“What…what different things do we want?”

He returned his eyes to his beer. Fascinating beer, Sam Adams. Nice color. Very…amber. “Listen, you’re fun, and I like you, but I can tell you’re getting…attached. I’m sure you want to settle down, have a couple kids, whatever, and that’s great, but I’m not looking for that.”

She was listening. She’d always been good at that. Liam forced himself to go on, his chest actually hurting. “This was supposed to be fun, and it has been, but…it’s run its course.”

Her eyes were huge, her mouth slightly open. Then she took a quick breath, pressed her lips together. Swallowed. Nodded. “Yeah, no. I understand.” She took a sip of her wine. Her hands were shaking. She must’ve noticed that, too, because she folded them and put them in her lap.

If she’d thrown her wine in his face, that would be something he could react to. If she called him names, he could agree. Slapped him—hey, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been slapped.

“Liam,” she whispered, “I don’t need much.” The words sliced into his gut like a razor. “I mean, I know you have to think about Nicole, and I wouldn’t expect anything else. But I don’t see why we have to…stop seeing each other. I can… I mean, what we have, it’s…it’s enough. We could just keep things the way they are, right?”

Liam looked at his beer, because it was too hard to look at her. “I’m sorry, Cordelia.”

Because she deserved more, of course. She was the type who was meant to be married, to have a bunch of kids and animals, a big noisy family and a guy who loved her with all his heart. A guy she loved with all hers. And while she might be in the throes of a mighty crush on him—just as she’d been a long time ago—he didn’t want to sit around and watch her learn, bit by bit, that he was no one from nowhere, and the only thing he had going for him was his daughter, and he had to protect that child, not just from the Tates, but from the Tanners of the world, from Nicole’s own mistakes and the random accidents of life. He couldn’t take his eye off the ball for even a minute.

“So that’s it, then?” she whispered.

“I’m sorry if you thought something else,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

“No, it’s…it’s okay.” She sat for another minute. Her mouth quivered, and Liam hated himself more than he could ever remember. He looked down, not trusting himself to blow a perfectly effective break-up. In a few minutes, she’d be out of here, and he could go home and wash his hands and check on his kid and beat his head against the wall and do all those other fun things that made up his life these days.

“Do you remember that cat?” she asked suddenly.

He looked up. “What cat?”

“Joe. The little stray you fed back when you worked at Guten Tag.”

He hadn’t thought of that cat in years. But yeah, he remembered. “What about him?” he asked.

She looked at him steadily, her usually pixie-cute face solemn. “I always thought that said a lot about you,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “That you took care of him. Fed him and tamed him until that lady adopted him.”

And there it was, that completely baseless idea that he was somehow a hero. “He wasn’t adopted, Cordelia,” Liam said tonelessly. “He got hit by a car.”

Her mouth opened. “But…you told me yourself. Some woman came around—”

“I lied. He got hit by a car, and I buried him near the Coast Guard station.”

“He got hit?” There were tears in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you—”

“Hi, Liam, how are you?” Taylor “the Teeth” Bennington Linkletter swayed over to him and placed an oily kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, Taylor. You know Cordelia Osterhagen, right?”

“Mmm.” She didn’t even bother to glance at Cordelia. “So, want to come over to my table and meet some of my friends? We’re having a girls’ night out, and they’re all wondering who this incredibly hot guy is.” She dropped her voice to a 1-900 whisper. “They cannot believe I slept with you.”

He looked at Cordelia. Maybe she needed one more nail in the coffin. “Yeah, sure, I’ll say hi. We’re done here, right, Posey?”

She flinched. “Yeah. Yup. See you around.”

Liam put down a twenty and, without looking at Cordelia, went to the table of giggling, overperfumed women, flirted briefly—no idea what the hell he said, but they ate it up—and, when Cordelia left, he counted to fifty-five then left the bevy of women and walked home, toward his daughter, toward fatherhood.

But the whole way, he thought about that dopey little cat, who didn’t even have the sense to stay off the road. Taking care of that cat had been the highlight of his day back then, the idea that he could tame something that had never been shown much kindness. The first day Joe had taken food from him, it was like a small miracle. He remembered its rusty purr, the little bumps of its spine when he petted it, how quickly it fattened up on tuna fish and pork scraps. It was the closest thing to a pet he’d ever had. He’d wanted to take him home, but his uncle said no.

Then one day, when Liam was riding his battered motorcycle home, there was Joe, lying on the side of the road. He wasn’t dead yet, but he was a mess, his back legs broken and bloodied, looking up at him with giant eyes and an expression of utter confusion. Didn’t make a sound as Liam whipped off his T-shirt, wrapping the cat in it as gently as he could, then holding him against his stomach as he raced to the vet.

Joe died before he even got there.

Liam took him down to the marsh and buried him, still wrapped in his T-shirt, and damned if he didn’t sit there and cry, harder than he had when his mother had died. He should’ve found a way to hide Joe in his uncle’s garage, or made him a shelter or something, but no, he’d just let Joe stay in the alley, feeding him until that f**king car came by and hit him.

It was the look on the little cat’s face that did it, as if shocked by the pain…but accepting it just the same. Like Joe knew cans of tuna behind the Dumpster were just too good to last. As if getting hit by a car, while horrible, was more the type of thing that happened to a stray cat who’d been alone most of his life.

