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“Holy shit!”

Justin lowers his head, wincing as he glances around the bar, its few occupants looking up in curiosity at his best friend’s exclamation. He looks down into the open mouth of his beer bottle, rolling it back and forth between his palms, avoiding Trace’s astonished gaze, his stomach leaden with misery.

It had taken him two days to call his best friend, that time spent holed up in a hotel room, watching a blank television screen and wondering how the hell he’d managed to fuck up so royally. Mistakes weren’t his forte. He’d made careful and calculated decisions in his career and his personal life ever since he was a teenager but laying in the dark on rented sheets taking a long hard look at the past few weeks, months, years he still couldn’t find where the thread had begun to unravel. Even with the clarity of hindsight he still wasn’t entirely sure where he’d gone so completely wrong. He felt lost but now he wasn’t just trapped in the maze of his doomed relationship; he was set adrift and on his own. That fact had him almost missing the comfort of his trapped relationship, a thought that frightened him so much that he pulled Trace off a flight that was already halfway down the tarmac. 

“Holy. Shit.”

“Stop saying that,” Justin says, reaching up to scratch his ear self-consciously, curling his shoulders in.

“You really said the thing… about her making you a miserable coward?” Trace asks in utter disbelief and Justin brings his hands to his face and rubs hard.

“Yes,” he replies lifelessly and Trace’s guffaw of laughter makes Justin wince.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Trace replies giving an astonished shake of his head as he takes a sip of his beer and he can’t contain his elation.

“Please stop,” Justin says, a whine lacing his words as he throws a pained glance in Trace’s direction.

“I’m so happy for you man,” Trace says clapping him on the shoulder as he sets his bottle down on the table. “Drinks for everybody!” he exclaims and Justin rolls his eyes before shooting his friend a disdainful look.

“Yeah I’m fine by the way. Thanks for asking,” Justin says the hard edge of sarcasm in his voice wiping the smile right off of his best friend’s face.

“I just figured-”

“What that I’d be jumping for fucking joy?” Justin accuses. “My wife cheated on me and my marriage is fucking over four days after it started. Drinks for fucking everybody.”

He scowls deeply, snatching his beer bottle and draining it before letting it slam back down, Trace wincing in response. He watches Justin for a long moment, taking in the misery drawn so plainly across his best friend’s face and feels sheepish for being so callous. He nudges his own near empty bottle further up the table.

“Hey…” he says lowly, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean-”

“You know I get that you didn’t understand why I even bothered,” Justin says bitterly. “Nobody fucking did. And maybe that’s where my mistake was. I should have listened. But goddammit Trace I loved her.” He closes his eyes, resting his elbows on the table and leaning his forehead on his clenched fists. “This fucking sucks.”

Trace presses his lips together and lets a hand fall heavily on the roundest part of Justin’s back, patting him hard. “It’s for the best.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me asshole,” Justin snarls and Trace’s hand falls away, flopping back in his chair in frustration.

“Well what do you want me to say Justin?” Trace asks, watching Justin let his breath out slow as if Trace were testing his patience. “Congratulations on making a succession of shitty life choices?” Justin glares at him from the corner of his eye. “You’ve been kind enough to never say that to me so I figured I’d return the favor.”

“Thanks,” Justin replies with sarcasm, his hands falling against the table with a thud.

“You’re welcome,” Trace says with mock sincerity and Justin sighs. “So… how’s this gonna go down?”

Justin sucks in a breath and lets it out slow, his cheeks puffing out as he shakes his head. “I dunno. She said she’d have her lawyer contact mine.”

“Annulment?”

Justin cringes. “Probably.”

“For the best.”

“Stop fucking saying that.”

“You said it yourself, man. You loved her.” Trace says and Justin looks at him perplexed. “Loved. Past tense.”

“And that’s supposed to make this any fucking easier?” Justin asks angrily and cringes as the waitress comes by, setting another beer in front of each of them and quietly taking away their empty bottles.

“Yeah,” Trace says quietly as the waitress leaves. “Justin you knew it was over,” he says soberly and Justin shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, his jaw set stubbornly. “If it wasn’t there would have been no way you would have given Charlotte a second look.”

Justin sucks in his breath at the sound of her name, closing his eyes on the vision of her pleading face, begging him not to go through with the wedding. His chest feels hot, a deep ache throbbing quick in his sternum before subsiding.

“Don’t-”

“Does she know?” Trace asks and Justin looks at him for a beat before reaching for his bottle and giving his head a quick shake before taking a drink. “When are you going to tell her?” Justin refuses to look at him and Trace scowls. “Look just because I said I wasn’t gonna hassle you on your recent shitty life choices doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit by and watch you make more.”

“What do you want me to do Trace?” Justin exclaims, his eyes holding Trace’s just long enough for his friend to see the misery there. Justin looks away shaking his head. “I screwed it up,” he grumbles, bringing his bottle to his lips and taking a deep drink.

“So you’re just gonna give up?” Trace asks dubiously. “Let her walk away?”

“I’m not giving up,” Justin replies peevishly, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m just not… I’m not gonna… it’s too soon …or too late…fuck I don’t know.”

“I don’t see why you’re stalling,” Trace pushes and Justin glares at him.

“Stalling? It’s been two days!” Justin exclaims, nervous heat traveling through his limbs and making his palms clammy.

“You can’t tell me that after everything you and Charlotte have been through together she wasn’t the first person on your mind when you left that office two days ago.” Trace gives him a hard look and Justin rolls his eyes looking away. “Look, it was obvious to me since the moment I fucking met the girl that she was perfect for you. It was obvious to everyone. But you. And even after you were with her you still didn’t see it. I know you loved her-”

“Of course I love her!” he exclaims, his chest heaving and he brings a hand to his forehead, his temples throbbing from the stress. “But I’m not gonna just go running back to her because my marriage fell apart. She doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t-”

“Love,” Trace interrupts and Justin looks up at him quizzically finding his friend smirking knowingly at him. “Present tense.”

Justin growls, fighting the urge to slam his head down on the table, opting to fold his arms and rest his forehead on them instead. He feels Trace pat his back again, his little chuckle making Justin grit his teeth. His eyes close, letting his memory run, sprinting back through the past several months, past the sex that made everything complicated to before when she’d just been the girl who made him laugh. The girl who encouraged him and believed in him, who tried to make it right when he was doing everything all wrong. He remembers her smile, that little dimple in her cheek that he’d never gotten the chance to kiss even though it was something he’d always wanted to do. He remembers the giggle she would always try to suppress, how it would surface and he would turn to look at her in time to find her hand coming to cover her mouth and a guilty expression in her eyes. He chuckles to himself at the memory. God he’d loved her even then.

But now she was gone.

“You know… my granddad asked me one time…” Trace says after a moment and Justin looks up at him miserably, watching his best friend swallow, his face contemplative as he eyes the beer bottle in his hand. “He said,” he clears his throat lowering his voice ‘Trace, you get a girl in trouble?’” A ghost of a smile passes over his face at the memory, his eyes finally meeting Justin’s. “And I was like ‘Nah Pops, she’s not pregnant.’” Trace smiles, pushing out a disbelieving cough of a laugh. “And you know what he said to me J? He said ‘I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout babies boy. I’m askin’ you if you made her fall in love with you. A baby she could handle. You breakin her heart when she gave you her all...’ Trace pauses shaking his head and in that instance Justin sees Ben Ayala reincarnated in his grandson. “’a girl don’t just come back from that.’” Trace sets his bottle on the table, leaning closer, his eyes imploring. “Charlotte’s not just gonna come back from this dude. She’s done crawling back. It’s your turn to get on your fuckin knees.”

“And what?” Justin asks, frustrated. “What? She’s gonna fall into my arms and say she forgives me? Cue the music, ride off into the sunset? This isn’t a fucking movie Trace. This is my life.”

Trace snorts, “You ask me your life’s been pretty cinematic thus far.”

