I hang up the phone after leaving another voicemail for her. I’ve been calling and texting for the past few days, but I get nothing in response. It kills me to think that I might not ever hear her voice again, but each day that passes without being able to talk to her confirms what I don’t want to accept because it can’t be over. This can’t be it.
I went out yesterday to get her necklace fixed. I didn’t like the idea of it remaining broken. I can only hope that she’ll one day wear it again, but for now, it lies on the counter in my bathroom by her perfume.
I decided to come into work today because I’m going crazy at home. I need the distraction, and when I get here, I head upstairs. Max’s office door is open, and when I stop in, he says, “Hey, man. Been trying to call you.”
“Sorry. Things have been crazy,” I tell him as I sit down in front of his desk.
“Dude, I don’t even know what to say. Shit was insane when you left the other night.”
“Yeah?” I ask, but that night feels like it was weeks ago instead of days. So much has happened, and my thoughts haven’t been on anything but Candace.
“The cops came by later that night.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Just that I didn’t know who the f**k started the fight. That by the time I made it inside they were gone. There were so many people here that they weren’t gonna waste their time asking around, so you’re good.”
“Thanks, man,” I say. “What happened when I left?”
Leaning back in his seat, he tells me, “I dragged his ass out back and kicked the shit out of him before slamming him into the dumpster. He was f**ked up. Bad.”
I don’t even know how to feel about all of this because it all just hurts. Every part of it. It all came crashing down so fast.
“How’s Candace?”
“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me.”
“Why? What happened?”
Dropping my head to the side, I rest it in my hand, telling him, “She found out about me being the one who found her that night. She bailed, and I haven’t heard from her since the day after the fight.”
He shakes his head, confused, and questions, “You told her?”
“No. I talked to Jase. He said she had spoken with the detective on the case, and he had told her who the witness was . . . me. She took the call while I was still asleep, and when I woke, she was gone.”
“Fuck,” he sighs out.
“I really f**ked this up.”
Leaning his arms on the desk, he asks, “What are you gonna do?”
“I dunno, man. I keep calling and texting, but knowing her, she’s probably just deleting them.”
“Maybe she just needs time.”
“Yeah,” I say as I stand up. “Maybe. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
I spend the rest of the day buried in work that Max should be doing, but I need to keep busy, so I take it off his hands and work late into the night.
I finally talked to my mom last night after avoiding her calls. She was upset, hating that Candace had to find out from someone other than me. But I can’t keep asking myself what if. It is what it is, and I can’t go back because if I could, I would have done it all differently.
It’s been two weeks—and nothing. I call her everyday—and nothing. I’m going crazy, practically living at the bar, hiding in my office, and doing what I can to keep busy. I wound up hanging out with Jase and Mark the other day when they came up for drinks.
They’re my only connection to her, but they are also genuine friends and I don’t want to let go of that. Aside from Max, they’re friends that I’ve connected with on a more authentic level than I have in the past. I don’t want to go back to what I had before I met them. Candace showed me what it was to connect, and I’m not going to trash that. I can’t.
When there’s a knock at my door, I open it to find Jase standing there.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” I say as he walks in.
“Nothing. What are you up to?”
“Not a damn thing,” I tell him. “Wanna beer?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he says as he takes a seat in my living room. “How have you been?”
“How do you think I’ve been?” I respond as I fall back on the couch, kicking my feet onto the coffee table.
“I can’t get her to talk to me,” he admits.
“Join the club.”
“I’m serious, man. She won’t leave her house. I’m worried.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, because all his words do is hurt me.
“Maybe if she could hear you explain yourself . . .”
“You don’t think I’ve tried? Dude, I call her every single day. She won’t talk to me.”
“Go over there,” he says.
“If she’s not returning my calls or texts, she’s not gonna let me in.”
“She needs to talk to you. Take my key and just go. She needs to hear you ‘cause she’s shutting us all out,” he says. “You should see her. She looks awful.”
I watch as he slides her house key off his key ring and then sets it on the table.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t wanna hurt her.”
“She’s already hurting. You’re the only one who has ever really gotten through to her in the past. Just try?”