Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Maddie,” he says with a relieved smile before his brows tug together in confusion. “Where are you?”
“At home.”
I’ve angled the phone so he can only see my face and the tile behind me.
He narrows his eyes, bringing his phone in closer so he can inspect my surroundings. Then his eyes widen.
“You’re in your bathroom at the condo, aren’t you?”
I laugh despite my sour mood. “Yes.”
“I’d recognize that tile anywhere.”
It’s the same in his old bathroom as well.
“Are you in the bath?” he asks.
When I nod in confirmation, he groans and drags a hand down his face. “Jesus, hold on. I’m only a minute from my hotel. I’ve got an hour to kill before an interview.”
“I was going to go to sleep early tonight.”
He laughs like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “No you’re not, Maddie. You’re staying on the phone.”
“I’ve had a long day.”
His green eyes capture my attention through the phone screen. “So have I. It’s felt like I’ve lived through a million long days since I left Vail.” Then his attention shifts as he pushes through a door. “Hang on—I might lose you when I get on the elevator.”
I see the backdrop of his hotel as he rushes through the lobby. There’s a seating area and reception desk. He shouts for the person to hold the door for him then hops onto the elevator.
“I’m going to floor two,” he tells the person, and then a second later, the doors close and the call drops.
I knew it would, but still, it annoys me.
I set my phone back on the floor and contemplate leaving it there all night. It rings a moment later, though. Aiden’s calling back, and I’m sure he’s in his room. I should answer it, but I’m feeling petty, angry, so out of control in this damn situation that I want to regain ground somewhere. Not taking his phone call feels like I’m winning somehow, so I let it ring and ring. It eventually stops, and the power I felt in that instant washes away quickly.
I panic, worried that I royally screwed up. Then my phone starts to ring again and I scramble to answer it.
“Fuck,” he sighs. “I thought you weren’t going to answer.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“Why?”
I don’t reply, and there’s a long dead silence.
He has to know why. He must feel what I’m feeling.
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Maddie,” Aiden says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I miss you.”
I pinch my eyes closed and tip my head back so the tears won’t fall.
“Talk to me,” he goads gently.
I can’t. I worry that I don’t have a good enough grip on my emotions. I don’t want to cry over the phone. I’ve been so careful to keep my spirits high for him when we talk, but that’s taken its toll and now here we are, silent.
“Let me switch it to FaceTime again.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just…”
It’s too late. He’s already pressed the button.
“Switch over, Maddie. Let me see you.”
“No.”
“Maddie.”
His voice takes on a dangerous edge. It says, Don’t fuck with me. For a moment, I contemplate holding out, but then it just feels easier to give in. The video comes on and I set the phone on the lip of the tub so it’s facing up to the ceiling.
“That’s not your face,” Aiden points out.
“I don’t want to drop my phone in the water,” I lie. “It’s safer to set it there.”
“I’ll buy you a new phone.”
A soft laugh escapes me, and I pick the phone up and tilt it so he can see my face and shoulders.
He’s taken off his suit jacket. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the neck. His hair is slightly mussed up like he dragged his hands through it on the way up in the elevator. We look at each other through the screen. His eyes jump over every visible inch of me, taking in my hair and neck and shoulders. It’s like he’s trying to get his fill, and I almost expect him to make some crass remark about tilting the camera lower, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe I’m there.
I see myself in the tiny rectangle at the bottom of the screen. The warm water has turned my chest and shoulders pink. My cheeks are flushed. My mouth is a sad downturned line. It’s like I’m breaking apart right before my eyes.
He doesn’t ask me why I’m sad; he knows.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.
I look away from the phone and sniffle, trying to press my feelings down as far as they’ll go.
“I know this isn’t easy,” he continues.
“I just don’t see how it’s going to work.”
“Don’t say that.”
I’m staring at my towel folded neatly beside the tub. I focus on the stitching, losing sight of it as my eyes cloud with tears.