Justin scowls deeply and Trace laughs before sighing. He looks at his best friend for a long moment before leaning closer, his tone soft as he begins to speak.

“You can’t lose her because you’re scared, Justin.”

Justin’s eyes widen, bristling violently as he tries to scoot away but Trace puts a hand on his arm. “You’ve been scared for too long. Look at the mess it’s got you in.”

“Shut up Trace. You don’t know-”

“I know Amelia hurt you,” he cuts him off and Justin looks down, gritting his teeth at the sound of her name. “she had you down for the count for a long time but it’s time to get up off the mat, J. Charlotte is…” he trails searching for the words. He shrugs laughing. “She’s your lobster.”

Justin bursts out laughing, a feeling that’s foreign to him but he finds that he’s energized by it. “Lobster huh?”

Trace nods. “She’s your movie. You can’t let that get away. You just fucking can’t.”

Justin sighs, looking down at the table before cutting his eyes to Trace who is staring at him steadily, giving him a little nod of encouragement. He looks down again, biting his lip hard and wondering if his heart can take two shatterings in one week.

“Alright…” he says and Trace’s face lights up, fist pumping in victory and Justin laughs despite himself. “What do we do?”

“Oh don’t you worry,” Trace says, his smile about to split his face as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I got this.”

***

Charlotte’s apartment has never been cleaner. All of her laundry is done, her clothes folded and put away and her kitchen is spotless, all dishes washed and in the cupboard. The kitchen table even looks like it could be eaten on now instead of being covered in papers and bills. Her homework is finished, she’s showered and dressed and she’s sitting on her couch, mind frantically searching for something else to do.

If she keeps moving she finds she’s happier. Concentrating on menial tasks keeps her mind from going back to Amelia’s office to relive her last humiliation or to the groom’s chambers at St. Thomas… her eyes snap shut, standing abruptly looking for something to tidy up.

If she just keeps moving the hurt isn’t so debilitating. But she wears out eventually and when she sleeps she dreams. Of cold stone walls and candle light, Justin in his tuxedo and Amelia floating towards him in a dress shaped like a bell. The preacher asks if anyone objects and she stands, she opens her mouth and even though she’s screaming at the top of her lungs no one seems to hear her. She wakes up in a cold sweat, her heart throbbing against her ribcage, each beat feeling as if it’s tearing her open from the inside.

Her hands shuffle over the magazines she’d laid in a fan across her coffee table, stacking them and then fanning them again, wishing to god she’d had a dog to walk or even a goldfish to watch swim around it’s bowl. She wishes she had more clothes to wash or a cake to bake. She wishes that job interview that Fee got her at some trendy restaurant in Manhattan was today instead of tomorrow. But she has no pet, no laundry, no cake mix and no job to take her mind off the fact that she’d managed to lose the man she loved and the job she loathed but was her life nonetheless all in one week.

She should feel free, weightless and unhindered since the two main causes of stress in her life are now gone but she feels trapped by it instead, haunted by their loss and the crushing feeling of “what-the-hell-do-I-do-now”?

She’s startled by a knock at the door, her brow furrowing as she stands to answer it. She blinks slowly, her brain trying to process the redhead beaming at her on her doorstep.

“Hi!” Ginger exclaims, her shoulders bunching up to her ears as if seeing Charlotte again brings her some kind of overwhelming joy while Charlotte’s stomach curls in a sickening mix of dread and anticipation.

Ginger’s presence could only mean one thing; that Trace wasn’t far away and where Trace was Justin was sure to be nearby as well.

***

“You’re sure about this?” Justin asks, one eyebrow raising as he regards his best friend curiously, his stomach turning over and over itself.

“Would you stop worrying,” Trace sighs, taking a swig from his beer bottle. “Ginger may be a little slow on the uptake but if there’s one thing she’s good at it’s matchmaking.”

Justin groans, letting his head hang back. “I don’t need a Yenta-”

“You need a fuckin miracle,” Trace deadpans and Justin glares at him but softens when Trace gives him a winning smile. “What are you gonna say to her when she gets here?”

Justin shifts. “Well… I guess that… that I’m sorry.”

Trace blinks at him slowly. “You’re sorry… That’s it?”

“Well I don’t fucking know,” Justin growls, crossing his arms over his chest as a hot flash rolls over him, feeling his cheeks burn. “I am sorry. I’m sorry I put her through that… and that I was an idiot…and that I don’t wanna be an idiot anymore.”

Trace looks at him dubiously. “Yeah man I dunno.”

“I know,” Justin says, dropping his head onto his arms on the table. “I’m gonna lose her Trace,” he says softly, his voice muffled. “There’s nothing I can say to-”

“Yes there is,” Trace cuts him off, his voice firm. “You tell her you fucked up, you apologize, you tell her you love her.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It is that easy.”

“You didn’t see her face,” Justin says finally lifting his head. “You didn’t see her face when she told me…” his breathing catches as that sharp pain lodges itself under his ribs and it takes him a minute to find his voice again. “when she told me she loved me… and I…”

“Left to get married.”

Justin glares. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You wanna practice?”

“What?” Justin asks with a disbelieving laugh.

“You wanna practice.” Trace says again, turning more in his chair so that he’s facing Justin, squaring his shoulders. “you know, pretend I’m her.”

“Um… no,” Justin says with a chuckle, turning back to his beer, taking a sip and shaking his head. “Ginger knows where we are right?”

“Come on dude, quit worrying! You heard what I told her on the phone. ‘Bring Charlotte to The Corner Bar.’ How hard could that possibly be?”

***

“And you’re sure Trace said to come here?” Charlotte asks, slipping onto a tall stool and resting her hands on the greasy tabletop, looking around apprehensively.

“This is the bar around the corner isn’t it?” Ginger asks a little testily, pulling herself up onto her own stool and looking around. “Kind of a shady place huh?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Hmmm… Well I guess I’ll go get us some drinks while we wait,” Ginger replies undeterred by Charlotte’s unease, bouncing over to the bar.

Charlotte glances around the room, doing her best to avoid making eye contact with any of the clientele. Even though she’d lived in this neighborhood for nearly three years now she’d never been inside The Show Bar before now, always picking up her pace when walking past. There were bars on the windows and the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke which was detectable from the street is almost overpowering on the inside. Men in leather jackets with matted hair and scraggly beards sit at the bar watching the Speed channel or hovering around the pool tables with cues in hand waiting their turn. Charlotte can’t help but notice that they are two of the only four women in the room, a fact that she would find comforting if it wasn’t for their hard, grizzled appearance and menacing glares.

“Well, I tried to get us some Cosmos but he didn’t have any cranberry juice,” Ginger huffs setting two beer mugs the table. “He said these were good though. Pink Panty somethings.” Ginger shrugs, wiggling her way onto her barstool and looks around.

“Why are you here Ginger?” Charlotte asks, wincing a little at her rudeness but wanting to get to the point nonetheless. She figures the less time she spends here the better.

“Oh I came for the wedding,” Ginger says, smiling as she takes a sip of her drink, wincing brutally as she sets her mug back down.

Charlotte chuckles darkly. “Yes… I know that. I mean why are you here?”

“Same reason you are,” Ginger says blinking and bringing her mug to her lips again. “Trace is meeting us.”

“Just Trace?” Charlotte asks suspiciously and Ginger nods, her blue eyes large and innocent but Charlotte isn’t fooled. “I’m leaving.”

She starts to stand but Ginger grabs for her wrist. “Look, just hear him out okay?”

“Ginger you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about,” Charlotte snaps and Ginger drops her arm, her face crumpling into a wounded frown that has Charlotte back peddling. “I’m sorry, this is not your fault. You just… you don’t know…” she sighs, letting her head hang back. “you don’t know what he’s put me through ok?”

