Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I groan, bending forward and putting my head in my hands.
It was such a dick move to take her home and then go back to my hotel this morning. She didn’t expect it. She didn’t like it. But, to her credit, she didn’t make a big deal out of it.
She hasn’t called or texted. But I wouldn’t have either if I were her.
Suddenly, I have to move. I have to go. I have to do.
I jump to my feet and head for the door.
The elevator is slow as I wait for it and even slower as it takes me to the ground floor. The lobby is relatively empty as I stride across it.
The air is warmer than I expect. I don’t give it too much thought.
I just walk.
I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t sit in that room anymore.
My feet march down the sidewalk. I try to numb my mind by humming a song, but it ends up being the one that I helped Coy with last night, and that doesn’t help.
It makes things worse. I hate being fucking alone, but I need it. I need to be by myself.
But then I find myself in front of Judy’s pink sign … that says she’s closed. I peer inside to see her putting those little jars of honey on a shelf.
Relief washes over me at the sight of her and I peck against the glass—rap! rap! rap!—until she turns around. Her face lights up when she sees me.
She hustles as much as an old woman can hustle toward the door. With a quick snap, it’s unlocked.
“Well, how’d I get so lucky to see you on New Year’s Day?” she asks, kissing my cheek.
I grin. “I was hoping you had more of those apple fritters you put in my box.”
“You know I do. Come on, boy, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
I follow her toward the back of the building. “Who said anything was on my mind?”
“Am I wrong then?”
I slump into the same booth I occupied the last time I was here. “Well, no.”
“Okay, then. Spill.”
She carries a plate and a mug to the table. Two apple fritters and a steaming cup of coffee are placed in front of me. Then she slides into the opposite seat.
I don’t really want the fritters. As a matter of fact, the thought of eating them makes me want to vomit. I nibble at one not to be rude.
“Is this about your girlfriend?” she asks.
I consider the question. “No. It’s about me, I think.”
She lays her hands on the table with her palms up. Her skin is wrinkly and worn from a life of obvious hard work.
“Well, let’s figure it out,” she says. “What’s going on?”
I blow out a breath.
I don’t even know what to tell her or where to start.
Things got complicated so fast. How did that happen?
“Hollis?”
“I had to walk away from a girl I really like if I’m being honest.”
Admitting it out loud feels like a weight is off my shoulders. But it’s also accompanied by a pain, a loneliness that’s deeper and darker than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.
“You don’t seem too happy about it,” she says gently.
I shrug. “Sometimes you have to do what you gotta do.”
“That’s what they say.” She leans forward. “You know what I say?”
“What?”
“I say that’s what people say who don’t want to really think about it.”
I chuckle sadly. “You’d be right. I don’t want to think about it.”
I sit back in my chair to put a little distance between us. I need space. Air.
Advice.
Because I don’t know if I can live like this without some help.
I avoid getting close to people so this doesn’t happen. It’s not like I don’t know the pain of losing someone you think might care about you. And even though this is different—that I’m the one walking away—it was necessary.
Hearing that song reminded me of what, and who, I am. I’ve been a chameleon my whole life. I’ve had to be to survive. But being surrounded by a family like the Masons with a woman like Larissa in my arms? I wasn’t supposed to be there. I could only keep up that charade for so long.
Eventually, they’d see me for who I am. A guy with nothing to offer, with no plans or an idea of where to even start. They’d get tired of dealing with me, of having to make excuses for me, and it would hurt a hell of a lot worse for them to walk away from me than for me to do it.
I’m saving us all trouble, really.
Even if it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever done.
“What happened?” Judy asks.
“You should see her life,” I tell her. “It’s fucking incredible. She has money, and fancy shit, and her cousin is famous. They’re the kind of people who probably have bonfires and sit around singing ‘Kumbayah.’”