Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (22 page)

“Tell. Me. What. Happened.” I can’t control the rage, and all I see is red. Venom shoots through my veins, and my entire body is on hyper alert.

Random people slow down to stare, to watch the dirty secret of our relationship unfold, the fabric our love unraveling at the seams.

He pushes himself up on his feet and slowly approaches me. “Listen. I’ll tell you everything. But please. Not here. Not like this.” His eyes are desperate and he’s shattering in front of me. In that single moment, the whole world shifts its axis and I know that the magnitude of what is about to transpire is enough to eternally tear my heart into pieces. Nothing will ever be the same again.

My body shakes, and I plant my feet firmly in the ground in an attempt to stay strong. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.”

His eyes search the streets but he never once looks at me.

“Phoenix, you either fucked her or you didn’t. Which is it?” Adrenaline shocks my system, sobering me to the magnitude of our situation.

His head drops down and he nods before falling to his knees on the damp ground. “I don’t think she remembers. Hell, I barely remember. I didn’t even know her name at the time.”

He looks at me apologetically like it's supposed to make me feel better. Like everyone's ignorance makes it all right. Really it just makes it worse. I can’t breathe and it feels like the entire world is zeroing in on my reaction. My eyes bite back the threatening tears. My insides are heaving. An earthquake rips through my heart and my soul.

I close my eyes and take short, calculated breaths, doing everything I can to keep me grounded.

“You've been lying to me this whole time. I asked you weeks ago when Hailey was here, and you lied! All this time I’ve been nothing but open and honest with you. And you’ve just sat there pretending everything was okay. Knowing you were keeping this from me. Knowing how much this would hurt me. How? How could you do that?”

I’m dancing the fine line between rage and an emotional meltdown. And as much as I want to cling to the anger and turn red in the face from screaming and make him physically hurt like he’s hurt me, sadness wins out. Because that’s what happens when you actually care about someone.

I don’t bother hiding the tears as they stream down my cheeks. I don't care that it's nearly two in the morning, and I’m making a scene in the middle of New York City. The only thing I care about is that my heart is on the ground, splintered in a million irreparable pieces. It suddenly feels like everything about him—about
us
—was a lie.

He climbs back up to his feet. “Let’s just go home. Get some sleep. And talk about this in the morning like adults.”

“Our entire relationship is based on a lie! You asked me to trust you, and against my better judgment, I did. Wholeheartedly. And this?
This
is how you repay me for that trust?”

“No! Don’t you dare say that. I fucking love you. And that is the God’s honest truth.” Phoenix cautiously moves in front of me and tries to look me in the eye. When I look away, he reaches his hand out to touch my shoulder, but I slap it away.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Ivy …” He breathes my name desperately, his eyes glassing over.

He doesn’t have the right. He lost the privilege to love me when he elected to keep the world’s biggest fucking secret from me for months.
Months!
He should have told me this when he first realized that I was Genevieve’s sister.

How foolish am I?

“If you loved me, you would have told me from the beginning. After the whole Hailey thing you swore you'd never lie to me again, Phoenix.” I muster up all of my strength and push him with all of my weight. “You swore you’d be honest! That was the
only
thing I ever asked of you. It was the one thing I expected from you!”

And that’s what this all boils down to again. Expectations. Or rather, falling short of them.

I can't bear to see the pained look in his eyes. Not because it hurts me, but because I have absolutely no clue if they’re even remotely genuine. The man I've allowed to help build me back up is the same man to crumble me to ruins.

Fuck. I need to get out of here.

I quickly turn around and throw my arm into the street, my eyes scanning for the nearest available cab. Moments later, a yellow car pulls up.

“I need to be alone tonight.”

We both reach out for the door handle at the same time and I give him a pointed look. He drops his hand and steps back as I open the door.

“Fine. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He just doesn
’
t get it.
I sit down in the cab but don’t slide over. He’s not welcome in my presence right now.

“No, Phoenix. I need some space. I don’t want you coming with me.”

“Ivy…”

My name hangs in the air between us.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do this right now.”

I slam the cab door and give the cab driver the intersection of our apartment. Phoenix bangs on the cab as we pull away. I clench my eyes tight as I hear him call out my name in the night. I feel like a bitch, but I need to be by myself and digest everything I’ve just discovered. I don’t know where he’ll sleep tonight, but I do know that if he were in my presence, he would never live until the morning.

I have no memory of the cab ride back to our apartment building, no recollection of climbing the four flights of stairs, and no clue how I ended up in our bed.

I fitfully roll over and see it’s nearly three-thirty in the morning. I’m wasted, and I’m sober. I’m angry and hurt from being ripped open. I’m feeling everything and nothing.

I clench my cell phone in my hands and dial Rachel. It rings once and goes to voicemail. I hesitate but then decide to just tell her. I need to tell someone. I’m desperate for someone to take the weight of his lies off my shoulder for two goddamn seconds and just carry it for me.

“Rachel … he lied to me. He slept with her. Phoenix slept with Genevieve …” I choke out before I cry into the phone for so long that the voicemail cuts off and disconnects my call.

A feral sob erupts from my chest and I bury my face into my soaking wet pillow, crying myself to sleep.

THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN going to bed pissed off is waking up even more pissed off after a night of restless sleep. The hurt and anger never really dissipate and on top of it all, you’re left with a raging hangover. Mix that with extreme exhaustion and I don’t even want to be in my own miserable company.

And as if things weren’t bad enough, we’re out of coffee.