“Honey I know exactly what he’s put you through,” Ginger says, looking at her as if she were stupid for thinking otherwise. “The sneaking around, wanting him to change, wanting him to just realize,” Ginger says looking down into her drink and shaking her coppery head sadly. “Been there. Done that.” They’re silent for a second, Ginger looking sadly into her drink before she snaps out of it, looking up and asking with only a slight hint of humor, “So tell me. What hurts more? Thinking you should hate him or knowing you don't?”

The question causes Charlotte’s face to burn hot, her brows drawing as she slowly lowers herself back onto her barstool. “I think the worst part is that I knew this would happen,” she confesses, looking morosely down at the mug in her hands, closing her palms around it and feeling it chill her fingers. “I mean how else could it have turned out?” she questions, scoffing a laugh as she shakes her head. “No I did this to myself.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier on you though,” Ginger says sympathetically and Charlotte smiles sadly.

“No…” she chuckles, a strange sense of relief washing over her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been keeping inside these past few months and even before that. She didn’t have the luxury of discussing her relationship with Justin with much of anyone and Ginger didn’t seem like the most obvious of choices but it felt good to Charlotte to finally be able to talk about it.

“You do love him though?” Ginger questions, her large eyes hopeful and Charlotte cringes, lifting her glass to her mouth and taking a large gulp.

Her voice is hoarse, speaking past the fire burning down her throat. “Sometimes. Sometimes he makes me wanna throw him into oncoming traffic,” she says and Ginger giggles, causing Charlotte to smile herself but it fades quickly, “but then I realize I’d probably kill myself trying to save him.” She takes another large swallow. “I’ve been trying to save him for a long time.”

“And Amelia never figured it out?” Ginger asks, blinking over at her over the rim of her own mug.

Charlotte laughs. “No… she never did. I guess she figured he wouldn’t fuck the help,” she replies bitterly, taking another drink and blinking slowly. “you know this isn’t half bad once you get past how disgusting it is.”

“She couldn’t tell he was in love with you?” Ginger presses, her brows drawn in confusion and Charlotte’s eyes snap to hers. “I mean it’s obvious right? Trace said it was pretty obvious.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “To everyone but Justin.” She winces at his name, reaching to down the last of her drink, Ginger watching wearily.

“Sit tight,” she says after a moment, patting Charlotte’s arm as she takes her mug from her. “They’ll be here soon and ya’ll can work it out. I’ll get us another drink while we wait.”

“Hey,” Charlotte says, catching her arm and Ginger turns looking at her quizzically. “You said… you’d said this had happened to you… been there done that?” Ginger smiles softly, nodding. “What… what happened?”

She chuckles. “It turned out okay.”

“Really?” Charlotte asks, eyeing her questioningly.

“Well you be the judge,” Ginger says. “How do you think Trace and I are doing?” She winks at Charlotte before shaking her head. “I’ll go get those drinks.”

***

“Where are they?” Justin huffs, glancing down at his watch as he fidgets in his chair.

“They’re on their way,” Trace insists for what feels like the umpteenth time, glancing at his own watch nervously.

“It’s been an hour,” Justin says, rubbing his hands down his thighs, trying to make them stop sweating.

“They’ll be here any second.”

“What if she’s not coming?”

It’s the words that Justin had been avoiding asking since they agreed to send Ginger to get her. He knows that he doesn’t deserve Charlotte, knows that after everything he’s put her through she has every right to not show up, to blow him off like he’d always done her. He can barely stand it but he knows it’s true and if there’s one thing he’s learned from this entire experience it’s that lying to yourself only makes everything that much worse. But despite that fact, he really didn’t want to believe it.

“She’s coming. Ginger’s just softening her up a little,” Trace says and Justin looks over at him horrified. “What! After everything you’ve done she’s gonna need softening!”

Justin glares at him. “Thanks asshole.”

“I’m just sayin…” he sighs. “Look I’ll call her okay?”

Trace reaches into his pocket, fishing out his phone and after pressing a few buttons he holds it to his ear, listening to it ring. A burst of sound on the other line startles him as the other line picks up and Justin looks on with furrowed brows as Trace squints, bringing his hand up to his other ear to try and listen.

“Ginger?....Gin…GINGER!” he snaps sharply and Justin’s heart begins to thump unevenly in his chest. “What are you…Where are you?” he pauses and Justin listens to the muffled slur of Ginger’s voice inaudible to him but Trace’s eyebrows raise. “You’re waiting for us? What do you mean you were supposed to meet us at The Corner Bar an hour ago!”

“Is Charlotte with her?” Justin asks and Trace holds up a hand, listening.

“No… no not the bar around the corner. The Corner Bar. It’s in Manhattan… Where are you?... Are you fucking kidding me?” He scoffs pulling the phone away from his mouth to speak to Justin. “They’re at some dive in the Bronx called The Show Bar.”

“Is Charlotte with her?” Justin asks again in a heated whisper but Trace glares at him menacingly, holding up his hand again.

“Look I don’t care if you’re pissed at me, although why only God fucking knows. This isn’t about us. You need to get Charlotte over here…” Another pause. “Fuck me? What the hell Gin-…” He’s cut off by slew of angry mumbles that Justin can’t decipher and Trace is looking at him utterly baffled, shaking his head. “Why are you so pissed?” The angry mumbles increase in volume and speed, Justin now catching a few choice words that cause his eyebrows to rise. He hadn’t taken Ginger as the sailor’s mouth type. “Look… look just stay where you are okay? We’ll come to you…. Yeah well I am gonna bother and maybe you should lay off whatever the hell you’ve been drinking because-” His words come to an abrupt halt, pulling the phone away from his ear and looking at it bewildered. “She hung up on me!”

“What the hell is going on?” Justin asks, his voice raised and he looks down embarrassed as the people at the tables around them glance their way.

“I have no fucking idea,” Trace says, frustration evident in his voice as he stands from his chair. “We gotta go get them. Come on.”

***

“But, this is the sad part,” Charlotte slurs, blinking blearily at her half empty glass. “We weren't even together and he still broke my heart.”

Ginger lifts her head from her hand, her lips puckering in displeasure, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “Guys are jerks.”

“They are!” Charlotte exclaims her eyes widening as if this were the most enlightening statement she’d ever heard. “Do you know what he said to me? Do you know…” she turns on her stool, nearly sliding off the side in an effort to face Ginger who has sat up straight again, giving Charlotte her utmost attention. “He told me… actually told me that I never tell him no. And then when I tell him there are some lines I won’t cross he acts like the idea is foreign to him! Like… like I’ll just do whatever he says!”

“What a jerk!” Ginger exclaims and Charlotte nods animatedly.

“And then when I try to get him to talk to me… to tell me what he’s thinking because… you know… how the fuck am I supposed to know… he’s all,” she lowers her voice, pulling her brows in as she imitates him, “‘You wanna talk about feelings now? That’s not who we are, Charlie.’ Oh I’m sorry,” Charlotte exclaims her voice rising as she flings a hand out in frustration, nearly knocking over her glass. “I forgot ‘who we are’ is you fucking me and then leaving.”

Ginger shakes her head slowly, her vision going wobbly with the movement. “My momma always told me never make someone your priority when all you are to them is an option.” She nods authoritatively, draining the last of her mug and looking around “Where’d the bartender go?”

“That really is all I was,” Charlotte says, realization blooming plainly across her face as if this is the first time the thought has occurred to her. She covers her face with her hands shaking her head. “God I can’t believe I let him do this to me.” She lets her arms fall back onto the table with a loud thump, looking up at the ceiling. “I let him call me Charlie. I used to hate that.” She scowls down at her hands on the table. “Now I love it.”

“Fuck him,” Ginger says and Charlotte looks over at her stunned.

“Yeah!” she says, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Fuck him!” she reaches for her glass, fingers fumbling to curl around the handle.

“Trace is an asshole too,” Ginger says her face screwing up in annoyance. “Just expecting me to drop everything and find you and convince you that his idiot best friend loves you.”

“The only person Justin loves is himself!” Charlotte snaps, throwing back the last of her glass. “Where is that bartender?”

