empty inside without it.
My phone rings from my bag, and suddenly I’m in a tunnel a thousand yards away, even though the phone’s right in front of me on the table. I don’t want to answer it, but what if it’s work? I have to.
Begrudgingly, I pull it from my bag and see the unknown number. Probably a bill collector or something. Did I forget to pay something? I answer and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Ms. Patrick?”
“Who is this?” The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t put a face to it.
“Wells Covington.”
Why in the world is he calling me? I’ve never given him my number. The firm wouldn’t just hand it out to a client. They prefer all communications with clients to go through receptionists and partners. The entire conversation is an out-of-body experience. I’m still back out in the hallway and not mentally present.
I shake my head, trying to snap out of my daze.
“What? Who? I mean, how’d you get this number? This is inappropriate.” My mind is still floating a million miles away, still on Rick and the ultimate rejection, but somehow my body goes into autopilot, making me still somewhat functioning.
He laughs at my words, as if what I just said was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. “That’s funny.”
“I’m dead serious. Why are you calling me?”
The laughter ceases immediately. “We need to talk.”
This is the craziest night of my life. I’m just waiting to wake up from an awesome dream that turned into a nightmare.
Rick Lawrence
It’s been exactly three days since I pulled the epic Bill Buckner move. Ground ball right through the fucking legs at the World Series. Goddamn it! She was right there, leaning in. It was everything I’ve ever wanted, and I turned into a total pussy and just walked away.
Why? That’s the big question I’ve pondered over and over, non-stop. How did I fuck up the best date of all time?
For the love of all things holy, I put in damn near a year of pretending, deception, obsessing, and dare I say quite possibly stalking. I don’t know what it was. The manwhore part of my brain tells me it was just to see if I could do it, to get her to that moment, but I’m full of shit. I’m in love with her. Head-over-heels smitten in love. She’s by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I had her in my palm. There’s only one explanation for it. It was subconsciously to protect her. She deserves so much better than me. I would end up hurting her.
Not on purpose, of course. It’d be my past, my job, my personality. I manipulate people. It’s what I do. That’s what it has to be.
I’d leave everything behind for her in a second, but what would that look like? What? She has to quit a job she loves? We’d have to run off somewhere where my childhood could never catch up to me? What kind of life would that be for her?
She just wanted a kiss, not wedding bells and shit.
Regardless of how I rationalize anything, I hate myself for it. I want to run to her, tell her it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with me. Tell her how perfect she is, and how much I always want to be around her, that I never want her out of my sight. That I’d go ten years without even a kiss if I had to, twenty, fuck it. Tell her I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, but she’d never believe me. It sounds fucking batshit insane when I even think it. I can’t imagine saying it out loud.
The worst part is, I hurt her. She has to feel so humiliated right now. I saw the spark in her eyes. I gave her some kind of hope, even though I don’t understand why she looked at me that way. Then I crushed her. Not only that, no explanation, no apology, just three days of radio silence while I worked outside of the office.
She probably hates me now.
I walk up from my office just as the four dickhead brothers start up the hallway toward me.
Shit, Decker’s leading the way. They must have a meeting or something. Surprisingly, they all appear amicable.
Not so surprisingly, Decker glares right at me the second we make eye contact. He’s not pissed at me, but I get the look anytime Dexter is around him.
Decker has me looking at