And right now I fucking
need
coffee.

And I
need
to talk to Rachel.

And I need for the world to just stop being such a prick and just cut me some goddamn slack for once.

Simply stated … I just need to be put out of my misery.

I stand in the kitchen with no sound other than that fucking refrigerator motor.

“Shut up! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!” I scream before giving it several swift kicks on the bottom part of the door. A sharp pain shoots up through my shin, and my vision blurs with threatening tears.

Fuck.

I hop pathetically around the kitchen muttering obscenities that would get me kicked out of a truck stop. My head hurts. My heart hurts. And now my fucking leg hurts, too.

I just can’t win. Fuck it all to hell.

I don’t care that I’m not really angry at the refrigerator. I’m irate at myself. At Phoenix. At Genevieve. At the universe. I’m angry that, after all the shit I’ve had to deal with this year,
this
is the hand I’ve been dealt. I am one knee whack away from having my own personal “why me … why anyone!” Nancy Kerrigan moment.

Ugh. Just kill me now.

I sit down at the small table in our tiny kitchen and put my head in my hands. Everywhere I look there are traces of Phoenix. Photos of us being stupid in love on the fridge. His favorite mug on the counter still half full of coffee from yesterday morning. A paper crane he left for me by a bottle of wine. Even one of his trade publications on top of the mail stack. Life here simply points to him. A dull ache in my head throbs, agony sears my heart, and my eyes begin to fill with water.

This
is what happens when you let your guard down.

You don’t just fall in love. You crash head over heels in love with the man who fucked your sister … the man who fucked your sister and then conveniently lied to you about it.

I need to talk to someone about this before it fucks me up beyond all belief. I pick up the phone and dial Rachel again. I’m desperate for my best friend’s solace. Her voice has the power to wrap me in a hug and give me the comfort I need, even with the expanse of five states between us.

But instead, it goes to voicemail. Again. I don’t care that it’s too damn early to be functioning with a hangover on a Saturday morning. She needs to learn to answer her phone. Doesn’t she know this is an emergency?

I pull back and quickly fire off a text.

Ivy:
Where the hell are you? I really need to talk.

I move back through the apartment and throw my phone down on the couch. While I wait for her to respond, I slip into the bedroom and pull out an old pair of track pants, an oversized Wisconsin shirt and tie my dark curls in a knot on top of my head. My hair is greasy and my skin reeks of last night’s bar, but I don’t care. I don’t have it in me to shower, and my need for caffeine reigns supreme.

When I look in the mirror, I can hardly believe the woman looking back at me. I definitely should not being seen in public like this. Why doesn’t Starbucks offer door-to-door delivery? They really need to get on that. I could singlehandedly keep them in business with that kind of customer service.

Hastily, I throw back some aspirin for my raging headache and newly found shin pain, snatch my keys off the counter and slip my feet into a pair of worn out flip flops. A Starbucks run is absolutely necessary before I can even attempt to wrap my head around last night’s events.

Coffee understands me. It would never judge me. Coffee certainly would never sleep with my sister. And coffee would absolutely never lie about it.

Coffee could, quite possibly be, my best romantic prospect.

I open the door to leave and I nearly trip over the crumpled pile of a man lying on the ground before me.

Phoenix.

From the looks of it, he apparently crashed on the floor in the hallway outside of our front door. Around five fifteen, I’d heard him pleading for me to let him in. I nearly did just so he wouldn’t wake up the whole damn building, but if he were here my ass would have hightailed it to sleep on the floor of the gallery. When things finally went silent, I figured he’d left and found a hotel room.

I take a step back from his body.

Shit.
He looks about as good as I’m feeling right now.

Phoenix’s eyes open and he stares up at me, wordlessly broken. Pain penetrates his gaze and I do everything in my power to steel and protect my heart. He pushes himself to his feet and tears begin to pool in front of his beautiful maple brown eyes. I have to remind myself that those are the same eyes that looked at my sister and did unspeakable things with her. My insides heave at that thought and I try to shake the demons from my imagination. When he takes a step toward me, it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room and the walls quickly are closing in on us.

“Ivy … I can explain.” He reaches his hand out for me. But I put my hands up in front of me and step back, putting some needed breathing room between us.

“Don’t.” My tone is so sharp it scares me. And as far as I’m concerned, there is no explanation. Besides, I can’t do this right now. I’m not prepared to face him and relive everything that was ripped open last night.

“Please. Just listen to me.” His voice is small and desperate, but it pierces right through my core. It is absolutely haunting.

And that’s the thing about the human voice. There’s nothing in this world that is more powerful. A voice can crush you. Console you. Wrap around you in a warm embrace. And even grovel at your feet. It can start wars and restore peace. It can hate. And love. And make you feel. Really, truly
feel.
It is stronger than the most violent forces of nature, and yet it is an incredibly delicate instrument that each of us plays.

There are some voices that you barely notice. And others that boom with such dominance and authority that you can't help but stop and take notice. And some voices you could never ever forget, even if you tried.

But Phoenix’s voice?

Fuck.
Phoenix’s voice is sincere. And laced with anguish. And even a hint of love. I hate that I hate him so much right now. And I hate that I’m incapable of hating him even more.

“Please …” he implores, his eyes boring into mine.

His voice is tearing my heart into pieces all over again. I close my eyes and inhale slowly, trying to take a cleansing breath. Trying to separate the emotion from the facts. The hurt from the anger. The lie from the truth.

When I open my eyes, I look at him in disgust.