“And he doesn’t take anything I say or do seriously. I’m working really hard to make a good name for myself. I wanna own my own salon one day! But does he care anything about that? No, it’s just ‘come to California to this party with me.’ ‘fly to Missouri and sit in a deer blind with me while I kill Bambi.’ ‘come on baby suck my dick I’ve had a rough day.’ BUT DOES HE CARE IF I HAD A ROUGH DAY???”

The patrons around them turn to look at her but all she does is stare down into her empty mug, bottom lip trembling and Charlotte pats her shoulder clumsily. “I really love him,” Ginger sniffles, her face crumpled in sadness. “But I think all I am to him is some hot bimbo he can bend over.”

“ME TOO!” Charlotte exclaims and then her brow creases. “Well not the hot bimbo part… but the bending over part.”

“You know what?” Ginger asks, wiping at her nose holding her head high. “I’m done. I’m not going to be anybody’s hot bimbo. I’m gonna be my own hot bimbo.”

“Good for you!” Charlotte exclaims her fingers grappling for her glass again. “Lets propose a toast! Here's a big FUCK YOU to the texts I waited for.”

Ginger reaches for her own glass, raising it clumsily. “To all the dates I hoped for when he was too busy doing something else.

“The love I wanted,” Charlotte adds, her heart burning in her chest.

“and the tears I cried,” Ginger adds, giving a deep nod.

“and the heart you broke, asshole!” Charlotte finishes, banging her glass roughly against Gingers, both women going to take a drink but frowning when they remember their glasses are both empty.

“GINGER!”

Both girls look up startled, finding Trace making his way over to them, Justin trailing along behind him. Charlotte’s eyes meet his, her stomach dropping to her toes and she looks down angry with herself that even after everything she’s said today he can still give her butterflies.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Trace asks in a harsh whisper, eyes flicking around apprehensively to the other patrons.

“What do you care?” Ginger snaps back, shrugging off the hand that he’d wrapped around her bicep as she slid off her barstool. “Charlotte you want another drink?” She levels her eyes on Trace, a slow smirk pulling at her lips. “They’re free. Jinx likes me.” She turns abruptly, her fiery hair slapping Trace in the face and he watches her swish away, confused and hurt.

“Hey!” he exclaims when her words sink in, stumbling in his effort to follow her. “Who the hell is Jinx?”

Justin watches the two of them for a moment before turning back to Charlotte who is doing her best to keep her eyes on the table in front of her, refusing to look at him. He slides hesitantly onto the barstool next to her, folding his hands on the table as he searches for something to say.

“So…” he trails, flexing and unflexing his fingers. “I guess… I guess you heard about… about Amelia and me?” Charlotte snorts, rolling her eyes and looking away from him. “I made a mistake Charlie.”

“You know I really fucking hate that name,” Charlotte replies, her head whipping to glare at him and he blinks back at her startled. “Ever since I was little. And then you come along-”

“God what have you been drinking?” he asks, cutting her off as he pulls the mug from her hand and sniffing at it, the alcohol burning his nose.

“What the hell do you care?” Charlotte snarls, snatching the mug back away from him angrily and he watches her for a beat before sighing.

“Great… just…wonderful,” he sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath and turning more fully towards her. “Look I know you’re kinda not really in the right mindset right now but I’d like you to listen to me please.”

His blue eyes are large, his face somber and Charlotte looks up at him blearily, his face swimming in her vision. He reaches for her hands tentatively, his fingers wrapping around hers causing her to look down dumbly, electricity sparking across her skin. She rips her hands back annoyed, trying to spin away from him but her feet get tangled on the footrest of her barstool.

“Charlotte I’m sorry,” he says softly, trying to pull his stool closer to hers. “Look at me!” he insists, frustrated at talking to the back of her head. “Charlotte, please just look at me.”

She grits her teeth at the pleading in his voice her face turning towards him unwillingly and when she looks at him he smiles relieved. He reaches for her hands tentatively again, thumbs smoothing over her knuckles making her heart tremble.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” she mumbles softly, pulling her hands from his again and he lets her go reluctantly.

“Okay, I deserve that,” he says evenly, placing his hands in his lap. “I know that I don’t deserve you. I know that. If you would just… give me another chance-”

“Don’t…” she spits, her anger startling him. “You had your chance. You’ve had plenty of chances.”

“I’m asking for one more,” he says, commanding his voice to be strong even though his stomach is trembling. “I know that I haven’t done right by you. But I’m telling you that all of that is over now. I want to put it behind us. I want us to be together. For real.”

He winces. Maybe he should have taken Trace up on his offer to practice. Charlotte merely shakes her head, coughing out another disbelieving laugh looking around the bar and wondering how the hell she got here. Why had it all come to this? She looks down at the table, her finger tracing a long gash in the vinyl.

“You know when I first met you I never would have imagined that I would have such strong feelings for you.” She blinks up at him, her eyes hazy and she wishes she could focus on him more, take in the devastated look on his face, the glimmer of hope in his eyes. She licks her lips, making an effort to speak clear, to not slur because even in her fuzzy, inebriated mind she knows what she’s saying to him is important. “I never would have thought that I would get butterflies in my stomach when someone mentions your name. Or that I would miss you,” her eyes close, squeezing shut as if she were in pain and he longs to pull her to him, “that I would miss you so much.” She takes a shaking breath, her head turning from side to side. “When I first met you I never would have thought that I would love you.”

“I love you too,” he says in a rush, hands reaching for hers, warmth spreading through him as he finally says words that have been bottled up inside him for too long but she shrugs him away, anger and outrage blooming in her eyes.

“And you think that makes everything better?” she asks her brows raising before shaking her head and looking away again.

“We gotta get outta here man.”

Justin grits his teeth at Trace’s interruption, turning to glare at his best friend over his shoulder. He finds Trace glaring right back, his arm around Ginger’s waist even though she’s struggling to free herself.

“I’m in the middle of something here-”

“You’re not gonna convince her you’re not an asshole,” Ginger says, glaring moodily at Justin who blinks back at her shocked. “You had your chance.”

“Ginger shut up,” Trace snaps then looking at Charlotte. “Charlie-”

A chorus of “Don’t call her that” and one “don’t call me that” sounds all at once, Charlotte looking at Justin bewildered. “She doesn’t like it,” he adds softly, looking down at his hands and then back at her, his eyes doleful. Charlotte merely blinks back at him.

“Fine. Charlotte just take the time to hear him out okay? He loves y-”

“Nothing he can say matters,” Ginger butts in again and Trace glares at her. “He can’t take back what he did.”

“He can try and make up for it,” Trace argues turning fully towards her and Ginger does the same, their toes nearly touching.

“You can’t make up for constantly telling her she’s not good enough-”

“I never said that!” Justin exclaims, his brows drawing as he looks from Ginger to Charlotte. “That’s not true. I never thought that.”

“You didn’t have to think it or say it,” Ginger says and Trace brings a hand up trying to cover her mouth. “Actions speak louder than- Stop trying to cover my mouth Trace!”

They dissolve into their own argument, their eyes violent, snapping brutally at each other and Justin watches in silent disbelief.

“She’s right,” Charlotte says, drawing his attention back to her, finding her picking at her fingernails in her lap. “It was never something you said. And maybe you didn’t think it but somewhere deep down you believed it.”

“How can you say that?” Justin asks, his chest burning at the accusation.

“I told you I loved you and you walked away!” Charlotte exclaims, her eyes bright with anger and unshed tears. “You had every opportunity, Justin! For the longest time you had a million chances to get out. You had countless people trying to make you see: Trace, your parents, not to mention me. You didn’t want me Justin. I’m not sure you really do now.”

“Charlotte why would I be here if I didn’t want you?” Justin asks exasperated.

“Because Trace pushed you to come,” Charlotte says soberly, a guess and by the way his mouth snaps shut and he looks away from her she knows it’s the truth. Her insides burn. “Goodbye Justin.”

