Jilted Jock - Rebecca Jenshak Page 0,79
went by her work first, couldn’t get into the building and resigned that if she was hiding in there, I’d never get to her. At her apartment, I knocked and then waited. Nothing.
“Adele. Open up.” I rested my head against the door. “Please.”
The door across the hall opened and an older woman in a silk robe stepped out. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
“What?” I stared back at the door to Adele’s apartment. “She moved out?”
The lady nodded. “Paid through the end of her lease and said she’d found something else.”
“When?”
“First thing Monday morning.”
My stomach clenched with dread and the knowledge New York was a giant city and I had absolutely no leads on where to find her.
“Did she leave a forwarding address or anything?”
“Not with me. Sorry.” She nodded toward the flowers. “You mind if I take one of those? Could really liven up my apartment.”
“No, they’re all yours.” My rough voice was a whisper as I walked away.
Finn
April 19, 3:01 a.m.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Last Hope
This feels like my last hope. A shot in the dark that you’ll read this and have some small idea of how sorry I am and how goddamn much I miss you.
I was an idiot. I failed you a hundred times over. You risked so much for me and then I failed to protect you when you needed me. You’re not just an addict. You’re smart and gorgeous and you’re so damn brave. I see you, sweetheart. All of you.
You were right; you and I live in two different worlds, but I’d move heaven and earth to be with you so figuring out how to combine our worlds shouldn’t be so hard. Give me a chance. I won’t let you down again.
Finn
April 19, 3:01 a.m.
From: MAIL DELIVERY SUBSYSTEM
Subject: Message Delivery Failure Subject: Last Hope
Address not found.
The following message could not be sent to [email protected] because the user couldn’t be found. Check for typos or unnecessary spaces and try again.
This feels like my last hope. A shot in the dark that you’ll read this and have some small idea of how sorry I am and how goddamn much I miss you.
I was an idiot. I failed you a hundred times over. You risked so much for me and then I failed to protect you when you needed me. You’re not just an addict. You’re smart and gorgeous and you’re so damn brave. I see you, sweetheart. All of you.
You were right; you and I live in two different worlds, but I’d move heaven and earth to be with you so figuring out how to combine our worlds shouldn’t be so hard. Give me a chance. I won’t let you down again.
Finn
Adele
I was somewhere in Nebraska looking for a sign. Not an actual sign, an omen. Some universal acknowledgment that I was doing the right thing. Quitting my job, moving out of my apartment, and starting across the country without a plan was the rashest thing I’d done in a really long time and I’d officially reached my Holy Shit What Have I Done moment.
The fact that it’d taken eight days for it to sink in said something. The first week I’d mostly been numb. Saying goodbye to my life in New York was easier than I’d expected. I would always be grateful for the time there if only because it had cemented how much California meant to me. Maybe home was wherever you made it to some people, but for me home was a specific place and the people who lived there.
Once I’d loaded up my car, I’d headed south on a sixteen-hour detour to Orlando. If I was going to drive across the country, what was another day or two of driving? And, honestly, if the Hogwarts Express and butterbeer couldn’t cure my heartbreak, then nothing could.
They hadn’t, but they’d brought the first smile to my lips since saying goodbye to Finn. From there, I’d gone northwest staying overnight in a couple Midwestern towns and thinking of how Finn had wanted to see their charm.
And that’s where I was, looking at a bulletin board at a bed and breakfast just outside of Omaha, trying not to breakdown and call him. I’d blocked his number to give myself time to think, but the desire to hear his voice was so strong. I’d even deleted my email account, but then the thought of losing all the sweet words he’d ever written had me scrambling to reactivate before they were gone forever. I’d read each one every