“No,” Liam says in that same wistful tone. “No, I doubt it will be.”
My mouth gapes slightly. I’m not sure what to say to that. I wish I would have just kept my mouth shut.
“I’ll see you later, Mackenzie,” he says, saving me from having to answer. I think it might be the first time he’s said my full name since the day we met.
I nod solemnly. “See you.”
I watch him walk out into the parking lot, never looking back. I wonder if things will ever return to normal between us, and all I can do is hope that with time, Liam will meet someone who deserves him. Who can give him all the things he’s looking for.
I don’t move until the sliding doors open again, Parker stepping out of the building sometime later and fussing over his scarf.
“Oh, hey,” he says when he catches sight of me. “Sorry, there was a server issue. I got held up.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
“You ready for that drink?”
I huff out a laugh from my nostrils as I think about all that just happened, all that’s happened for the last few months, really—shaking my head.
You can’t fight love.
I push away from the wall. “Yeah. I really am.”
* * *
?“You know, the alcohol was supposed to make the moping better,” Parker grumbles from beside me at the bar.
I down the rest of my glass, rolling my eyes. “This was your idea.”
“Because I thought that intoxicating you would make you more pleasant to be around.”
“Wow,” I snort. “You’re a real pal.”
“Someone has to make you take care of yourself,” he grouses.
I drop my head to the polished wood of the bar, pressing my cheek against it as I sigh. The slight spinning in my head does make the ache in my chest less noticeable, admittedly, but it doesn’t get rid of it completely.
“I just don’t get it,” I mumble.
Parker leans down toward my pitiful form. “You’re going to have to speak up. I can’t hear you over this shitty music.”
“Hey.” I peer up at him with narrowed eyes. “We don’t slander Miley Cyrus in this house.”
“Is that who it is?” He looks at the speakers with a grimace. “I liked her better on the wrecking ball.”
“I’m sorry that not everyone can be Taylor Swift.”
“Um, she was artist of the year and artist of the decade,” Parker says defensively. “No one can be Tay.”
“Tay,” I snort.
“Now what did you say?”
“I said I don’t get it,” I half shout.
“Get what?”
“He asked me on a date,” I groan. “A real date. Why did he do that if he was just going to dump me?”
“Can we call it dumping when it was contractual?” I glare at him, and he raises his hands in apology. “Okay, okay. He dumped you. He’s a bastard.”
“He’s not a bastard,” I whine.
“I’m getting mixed signals about how I am supposed to support you here.”
I blow out a breath. “I just . . . I had just decided to try letting somebody in, you know? I had this huge talk with Gran and there was some crying and shit, and I was feeling like the whole universe was aligning or something and then bam.” I slam my hand on the bar for emphasis. “Dumped.”
“Well, clearly, Noah has a broken brain. Obviously that’s why he did what he did.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I answer pitifully.
“Tell me how to cheer you up,” Parker urges, sounding concerned. “I actually hate seeing you like this, honestly. It’s like watching a puppy cry or something.”
“I wish I knew.” I sigh.
“Want to hear about some questionable internet usage from your fellow Denver General staff?”
I perk up. “Are you even allowed to tell me that?”
“Probably not, but if you start crying I might actually stop functioning.”
This makes me smile. “I thought gay men were supposed to be good at this sort of thing?”
“How many times have I told you not to put me in a box?” he huffs. “I can be emotionally incapable if I want to be. Now, do you want to hear or not?”
“Well, obviously,” I scoff.
“So, there’s a podiatrist on the seventh floor who is . . . way too into his job.”
I lift my head, furrowing my brow. “What do you mean?”
“Feet pictures, Mack. Feet pictures.”