She stands from her barstool, wobbling a little on her feet and Trace and Ginger stop their arguing to watch her step away. She barely gets two feet away before Justin’s hand clamps around her wrist, sending his barstool tumbling backwards in his effort to catch her.

“I’m here because I love you,” Justin says both hands wrapping around her biceps the words tumbling from his lips effortlessly, a gasp tearing from Charlotte’s throat. He swallows hard, breathing raggedly for a moment while searching for more, feeling as if he’s dragging the words from his gut. “You know how I once told you that not knowing what you want isn’t a bad thing? That knowing what you don’t want is just as good as knowing what you do? I know that I don’t want to be without you Charlotte. I don’t know where my life is gonna go from here and I don’t know what kind of person I’m going to become but I want you there with me so I can make sure that I’m becoming a person that you can love. And that can love you back the way you deserve. I’m not perfect. I’m never gonna be. But I will try my damndest to be perfect for you.”

Charlotte blinks back at him, her breathing shallow as she looks into his desperate blue eyes. His fingers are clenching her arms hard enough to bruise, his own chest rising and falling rapidly and surely she can hear his heart pounding. She bites her lip, closing her eyes sending wet tracks down her face, Justin reaching to wipe them away quickly. Her fingers wrap around his wrists, taking a steadying breath that she lets out through pursed lips.

“You’re too late,” she whispers shakily, not opening her eyes but she hears his harsh exhalation, feels it rush against her face.

Justin stares at her dumbfounded, blood roaring in his ears as he tries to comprehend her words. He’s too late? Her eyes open slowly, their greenness startling him, and he lets her pull his hands from her face, letting them fall to his sides slowly. He wants to scream at her “no!,” he wants to grab her again, shake her until she listens but he can’t seem to find his voice, his body leaden and all he can do is stare back at her as the hurt washes completely over him.

“I’m sorr-” she starts but presses her lips together to stop the flow of words.

She knows how he feels, has seen the look on his face before because it’s the same one that she's seen in the mirror over the last several months more than she'd care to admit. She almost reaches for him then, almost touches his face in an effort to comfort but she stops herself. She grits her teeth. He doesn’t deserve comfort, least of all from her.

She turns, bumping into one of the tables around them in her haste to get away, Ginger pulling from Trace to rush after her, trying to call her back. Justin feels the ground under him heave upwards, Trace’s hand settling on his shoulder to steady him as he watches Charlotte walk out the door and, he fears, out of his life for good.

It’s pretty quiet in Southern Hospitality for a Saturday afternoon. The summer sun spills through the windows, burning the floorboards and Justin can tell the sidewalks are baking outside. He supposes the majority of the city is on the coast, catching some relief from the city heat if only for a weekend and what with no baseball game on today the bar isn’t seeing its usual game-day clientele. A couple college girls sip martinis at the end of the bar, paying him no mind, and he wonders briefly if they’d recognized him. He chuckles darkly, gazing down into his glass, the amber liquid splintered with ice cubes. He doesn’t recognize himself anymore either.

“Hey could you turn it up?” one of the girls hollers and the bartender who’d been leaning against the other end of the bar, keeping an eye on the level of his drink reaches for the remote, upping the volume on the TV at the other end.

“It seems that New York City’s It Couple has called it quits.”

Justin’s head snaps up looking over at the television to find one of the entertainment news channels’ talking heads yammering on next to a picture of him and Amelia that has been digitally ripped in two. His teeth grit.

“Only one month after their spectacular ten million dollar wedding at St. Thomas Cathedral, Justin Timberlake and Amelia Domineck have had their nuptials annulled. Sources close to the singer-”

“Fuckin’ awesome,” Justin grumbles, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes, his thumb and middle finger pressing into his temples to try and alleviate the aching in his head.

“Whoops sorry ladies,” the bartender hollers down the bar as she flicks the channel over to a bowling match. “Big tournament.”

Justin lowers his hand, flicking his eyes between the TV and the girl behind the bar before doing a double take. He’d never quite noticed it before, the resemblance, her long dark hair the same length, the shape of her face similar, maybe a little thinner. The only difference is her eyes, they’re brown and not green. His chest constricts then, causing him to gasp for air as the pain blooms hot, spreading itself through his veins, crawling down his arms making his fingers grip his glass harder and he throws back the remainder of his drink to try and put out the flames.

The bartender has another glass waiting for him, setting it on his napkin and snatching away the empty tumbler as soon as he sets it on the bar, wiping away the ring it had left with a towel.

“You make a good drink,” he offers, his voice bordering on timid, as he lifts his glass, eyeing her over the rim as she drops his other in the sink behind the bar.

She chuckles. “I don’t think how it tastes is particularly important to you right now,” she quips and he frowns.

“I’m not drunk.”

He hits the K a little too hard, his tongue making a squelching sound against the roof of his mouth and the bartender gives him a knowing look that makes his cheeks burn.

“Didn’t say you were,” she says softly, watching him for a moment. “It’s alright I guess.” She shrugs smiling and he wishes she had a dimple in her cheek. “You’ve had a rough month.”

He laughs mirthlessly, giving a slight shake of his head, taking a deep drink. “No fucking kidding.”

“Been spending a lot of time here.”

“Maybe I like your company,” he ventures and she raises an eyebrow completely unamused.

“What about that pretty brunette I used to see you in here with sometimes for lunch?” she asks and Justin’s eyes snap to hers, feeling as if all the blood has left his head, leaving him woozy and hot, the pain disorienting.

“What about her?” he asks, clearing his throat and trying to steady his voice. She merely smiles.

“You tell me,” she challenges, cocking her hip out to the side and resting her hand there.

“I’d rather not,” he replies tonelessly, preferring not to think about it.

“You know I’ve been working here for awhile,” she says, “Almost since you opened and I’ve seen a few of the girls you’ve dated. The actress, a few randoms, and, of course, the missus,” Justin cringes which she chuckles at, “and none of them looked at you like that girl did.”

“Yeah well I fucked everything up, okay?” Justin snaps and the bartender raises her eyebrows at his hostility which wanes quickly into despair. Justin’s shoulders hunch forward as he runs his hands over his face.

“How’d you manage that?” she asks softly and Justin merely blinks up at her.

“Well… I don’t know if you heard but uh…” he says, his voice hushed as he looks quickly down the bar before flicking his gaze to the front window conspiratorially before his eyes meet hers again. “I kinda got married.”

She gives him a wry smile at which he shakes his head, lifting his drink to take a sip, the alcohol burning his tongue. He nearly chokes on it when she asks, “But that’s over now isn’t it?”

He sets his glass down a little harder than intended. “You know you sound just like my idiot best friend. Why is everyone under the impression that my marriage meant nothing to me? That I should be over the moon because I’m-” he makes aggravated air quotes, “-‘free’, instead of devastated that my life is in goddamn shambles?”

She regards him for a moment before answering. “I think…” she says carefully and he’s seen that look a million times before…just on someone else’s face.

“Come on lemme have it,” he encourages, waving her in as he brings his glass to his lips again.

She sighs. “I think they feel that way because it was obvious to everyone, but you, that this was what you wanted all along.”

He chokes, whiskey and soda filling his lungs making him hack and sputter. She looks at him alarmed, grabbing a clean towel and offering it to him so he can wipe his mouth and dab abashedly at the few dribbles on his shirt. “I… what? he questions, his voice thick, catching in his throat and making him cough again. “you think I wanted all of this to happen?”

“Well maybe not all of this,” she says, gesturing at him and he looks down at his rumpled clothes, scratching at his scruffy cheek. “But somewhere deep down you wanted something more than that marriage was going to give you.” She shrugs. “Or you wouldn’t have been looking elsewhere.”

“Hey, I was not looking elsewhere,” Justin spits, his eyes flashing angrily at her and she holds her hands up, palms facing him in concession. He shifts in his chair. “It just happened, okay. Its not like I planned it. It’s not like I wanted to get involved with her. She just… She knew how demanding Amelia could be…” he winces at her name, rushing on to get the taste of it out of his mouth. “She understood me and she was there for me when… other people… weren’t.”

