped across the face. Although it was unfair, Stella was hoping they’d be able to stay friends. It wasn’t fair to either one of them to think that way, but she didn’t want to lose him. She’d lost him anyway. Stella didn’t turn around, but looked at Billy, whose face showed disbelief. She ran through the den and out the door as fast as she could.

George was sitting on his hotel bed drinking whiskey straight from the bottle when his phone dinged with a Voxer message. It was Jesse.

“Sweaty Balls, you okay? I haven’t heard from you.”

“Plays with his Balls, not close to okay.” George’s voice was lifeless as spoke into the app. His phone rang immediately. “Hey, man.”

“Dude, your voice sounds…sad.”

“I am sad,” George admitted. He probably wouldn’t normally have shared that with anyone, especially a guy like Jesse, but he’d consumed almost half of his bottle of whiskey.

“Well, have you talked to her?”

“Yes,” he sighed into the phone, “it didn’t go well.”

“What do you mean?” Jesse asked.

“Well, she apologized for leaving.”

“Sounds promising…”

“It was, until I told her I couldn’t keep losing her. Every fucking time things get hard or she needs someone, she runs. And she doesn’t run to me—she runs to you, or to Patrick. That’s not how relationships work. You’re supposed to run to each other when you need someone.”

Jesse was silent.

“She ripped my fucking heart out, Jesse, leaving me with all her things in my house like she didn’t even care about anything.”

“But don’t you see, George? She didn’t give a shit about anything except running,” Jesse protested. “Jamie’d been killed right in front of her. Shit, from what I heard, his face exploded on her and all she thought about was that she destroys everything she loves. She told me she didn’t want to destroy you.” He sighed. “Now, I’m not saying that shit isn’t crazy. I’m just saying she wasn’t in her right mind, you know?”

“She ripped my fucking heart out,” George repeated.

Jesse chuckled. “Yeah, I got that.”

The whiskey still burned as it went down his throat, but it was getting smoother the more he drank. He’d been drunk since he read Stella’s note. “I think about her all the time. I wonder if she’s okay; if she’s hurting as bad as I am…”

“She is,” Jesse confirmed.

“You’ve talked to her?” Of course he’d talked to her.

“Yeah, man.”

“I told her I couldn’t keep losing her.” Where is this verbal diarrhea coming from?

“I know.”

“I called her a fucking liar.”

“I know that too.” Jesse sighed.

“Jess, she lied to me. She told me she was going to be with me for the rest of her life, then she ran. She fucking ran to fucking Patrick.”

“So what’s pissing you off more, that she ran or that Patrick found her and you didn’t?” Jesse laughed.

“Patrick,” George admitted. Fuck, he really didn’t want to tell anyone that.

“I guessed that one.” Jesse chuckled again. “You know he’s gone right?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s driving down to Atlanta now. He got transferred down here.”

“So…is she still staying with Millie?” George asked. He hadn’t asked her anything on the phone, just let her apologize and then yelled at her for ten minutes before throwing his phone against the wall.

“Yep.”

“I wanted to kill him, you know,” George said, then took another gulp of whiskey. “I would’ve fucking killed him myself.”

“I’m aware,” Jesse placated him.

“If they find out who killed him, I’m going to shake his fucking hand. The FBI and ATF are being hush-hush about the whole damn thing.”

Jesse was quiet for a beat. “They’re reporting fucking Jack Ryder died. I can’t believe how fucked up this whole situation is. I mean, no one’s even acknowledging Jamie Rivers.”

“I don’t fucking care anything about him or his family. He destroyed our lives. His fucking sister drugged El.”

“I know…I know. I just wonder how they’re keeping all this shit secret, you know?”

“I don’t want it to end like this,” George confessed quietly, hanging his head.

“How do you want it to end?”

“When she and I are old and gray and our minds are the only things working anymore.” George’s words were starting to slur together. “When we’ve had 50 years together, holding hands and fucking.”

George willed himself to not cry, not to feel the shattering of his own heart. When he’d read the note she left for him, his entire world broke apart and fell at his feet. Then every fucking morning when he woke after passing out and he realized she wasn’t there, his heart shattered all over again. He was working so hard to think of something else besides the curve of her ass and her obnoxious laugh.

“George! Call her, talk to her,” Jesse commanded. “Make it work.”

“I told her it was too hard to be with her. It was too—”

“Fucking call her, man, you’re miserable,” Jesse interrupted.

“You know what she said, Jesse? She said that if things weren’t hard, they weren’t worth shit. I’d told her that before about us. I’m beginning to think that she was right, though. We just weren’t meant to be.” He knew he was telling himself that because he just didn’t know if he could get over the fear she’d keep leaving him.

“That’s bullshit and if she’s got you thinking that, I’m more worried about her than I was before.”

“Hey, man, I have to go and finish the rest of my whiskey. I’ll start slurring soon, so…”

Jesse laughed. “You’re already slurring, man.”

“Thanks, Jesse. I appreciate you calling.” George disconnected and took a long pull from his bottle. He hoped he’d pass out soon.

She’d skipped her appointment with Denise while she was at the beach, so this was her first session after Jamie was killed. Stella sat cross-legged in the arm chair, her black ankle boots on the floor where she’d kicked them off when she walked in. She found she was able to think better with her shoes off. She examined her black and white striped tights instead of looking at Denise.