THE DEBT (Manhattan Nights #7)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

SABRINA

Nothing like departing a plane and being booked right into a dress fitting to make a girl feel completely overwhelmed.

At least there's wine, even if it's not that great.

The shop's warm, beige-colored space—somebody's gift to the upper strata of New York City— is another reminder of all that I’m walking away from in just a few days.

The furniture in the store is expensive, the curtain flanking the dressing rooms satin, not silk as I expected.

The walls are covered in photos of previous wedding parties coming for the fittings and the usual assortment of paintings that no one particularly cares about.

The ironic part is that, as beautiful as the art might be...I don't care either. With Lachlan Quinn on the other end of the line, not much else seems to matter.

Self-consciously, I press a palm to my chest, letting it fall to my side as I turn to face the woman in the reflection of the dressing room mirror. I listen as Lachlan exhales on the phone, his voice ten octaves lower than before.

"So." Lachlan is all business, as he often is when he's caught off guard. "I'd ask about what you wanted to talk about...but it doesn't feel right without at least addressing you with some sort of greeting." He pauses. "How've you been?"

I suppress a tired smile. "I'm doing okay," I lie through my teeth.

I'm not okay. Not at all.

But I can't bring myself to tell him that.

"You seem okay." There's another pause. Then he says, "How's Drew taking all this?"

"Taking what exactly?"

"The getting-married part… It’s all I can seem to think about these days. I’m sure it’s the same for you.”

There are too many things to focus on in the question.

I start with the simplest. "He's in love. He wants to spend the rest of his life with someone. I'd say he's taking it just fine."

I don't add that, not too long ago, I’d wished I felt the same, that I felt like something was missing, but that my notions of a life of getting married and living happily ever after have long gone down the drain in fantastic fashion.

I don't add any of this because I know he won't understand.

He waits. "You seem out of sorts. Is this still a good time to talk or...?"

"No." I focus on his voice. "I mean, yes. I, uh, I've just... got a lot of things going through my mind…and not enough liquor going through my veins." I shrug, feeling the chill in the air. “Being Maid of Honor is honestly harder than I expected.”

He grunts. “Tell me about it. If I'm being honest, I still haven’t heard a convincing argument for why weddings still do this ‘groomsmen and bridesmaids’ thing in the first place.”

“Well, that's because you're a man. Men never think they need backup. Women understand. Bridesmaids are built-in backups. They’re there to make sure you don’t drink all the wedding wine out of nervousness and puke on your own dress.”

“Duly noted. Remind me to put that on my Best Man checklist…along with ‘Don’t kill the DJ if he plays more than one BTS song..”

I laugh, biting my lip, proud of myself for handling a conversation with a man whose "What-Ifs" have been hanging over my head for longer than I care to let on.

I settle in, squeezing my phone near my face.

“You could be a little more enthused. I know that’s asking for a lot from a man who believes more in the institution of rugby than he does marriage."

He snorts, his laugh brief and warm. "That's because, unlike divorce, rugby doesn’t leave you broke and with a terminal case of busted balls.”

“Speak for yourself. I’ve heard some things from my brother’s old rugby teammates that make busted balls sound like a treat. And besides, I thought you didn't play rugby anymore?"

"I don't. Not, uh…anymore, no." He pauses. “Plus, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway. Not when I don't have you there cheering me on and cursing the Oxford refs out from the stands."

My heart jumps, the memory of every good moment I’ve spent with Lachlan Quinn flashing through me. “That’s such hearsay. I never cursed out a single one of those uptight British refs.”

“Oh, then it was your identical twin in the stands, shouting words that would make the Pope hand out baptisms, huh?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” A smile finds my lips and stays there. “Well, you should know I still cheer. For Drew anyway."

"Drew?"

"Uh, yeah…I think you might know him. Tall? Dark-haired guy? Looks like me with a beard.”

“Ah yes, and thank you for that visual. Picturing you in a beard will keep me up for the next few nights.”

“Happy to oblige. But yeah, Drew. He still plays. Becoming a CEO didn’t exactly stop him from taking risks. Though, choosing the world's most cynical Australian as his Best Man has got to be his biggest one lately…”

“‘World’s Most Cynical Australian’? Your nicknames for me have changed since we last talked.”

“Yeah, well, Asshat of the Year doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

I shrug, but the line goes silent, a note of nostalgia stretching between us as I think of the many other dirtier things I’ve called Lachlan in the seven years I’ve known my brother’s best friend.

There's a pause on the other end.