“You were friends.”

“Yes!” Justin exclaims, nodding. “We were very good friends.”

“And what did she get out of this friendship…if you don’t mind me asking?” the bartender ventures and Justin’s eyes snap to hers, her question shocking him so it takes a moment for the shameful blush to creep up his neck.

“She… she got… I was there for her too,” he tries feebly and the lie is bitter on his tongue. “God she was right,” he mutters to himself.

“About what?” the bartender asks, tilting her head to the side, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches recognition and understanding light his eyes.

“She said that I didn’t think she was good enough,” he answers without paying attention, his eyes staring blankly ahead as his mind runs over the past several months, seeing it with new eyes, becoming more and more horrified by the second. He shakes his head. “I didn’t think that,” he clarifies emphatically, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I don’t think that. But…” he chuckles darkly. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“And you acted like an idiot.”

Justin gives her a sharp smile. “Thanks.”

“So have you talked to her? Told her how you felt?”

He snorts. “Yeah. It went smashingly. We’re planning the wedding. You should come.” He leans back crossing his arms over his chest and she regards him for a moment before quipping.

“You should wait awhile. Let the ink dry on the annulment first.”

Justin glares at her hotly causing her to lift up her hands again, showing him her palms in apology. He sighs shaking his head. “No it’s fine. My life’s one big fucked up joke now anyway.”

“You should talk to her again,” the bartender says matter-of-factly and Justin blinks at her slowly

“I don’t know if you noticed by my sarcasm earlier but it didn’t exactly go well the first time,” Justin says, his spine prickling as he sighs. “You know, maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t really want her. Maybe I am just afraid of being alone.” His jaw tightens, a wave of embarrassment washing over him in a heat flash when he feels tears pricking at the backs of his eyes.

“God how bad did it hurt to say that?” she asks and he looks up at her, blinking back the tears and shaking his head. “It looked like agony.” He’s silent, looking down into his glass. “You can say it all you want Justin but you’ll never convince yourself of it.” She pauses before adding softly. “I saw the way you looked at her too.”

He sighs letting his head fall back, running his hands over his hair. “I fucked up,” he sighs, feeling his chest rip open in a gaping wound like it does every time he lets himself think about it.

“Royally.”

“Thanks,” he says wryly, glaring at her momentarily before shaking his head and heaving a sigh as the despair sets in. “I just…” he starts but then stops himself, pressing his lips together to block the words there was no use in saying.

“Just what?” the bartender asks, her dark eyes soft and sympathetic loosening his lips.

“I just wish I’d been able to tell her that it wasn’t true. That I did…” he swallows hard. “I did love her. Maybe I didn’t realize it at the time but… you know… I did.” He shifts in his chair, his mind wandering back, back before all the drama and bullshit, back to when he and Charlotte were sniping at each other with jokes about his horrible sense of humor and her resemblance to a certain TV weatherman. “And I appreciated her, everything she did for me and even for Amelia.” He flinches again, licking his lips. “She encouraged me, always supported me. If I had a problem I couldn’t quite figure out…” he smiles softly, seeing her in his minds eye, green eyes sparkling and that dimple… “she always had the solution. She always knew what to do, what to say…” his face darkens as the memory of her smiling face fades and all he can see is how much he’d hurt her. “I just wish she’d known that she was good enough for me. I wasn’t good enough for her.”

The bartender smiles sadly, feeling a strong pang of pity for the broken man sitting in front of her. “You want some advice?”

Justin looks up at her, almost startled as if he’d forgotten she was even there. He shakes his head giving a sad smile. “Sure.”

“You gotta find her and tell her the truth. That you’re an idiot-”

“I already did that,” he snaps cutting her off. “I laid it out and I put my heart on the line and she walked away-”

“Then you do it again,” she says, her voice raising just slightly, giving him a dose of his own hostility, and chastening him. “How many times did she put her heart on the line, Justin? And how many times did you walk away?”

Her words hit him like a punch in the face and he lets his head fall back from the blow, heaving an aching sigh. “I’m am such a fucking idiot.”

“See, you’re off to a great start,” she says lightly and when he brings his head forward he finds her smiling softly at him, humor in her dark eyes. “You have to go to her. Make her understand that you’ve made mistakes but you’re not going to make them again,” she advises him slowly. “And don’t bring flowers, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Show up with nothing but your heart, Justin.” She smiles at him encouragingly when he looks up at her again, his eyes hesitant. “It’s the only thing that has any chance of working.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Justin asks, his stomach trembling with butterflies, barely believing he’s about to put himself through this again.

She hesitates before shrugging and heaving a sigh. “Then the drinks are on me.” She reaches under the bar then plants a bottle of water in front of him, taking his glass. “Come on sober up. You got a girl to see.”

***

A strange sense of calm is settled in Justin’s chest as he climbs the six flights of stairs to Charlotte’s apartment. It had washed over him as soon as he’d gotten in the cab and told the driver the address and even the grumbling of the cabbie didn’t set him on edge. It seemed he was immune to ill will, something inside him buoyed by his mission.

He didn’t understand it at first, spent the entire ride racking his brain for the source, possibly attributing it to fear of having his heart shredded again, or shock at actually going through with it. He figured it would hit him when he arrived, the nausea, the sweating, the shaking knees, but even after he’d paid the driver, tipping him heavily for his trouble and began his ascent to her sixth floor walkup he never lost his sense of assuredness. When he crests the top of the stairs and finds apartment 6D staring him straight in the face, he feels only little butterflies licking at his stomach, heat washing over his skin in anticipation, the same feeling he used to get right before the lights came up and the music kicked in.

His palms are just slightly damp, his throat a little dry as he steps up to her door, closing his fist and bringing it up, taking a shaking breath as he let his knuckles fall against the wood. He waits a beat, hearing his heart thud steadily in his ears and feels his entire body stiffen as the door swings open.

She’s freshly showered, her long dark hair curling at her shoulders, green eyes wide in shock. She’s dressed for the office even though it’s Saturday, the soft pink of her lace trimmed tank top matching the blush across her chest, her Bermuda shorts blazing white as if they’d never been worn. She looks thinner, her face less round and even through the concealer he can see the dark circles beneath her eyes as if she hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks. She is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

She blinks up at him, her stomach dropping down to her toes, her heart setting off at a gallop, completely thrown off guard by his presence. But he shows no sign of unease, standing tall before her in a soft grey t-shirt and plaid board shorts, his sneakers pristine white as always. His hair is just beginning to curl again, his blue eyes tired but open, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. She peeks down each side of the hall, thinking for just a moment that maybe this is one of those dreams again.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice a dry rasp and her eyes crash into his, setting the butterflies loose again.

She stands a little straighter at the sound of his voice, the dull ache in her chest assuring her that this is no dream and she crosses her arms, looking down. “Hey,” she tells his shoes.

He doesn’t respond, just watches her, waiting for the fear to shake him, waiting for every violent reaction he’s had in the past but nothing comes. He feels warm and steady and suddenly he understands that this is what it feels like to be sure, to stand in front of someone and know that they are what you want. This is what it feels like not to doubt or be afraid. This is what loving someone is supposed to feel like.

“Heard you got annulled,” Charlotte says, doing her best to keep her voice even when he doesn’t respond, still not looking at him but peeking up at his face to gauge his reaction.

He blushes, a response that strikes her quickly as adorable but she shoves it down. “Yeah,” he replies awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Untied the knot.” He pauses for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“Charlie?”

They both freeze, the voice, distinctly male, wafting from inside the apartment behind her. Justin’s stomach drops out but he’s unable to stop himself from peering in the doorway, finding a man emerging shirtless from the hallway which he assumes leads to her bedroom. His face goes slack, feeling as if something sharp has lodged itself up under his ribs, his eyes falling on Charlotte but her head is turned back, looking at the other man as he rounds her couch.

