Regrets

Noah

She hates me.

I had expected, it but it still stings more than I thought it would. I know I deserve it. If she had smiled and welcomed me with open arms, I would've sworn it wasn't her but a different person.

I groan, rubbing the heel of my palm into my closed eyes, trying to push away her cold, controlled expression. How many times did I rehearse what to say to her? In front of the mirror, day after day, night after night, after I found out father had passed away and I that I was to take over as CEO. I'd even rehearsed a dozen times, before walking into her office. But the moment she walked in, her presence hit me like a ton of bricks, scattering every carefully planned word.

The thought makes me groan again, this time louder.

"It was that bad, huh?" Matt, my best friend, brother in all but blood, and a perpetual pain in my ass, asks beside me. I glance up at him. He sips his champagne—because of course he would be drinking champagne at a mid-bar. Matt wouldn't be caught dead drinking beer, even in a place like this. The only thing simple about him is his black crew cut, which he probably spends more time styling than he lets on.

I glance down at my own beer glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. "F*ck, Matt, I don't know what to do."

He takes another sip, his gaze briefly flicking to his phone before he turns his still divided attention back to me, adjusting the rim of his glasses. "Apologize," he says, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I shoot him a glare. "You think I don't know that?"

He raises an eyebrow completely unbothered by my irritation. "You're acting like you don't."

I huff out a breath, frustrated. I know I need to apologize—hell, it's been on my mind like every The Weekend songs, for eight years now. But how? How do you apologize for something like this? For years of silence and the damage that came with it? For leaving when she needed me most?

 "What are you even doing?" I ask desperate to change the conversation.

"What do you mean?" he asks his eyes still focused on his phone. He has been glancing at it from the moment we stepped into the bar, guess he finally decided to pick it up.

I shoot a glance at the phone.

"Oh" he says knowingly. "Lu's supposed to be here by now, but she's nowhere in sight."

A small chuckle escapes my lip. "No wonder you looked like a lost puppy." He rolls his eyes at me, but doesn't respond shifting his gaze back to his phone. I look around for a distraction from my inner turmoil and my eyes land on a tall, blonde woman. in a pencil skirt and corporate top blazer slung over her arm like she just stepped out of a meeting as she strides to us with a determined look.

I give Matt a nudge. "There's your fiancée."

He follows my gaze and the moment he sees her, his face softens into a smile. His whole demeanor changes. Matt and Lucy have been dating for what—four years now. And a month ago Matt finally proposed. Everyone was thrilled. Except me. Don't get me wrong I'm happy for them, but being his best friend and future best man, I went through hell that day. A proposal dinner. Do you know how much that pressure puts on a guy? And I wasn't even the one proposing.

"Noah," Lucy says finally acknowledging my presence, with a small nod.

. "Lucy," I nod back at her

With that she returns her full attention to Matt.

That's the extent of our conversation—just names exchange like passing strangers. We've never had much to say to each other, and honestly, I don't mind. Its not that's I dislike her, but we just don't click. She's a workaholic, always on the clock. I've never been able to figure out her need to be so…robotic. Who shows up at a bar in a business attire, anyway?

I down the rest of my beer, the cool liquid doing nothing to settle the unease gnawing at my insides. "I'm heading out," I say, standing up.

He gets up with a nod, "Stop running Noah, before it's too late," giving my shoulder a light but firm squeeze.

His words hit me hard, harder than they should. They linger in the air unsettling me.

How do you stop what you've been doing all your life?

I give him a nod, the kind that says 'I hear you' but doesn't hold any promises. As I turn to leave, I glance at Lucy but she's already engrossed in a paperback book—at a bar. Completely checked out. I bet a thousand dollars it's a 'how to be better' kinda book. With a quiet scoff, push through the doors and walk out into the cool night air.

By the time I make it home, I'm exhausted, but sleep feels like an impossibility. I toss my jacket onto the chair and collapse onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as if the answers might be written in the cracks.

My phone buzzes beside me, its insistent ringing a reminder of the world I'd rather forget. I don't even have to check to know who it is. She's been calling me all day.

It stoops ringing, and then—ping. Another text. I sit up running a hand through my hair as I read the messages.

"Stop ignoring me already."

"Pick up the damn phone, Noah!"

"I hate this."

"I miss you."

I toss the phone back onto the bed. Thirty messages. Thirty attempts to get me to care. Should I sue her for obsession? Is that even a thing?

My gaze drifts to the drawer beside my bed. Without thinking, I pull it open and there it is—a photo of Ray and me. She looks completely different. Rather than living her blondish brown hair falling freely on her back like she did today, here it was packed in her usual messy bun and her favorite oversized hoodie.

My hand lingers for a moment, like I'm hesitating to open it. But then, almost automatically, I pull the drawer open, and there it is—the framed photo booth picture. I stare at it, at the two of us crammed into that tiny booth, laughing like we didn't have a care in the world.

Her head is tilted back, a wide grin lighting up her whole face, while my arm is wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close. We're both wearing matching hoodies, hers several sizes too big, practically swallowing her—nothing like the polished woman I saw today

I framed it. Of course, I did. The photo booth strip, creased from being in my wallet too long, now immortalized in this stupid, cheap frame. I run my thumb over the glass, tracing her smile, the happiness etched into that moment.

But that was before. Before I screwed everything up. Before the silence, before the distance, before I became the guy who let her down.

My phone rings again jolting me back to the present. With a tired and frustrated sigh I pick it. The voice on the other end makes my blood run cold.

"Brother," the voice drawls, too familiar, too smug. "Hope you have a room prepared for me, I'll be home tomorrow—"

Great, like my life isn't messed up enough.