It was the same way Cordelia looked tonight.

And even though breaking up with her was the right thing to do—he’d save her a lot of misery, and the Tates might get off his back, and he could focus on keeping Nic on the straight and narrow—even so, it felt like the best part of himself had died back there in that bar.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“HE CALLED ME POSEY.”

“Well, that is your name, right? I mean, I haven’t been calling you the wrong name your whole life, have I?” Kate asked, shifting in her La-Z-Boy. “God, these hemorrhoids are killing me.”

“Sorry to hear it. Officially, my name’s Cordelia.”

“Right, right. I always forget that.”

They were sitting in Kate’s living room, Sunday night—five days and four nights after The Dumping. Posey had barely left the house since, but Kate had come over this afternoon and put her gym-teacher muscles to use, practically carrying her to the car. Back to Kate’s house, where crappy wine and excellent ice cream were administered. Posey took a bite of Ben & Jerry’s Super Fudge Chunk ice cream, then offered some to her dog, who licked the spoon agreeably.

“How much longer should I give you on the pity party?” Kate asked. “Not that I’m not enjoying myself, mind you.”

“I don’t know. A year? A decade?” Shilo sighed and put his head on her lap. The dog had been a trouper these past few days…the cats, not so much.

Someday, these feelings of rejection (there was no other word for it)…they’d be gone. This phase, this…ache would slowly lift off her heart. It was just that lying in bed this morning at 2:47, surely the loneliest moment God ever invented, she couldn’t help the tears that leaked out of her eyes and slid into her ears. Shilo had taken it upon himself to lick them, so at least she had that.

Back in high school, she’d loved Liam from afar, and he broke her heart. First love, young love, crush—it was called crush for a reason, wasn’t it, because it certainly had crushed her—whatever name you gave it, it had hurt.

But this time, she’d loved him up close. This time, she’d seen what could have been, had felt in little flashes and small moments what it was like to be loved by Liam Murphy. Just a little bit, and even the loss of that possibility, those sweetly tender, unguarded moments, hurt so much that it was stunning. And at 2:47 a.m., with a 140-pound dog and thirty-seven pounds of cat wedged against her, tears slipping out of her eyes, she cursed herself for not believing what Liam had told her from the start.

So she’d been dumped. Liam Murphy had dumped her, as he’d dumped so many women and girls over the years. And he’d called her Posey. Back in high school, it seemed that calling her Cordelia was a way to mock her…sort of like you can call yourself whatever you want, but you still have that bulky, endless name. But then…recently…the way he said her name, like it was so special and lovely, and Cordelia sounded less like the poor naive slob killed by her sisters in King Lear and much more like a Victoria’s Secret model, inspiring slathering lust in every male within a thousand-mile radius.

“Don’t you think so?” Posey asked, taking another bite of Super Fudge Chunk. “Didn’t it sound like foreplay when he said it?”

“No more wine for you,” Kate said. “And look. You can always adopt. Look at James and me and how happy we are. The foot rubs that kid gives? Amazing. James! Give Posey a foot rub!”

“No thanks, James,” Posey called, turning her head. Ew. That ice cream–wine combo might not have been the best idea after all. “About James, Kate… Maybe a little less mother-boy time, don’t you think?” Posey offered another spoonful of ice cream to her dog. One lick of the giant tongue, and the ice cream was gone.

“Oh, save it. I already know. Signed him up for some mentoring thing. Big Brothers or the Boys and Girls Club or whatever. Guess who he got?”

“Whom? Whom did he get, Teacher. Please.”

“I teach gym. We’re not famous for grammar.” Kate drained her wine. “He got that guy. Used to play for the Red Sox. You know the one.”

“No, Kate, I don’t know.”

“The cute one with the sloping forehead. Looks like a hot Neanderthal? Matt Damon?”

“Do you mean Johnny Damon?”

“I don’t know. Hockey’s my sport. Anyway, James has a role model with a penis. I hope everyone’s happy now.” She shifted again. “I happen to think James is the best person on the face of the earth. I might be doing a great job.”

Posey softened. “You are, Kate. He is. He’s great.”

Kate smiled. “Okay, let’s talk this thing to death and then bury it. Liam the Sex God dumped you. You didn’t see it coming, should have, are now miserable. What’s next?”

“I have no idea. Back to the grind, I guess.”

For the past couple of days, Posey had been living the cliché of pathetic female, and it was getting old. She’d skipped work—first time ever. Screened phone calls. Didn’t turn on the computer and futz around on Facebook. She had, however, ordered three hundred and eleven dollars’ worth of skin care from the Home Shopping Network.

But life was waiting. Her dad had called, wondering how she was doing. No word from her mother, though Max had made sure to say “your mother and I miss you” and all that. But seeing them was just too tiring to think about right now. The whole birth-mother thing… Nothing had really changed, except that her parents had kept a secret from her, and she knew slightly more than she once did about her biological mother and father. Still, it gave a throb every now and then, now that she had names and a few slivers of information. But it would fade. As for Gretchen’s issues with Dante…who really cared? Posey had had enough of her cousin. The boys were getting ready for little Betty, and she didn’t want to be Debbie Downer in light of all their happiness.