“Who’s this?” the man asks, his voice deep and Justin chances a look at him, finding him to be tall and cut, his hair damp as if he just got out of the shower.

“It’s just… uh,” Charlotte stutters, looking at the floor because she can feel Justin’s eyes on her, burning her with questions.

“Wait… is this him?”

The malice in the other man’s voice startles Justin into looking up at him, finding his face contorted in anger. The man takes quick strides until he’s standing right behind Charlotte, close enough for Justin to see the hard line of his jaw, the set of his eyes. His eyes are familiar.

“Isaac… don’t,” Charlotte says, turning towards him slightly, placing a hand on his chest and applying pressure.

“You’re the bastard that hurt my baby sister!” Isaac barks, his green eyes flashing maliciously and even though the man looks like he wants to kill him, an overwhelming sense of relief washes over Justin.

“Oh Jesus,” Charlotte mutters, rolling her eyes annoyed as she tries to shove her brother back, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“You’re lucky I’m not on duty or you’d have a nine millimeter cap in your ass right now, mother fucker,” Isaac spits, still struggling to get past Charlotte and Justin takes a small step back, putting his hands up. “You know what you’ve put her through? Our mother has been scared sick for her for weeks. She finally sent me up here to check on her-”

“ISAAC!” Charlotte exclaims mortified, her face flaming red as she finally turns fully to her brother, giving him a rough shove. “God, go put a fucking shirt on.”

He stumbles back, still glaring hotly at Justin whose eyes are cautious, glancing from sibling to sibling. Charlotte looks from her brother to Justin, her eyes scanning his face and as much as she wants to slam the door on him she’s curious as to why he’s here. She thought that after she dismissed him she’d never see him again. After all, she wasn’t the one Justin usually fought for.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with a defeated sigh, leaning her weight on the doorway as if exhausted by the mere thought of going through this entire exercise again.

“Well…” Justin says slowly, his eyes moving from Charlotte to Isaac who is still behind her, standing at full height and just waiting for his sister to give him the okay to beat Justin into a blood stain on the carpet.

Charlotte glances back at her brother then rolls her eyes, stepping out into the hall and grabbing the edge of the door. “Come on.”

She pulls the door shut with a snap, ignoring the snort of indignation from Isaac as she turns back to Justin. Her hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, moving to pull him towards the stairwell but both stop at the contact, looking up studying each other’s faces for the other’s reaction. She finds his eyes hopeful, questioning her heart stuttering and she forces herself to look away. He reaches to cup her bicep and she drops his hand, taking a step back and looking at the floor.

Justin sighs softly, moving to the top of the stairs and lowering himself slowly, looking at her over his shoulder to see if she follows suit. She moves cautiously around him, sitting next to him but pushing herself as close to the hallway wall as she can, leaving only the tiniest sliver of space between their bodies.

“Sorry about Isaac,” she mumbles after a long beat of silence, watching her fingers twist in her lap. “He’s just overprotective.”

“It’s fine,” Justin responds, looking down at his own hands, his palms pressed flat together. “I kinda deserve to have my ass kicked.” An unwilling laugh pulls from Charlotte’s throat, which he smiles at. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a fight. You got any pointers for me?” he asks, nudging her with his elbow and she shies away from his touch, sobering him and reminding him that this isn’t going to be easy.

“Why are you here, Justin?” Charlotte asks softly, not daring to look at him. “I told you before… you’re too late.” She wraps her arms around her stomach, holding herself tightly as she looks down the stairs.

“Yeah I was kind of hoping you were too drunk to remember that,” he says with a soft hint of humor, rubbing his hands together as he glances over at her, not quite brave enough to look at her face so his eyes settle on her knees instead. “Talk to me, Charlotte.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Justin!” she exclaims looking over at him in frustration.

“I want you to tell me how you feel,” he replies softly and anger flares in her, the memory of sitting with him in Amelia’s kitchen during her bridal shower searing through her brain when she’d voiced that exact request and he’d shot her down.

“Oh you wanna talk about feelings now?” she quotes maliciously. “I thought that wasn’t who we are. I thought we were just quick fucks in your office and-”

“That’s not true,” he says, the vehemence in his voice cutting her off and dulling her anger but she still refuses to look at him, her mouth set in a grim line. “And I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. That was never how I felt about us, Charlotte. Even if you never believe another word I say, please believe that.”

Her eyelids flutter, a lump forming in her throat at the sincerity in his voice and it’s too soon for this. She’s not strong enough to tell him no, not without the liquor in her bloodstream and Ginger to fight for her. She’s spent her whole life listening to her heart over her head and she guesses she should consider herself lucky that this is only the first time she’s been burned beyond repair. That exact thought is what made her vow to listen strictly to her head from now on but she finds the transition to be rocky. She’s frustrated by her own stupidity, hating herself for how she still dreams about him, still checks her phone hoping that maybe he’d texted. She hates how empty her life has been without him. As angry as she is, she wishes she were angrier; maybe then she’d be able to hate him for what he did to her. She knows she deserves better but her heart doesn’t want anything but him.

“Look I understand if you never wanna see me again-”

“Yeah well that’s not exactly the problem,” Charlotte cuts him off crossly and he stops, confusion making his mind go blank.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“I want to see you every day,” Charlotte mutters miserably, picking at her fingernails brutally and refusing to meet his gaze. “I want to call you and I want you to tell me about your day and what you had for lunch and all the other bullshit we used to talk about. I want to not miss you anymore. I hate missing you.”

Justin is shocked, watching her mouth pucker angrily, her jaw tight for a moment before she sighs, bringing her hands up to rub over her face.

“So…” he starts, trying to come up with a response but he hadn’t been prepared for this.

“I hate that you screwed up so royally that I’d be a fucking idiot if I took you back.”

He sighs. There’s something he can work with. “I know…god I know. You have every right to just… to end this. But I just… I wanted you to know-”

“That you’re sorry and you never meant to hurt me, yes I know,” Charlotte says, not trusting herself to listen to him. “I get it. I heard you.”

“No I don’t think you did,” Justin replies back sharply pulling her down when she tries to stand. “I fucked up Charlotte. Beyond any measure that a human being should be allowed to fuck up. I was so focused on… on making this thing work with her that I didn’t… I didn’t see what was right in front of me,” he sighs and Charlotte watches as his face shifts from frustration to agony, her breath catching in her throat when he looks at her again. “You have every right to tell me to fuck off. After what I did to you it’s the smart thing to do.” He reaches over tentatively, holding her hands in his. “But I wanted you to know that I fell in love with you because of a million tiny things you never even knew your were doing.” She sucks in a sharp breath, looking resolutely to the side, her fists balled inside the cocoon of his hands and he dips his head searching for her eyes which meet his reluctantly. “And I was scared of that. I was scared of losing something that was so far gone I couldn’t even see it anymore. So I made a lot of bad decisions. A lot of decisions that hurt you. And hurt me. I’m sorry for that. I know it’s not much, and I know it’s too little too late but I’m sorry. For hurting you, for making wrong decision after wrong decision, and for making you feel like you didn’t mean anything to me. I am so sorry. And yeah maybe you’d be a fucking idiot if you took me back but…” he trails, his eyes searching hers, seeming to reach inside of her and shake the very foundation of everything she believed to be right. He lets out a shaking breath, his body turning so that his knees press against hers and his voice is weak as he says, “You’d be happy, Charlotte. I’d make you happy. I owe you that much.”

She looks down at their hands, letting out a slow shaking breath and she wants so badly to give in, to let him try to make her happy. In fact he’d almost convinced her. But deep down she knows it’s not right. He’s lived his life for the past… god knows how long… working to make someone else happy. She reaches up to touch his face, his eyelids fluttering at the contact and she wonders if he’s ever going to learn that the only person’s happiness he can control is his own.