"Okay, but all appropriate awkwardness aside, I just called to let you know, since we're going to be in the same room within the hour or so, that I...well, that there's no hard feelings. I mean, about last time. You don't have to worry about things getting awkward when we ultimately run into each other. Last time was...just...me not being me. Not caring about what we both wanted but pushing you into something you didn't want. And we admitted that it was wrong and...and it's over. It really is. No hard feelings."

I'm not prepared for the voice calling back to me. "Brina...”

I lean closer to the phone, my heart rate doubling. "Still here."

"Don't you even want to know why I haven't called in the last however-many months?” Lachlan asks.

I hesitate. "I don't know. Do I? I mean, after the last time we saw each other, you just kinda fell off the face of the Earth.” I inhale. “I get the feeling that it was done on purpose.”

"No, you're right. The Earth-falling wasn’t exactly an accident. But, Brina. You really should know I’ve tried to get in touch with you.” His voice trails off, singeing with meaning. “Multiple times."

I'm silent for a beat. "You're right. Unlike your Earth-falling, mine definitely was on purpose. So. What was up?”

Another pause, the man at the other end weighing his words before saying, "Well, I want to apologize to you."

"Apologize?"

I don't wait for the words that are sure to follow. I take a deep breath. “Look, if this is the part where you remind me that we’ve known each other since I was sixteen and in braces and that what we did the last night we saw each other was entirely inappropriate for many reasons that have to do with overstepping you and my brother’s butt-buddy boundaries, then…please. Save it.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the deepening winter chill of New York slap against my skin.

I keep going.

“You don't have to apologize to me, Lach. It happened...I mean, we're two grown adults. Or, at least, you were a grown adult…As for me, I was just an adult who had a s**t-ton of alcohol. But trust me: I know you. I don’t expect anything out of you. And anyone could have made that mistake. That night, it just happened to be the two of us. No hard feelings.” I swallow. “Right?"

The sound of the wind around me grows louder before he answers. "I would like to think that."

"Good. Then we both agree. We were wrong to...I mean, we shouldn't have..."

"I think the phrase you're tripping over is 'almost f****d each other's brains out.'"

I clear my throat, my mouth suddenly dryer than a laundered sheet. "Yeah, pretty much. And you're sorry for your part in that, and so am I. Apologies accepted."

I'm trying to sell this as well as the salesladies have been trying to sell me this dress still on my body.

But Lachlan's not buying it.

Especially when his voice changes. The nearly soothing cadence intensifies.

"I'd really like to believe all that. Seriously, Brina. I would. But just like the chances of my Sydney Roosters rugby squad having a perfect season next year are slim, we both know that neither of us is really sorry about fooling around at that party.”

At the words, I stop, my heart jumping under my ribs.

I don't answer.

I can't answer. Six months of unanswered questions resurface.

"But that's not why I'm apologizing,” he cuts in.

“Oh? So, why are you?"

I turn around, facing the dressing room curtain as my best friend Sophie suddenly appears in front of it, a frown on her face. She waves at me, trying to get my attention. I flail my hand at her before she disappears out of sight.

"Because that night, when I slipped my hand between your..."

"I don't need a recap of that night, Lachlan,” I panic, not needing him to go into further detail about our 'almost' night. A night that has kept me warm more nights than I care to count. “And I told you it’s fine that you—”

“I’m trying to say something to you, woman. And you’re not making it easy. I’m trying to say I’m sorry. Sorry for what it is I'm about to say."

I stop.

"I don’t want you to take this the wrong way," he continues, likely taking advantage of the fact that I'm abruptly unable to breathe. "I just think it's only fair. To speak plainly, it’s like this: Your brother's party? Tonight?"

"Yeah?"

“I’m going to need you,” he pauses, the words hanging, “not to attend."

I barely recognize the words above the sound of my pulse. Every inch of me suddenly feels like it’s coming to life in a rush.

“I’m sorry, what? I—Are you honestly telling me to miss Drew's party?"

"'Telling' is a strong word. I'm asking you to..." He pauses. "For me."

"And why would you be asking me something like this?"

"Because I'd never ask you for a favor if I didn't need one."

"Lachlan—"

"Listen to me," he interrupts. "I understand what this means to you. To us. But I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm not..." I lick my lips. "You think I'll get hurt if I come to tonight's party? You think I'll get hurt by being there?"

"Yes, I do.”

His answer hits me square in the chest. And hits me hard. My breath, a mess a few seconds ago, suddenly solidifies into something within my throat.

All of the possibilities I once imagined after Lachlan and I finally kissed—after a long, tension-filled seven years—suddenly vanish in a flash before me.

Here it is again.