“You’re a good guy, Justin,” she says softly, her fingertips tickled by the scruffiness of his cheek. “You’re clueless but you mean well.” He looks up at her then and his sheepish grin makes her smile, the sincerity in his eyes tugging at her. She looks away letting her hand fall. “I know you never meant to hurt me. Deep down I’ve always known that.” She shakes her head. “This isn’t entirely your fault. We did this to each other.”

“We can fix-”

The look in her eyes cuts him off and he looks away, feeing as if all the air in the room has been sucked out through the black hole in his chest. This was really it. There was no getting her back. He hangs his head, taking a few steadying breaths and he wonders what he’s supposed to do now. As scared as he had been deep down he’d expected her to forgive him. He has no plan for this outcome.

Out of all the times that Charlotte had seen Justin beaten, all the occasions where he’d been berated and run over she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look this broken. He’s blanched considerably, his breath dragging raggedly in and out of his lungs and his eyes are flat and dull. She wishes that she could take it all back, wants nothing more than to throw her arms around him but she can’t be the one to solve his problems for him anymore. But despite knowing that, she still cares for him too much to pretend otherwise.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, her thumb smudging the soft skin of his cheekbone and he blinks at her as if her words have caught him off guard, his body jerking away from her. And then as if realizing his emotions are reading plainly across his face, he attempts to situate his features into a smile but the sadness doesn’t leave his eyes.

“Yeah!” he exclaims his head bobbing with false enthusiasm while giving a dismissive shrug of his shoulder that causes her hand to fall away. “I… I should go… you know… before your brother really does decide to kill me.” His lips twitch up into a weak smile that falls quickly. “Hey, take care of yourself okay?” he adds, his voice turning thick so he has to clear his throat, his hand rubbing her bicep quickly before pulling himself to his feet.

His legs wobble beneath him just slightly, feeling a little short of breath and he prays that his composure will last at least until he’s out of the building. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans sucking in a deep breath as he begins his decent down the stairs, everything inside him screaming not to leave, all the words he couldn’t find before feeling as if they’re going to cause his head to explode.

“Justin,” Charlotte says, cursing the warble in her voice and she knows she shouldn’t call him back, that doing so would only make her want to keep him there. Would keeping him there really be so bad?

Justin stops at the landing, looking back to find her still sitting, her hands twisted in her lap, her face contorted in sadness and indecision. He sees her clearly, he thinks for maybe the first time ever and he has to reach for the banister to steady himself at the realization that this isn’t about having her, or Amelia, or anyone. It’s about the feeling he gets when he looks at her, the flutter in his chest when she smiles, and the way he loves her dimple. He laughs then, the sound causing Charlotte’s face to smooth, only the tiniest line drawn between her brows, her ‘huh’ expression, which he loves almost as much as the dimple.

“You ever notice that it’s never something huge that changes everything but it’s the small stuff?” he asks suddenly, not really looking at her and she can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Like you’re just a person who showed up. You were just another girl working in my fiancé’s office… You…you were just this girl.” Charlotte’s brow creases further blinking past him, his words stinging her even if that isn’t his intention “You were just this girl until you weren’t just ‘this girl’ you were…” he lets his voice trail, his eyes meeting hers and she feels her stomach drop out, feeling that pull inside her, the thing that had drawn her to him since the beginning, “you were everything to me. You kept me sane when Am— she was doing her best to drive me crazy. Seeing you was the brightest point in my day and…” he sighs, giving a shrug meant to shuck away all the pretenses before he says, “and loving you made everything tolerable I just…I never really realized it…until…”

He cuts himself off, pressing his lips together and she wants him to go on, her heart hamming wildly in her chest. She can feel that this is one of those moments; the ones you look back on as having laid out the path one would walk for some time. She’d felt it a few times before, deciding to move to New York for school, quitting her job at Gauge-Whitney, and before, as an assistant, choosing to give Justin’s friendship the benefit of the doubt. It’s the feeling she gets when the risk seems to outweigh the gain and even though her better judgment tells her to err on the side of caution her fearless heart pushes her to take a flying leap into the unknown.

“Anyway…” he trails, shaking his head giving her a weak smile that looks more like a grimace as he moves to take his first step off the landing.

“Wait!” she exclaims, propelling herself off the step and nearly tripping her way down the stairs. He freezes, looking back at her bewildered, his eyes falling to her hands as they grip his biceps trying to get him to turn and when he does and they’re facing each other, nearly the same height from him being one step below her, neither can speak, hearts hammering, knees shaking, their breath fanning each other’s faces. “Wait,” she whispers again, her hands fisting in the cotton of his t-shirt, her nails scraping at the skin of his arms as she rings it worriedly.

His breath leaves him in a rush, hands coming up to cup her face and he tells himself he shouldn’t hope but when she looks up at him, her green eyes large but sure he feels it’s impossible not to. His hands smooth over her hair, too scared to voice it, not believing his heart could take it if she said no but she just nods, quick short bobs of her head, answering him silently because she can’t seem to find her voice.

He blinks at her, and it takes a moment for him to fully understand, but when realization dawns on him, his entire body stiffens and he sputters softly. His own head starts bobbing in an attempt to get her to confirm what he thinks she’s implying. She lets out a soft whisper of a laugh, continuing to nod along with him and he breathes out hard, as if he’d been sucker punched. Charlotte watches as his face contorts from skepticism to disbelief to relief and then to unbridled joy that dazzles her, his face seeming to split open in a smile as he scrambles to grab handfuls of her hair, wrapping his fingers all in it until he’s trapped by it.

“Yeah?” he asks, not realizing his face was so close to hers until her bottom lip brushed his and her eyes close as she laughs silently, nodding still, her face breaking into the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen, his favorite dimple showing on her cheek.

He laughs loud then, a joyous sound, his lips pressing hard to her cheek, kissing that dimple and Charlotte freezes at the feel of him against her, his lips on hers, savoring it as her hands move to his shoulders before giving in and wrapping her arms fully around him, clutching him to her for dear life.

She hisses as he moves to untangle his hands from her hair, pulling her back to cup her face, fingers stroking her skin as he looks at her fiercely, as if he was trying to memorize her, as if he were trying to figure out how he got so lucky.

“It’s… it’s not gonna be easy…” Charlotte finds herself whispering to him and his face sobers instantly, nodding solemnly as he gives her his utmost attention. “There’s a lot… a lot we need to discuss…”

“I know,” he says quickly, nodding at her soberly. “I know.” He holds her so that her forehead is pressed to his, his eyes staring back into hers, assuredly. “And we will.” He holds her face tenderly, his blue eyes sincere as he says, “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She laughs then, finding the juxtaposition of his seriousness and his choice of words so typically him. He chuckles too, his cheeks pinkening and she can only smile at him, letting her eyes close as her nose nuzzles against his.

When their lips meet it’s as if the world drops out, Charlotte grabbing handfuls of his t-shirt, his hand cupping the back of her neck gently, cradling her head as if it were something fragile. It isn’t like their usual lust filled kisses, the passion still there but simmering low behind the promise that this matters to both of them, that they will work together and that they won’t let anything get between them ever again. It’s the first honest kiss they’ve ever shared.

“…isn’t going to work-”

“We gotta do something! We can’t just stand by and watch them make the worst decision of their lives!”

Justin and Charlotte’s lips part, their eyes creaking open to regard the other curiously, each wondering at the familiar voices wafting up the stairwell. They turn their heads in time to see Trace dragging Ginger to the top of the staircase below them, both stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the two of them standing at the top of the stairs, wrapped in each other’s arms.

A smile lights up Ginger’s face as she gives a strangled squeal, tugging on Trace’s arm adamantly while he can only blink up at the two of them, his brain processing a little slower than his girlfriend’s. Justin and Charlotte look at each other again, smiling sheepishly before ducking their heads and Justin is unable to resist the urge to nuzzle her cheek, his arms wrapping around her waist as he tugs her close.

The action seems to spark Trace’s recognition, a slow grin pulling across his face as he regards the two of them before he quips. “Well, roll the fuckin’ credits.”