That feeling of helplessness I've been avoiding since the day Davis, the man I’d been begrudgingly planning a future with, was dragged out of our Greenwich home.

This time, somehow, it’s more painful. More acute.

I force down the feelings of anger and a now-familiar sense of betrayal that bubbles inside me.

"It's not like we're exactly back into the same circles,” I say quietly.

"I know that," he says. "And if we hadn't been friends for almost ten years, I might not even tell you this..." He grunts out loud. "f**k, Brina,” his voice returns, calm and even. “I know this is awkward for you. But I think you're in danger of making the wrong decision here. I'm trying to protect you.”

I can barely hear him, and I just want to run.

Run and avoid the question that's forming in my head.

Run…because of that addicting need to escape.

Dr. Patel often tells me that the feeling is normal for someone like me. That sinking sensation I got on the plane into town isn't new, I know, to a person with my "issues."

A person used to feeling unsafe.

But I don't have time to think of her right now.

I only know I'm angry.

“Really…That’s how you feel?” I manage, my voice the only thing above the pounding of my pulse.

"Yes." Lachlan knows I'm choosing to keep my emotions in control, and I can't help the words. "I guess what I mean is: I don't think this is the right thing for me to ask of you. And I think it would be very easy for you to say no. But what I'm asking you to do is to stay away from that party. For your own good. I mean it."

Run, I tell myself again. I try to say the words aloud—”Run”—but they don't come.

Run! But I can't leave.

I scoff. "Plenty of men say things they don't mean."

"I'm not 'plenty of men.'"

"No, you're not. Obviously. Because I wouldn't tell 'plenty of men' to kiss my ass."

Lachlan's voice deepens. "Are you telling me to kiss your ass, Sabrina? Be careful what you wish for…It might just happen.”

I hesitate upon practically hearing the smile on his smug face. “To be honest, I’d rather you didn’t think of my ass at all…Maybe a better way of putting it would be to say that you must be out of your mind for even suggesting something like that. I’m not missing my brother's engagement party. Especially not for you. Especially because you think I'm so hung up on you that I 'need protection' from you hurting my delicate, fragile feelings."

His breath hitches over the line. "You think that's why I'm asking you to stay home?”

"Lach, I don't think even you know why you're asking me."

"I may not know everything you've been doing since we last talked after all these months, Brina. But I do know you. And I know that if I ask you not to come, you'll understand that it's for a good reason. Because you know me just as well as I know you."

My teeth grind together, and my lips purse. "I have a hard time believing that."

My hand tightens around the phone as he exhales.

"Sabrina, for once in your overly stubborn life, just listen to me. I'm practically f*****g begging here. Just please..." He clears his throat. "Don't come."

It stings. More than I thought it would.

My eyes venture to the door and to my shaking hand. I hold in a breath and turn back to the storefront where Sophia's returned, her round pink lips mouthing "What's wrong?" as she frowns.

And with one look at her face, I blow out a single breath, finding courage beneath it.

My words are a huff. “Why, thank you. Thank you for expressing your concern. Thank you for proving that Sophie may have had the right ideas about denouncing heterosexuality. And finally, thank you for proving that I've been right to trust my instincts. Instincts that tell me to get as far away from places like this and people like you as possible."

"Sabrina..."

"f**k you very much. Have a great night."

I hang up, nearly breaking my finger with how hard I press the screen. I sigh out loud, slumping against the wall of the bridal shop as Sophie emerges from the front door.

She crosses her arms, watching me for a few seconds before exhaling.

"Umm, lemme guess: You’ve changed your mind about going to the party after all?”

I answer with an eye roll, brushing shaking fingers through my tangled hair.

"On second thought..." I start, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. I peek down at the fifth and final dress she's presented since we started. “I’m just thinking of how much fun we will have.”

"f**k yes. Look, you won't regret it. Especially once I get your hair and makeup done. Plus, I already promised the shop ladies that you'd buy it. And I’d tip them handsomely if they tackled you in the event that you tried to leave without it.”

I scoff and push off from the wall, grinning as I stroll Sophie's way. The air conditioning inside the grandiose store no longer feels cold.

"You are absolutely insane," I tell her. "And I love you for it."

Sophie smiles, twirling her dark brown locks around her fingers.

She exhales. "I know you were scared of being too visible at the party. Making more tongues wag and what-not. But that's exactly what we're going to do, Sabs, I swear. We're going to make tongues wag...and make sure you give these assholes the royal ‘f**k you’ on your way to Seattle.” She slaps me soundly on the ass, and I yelp. "So, let's get this party started."