Of course not. My life isn’t a made-for-TV movie. I don’t matter to him. I need to remember that.
My room is shrouded in darkness and I flick on the overhead light, head over to the closet where my dusty, torn duffel bag is. It’s still half-full, I never really unpacked for fear of something like this happening.
Guess my psychic abilities are working at full capacity at the moment.
I start stuffing the bag full of my clothes, not bothering to fold anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave, but I guess I could call a taxi and have them take me to the bus station. I have the money in my bank account and my debit card is on me so I can pay for the ticket and head on home. Hopefully I won’t have to hang out at the bus station for too long.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I glance at the screen and see Owen has texted me. Something about spending the night at Wade’s again, which I tell him is fine and that I’m coming home tonight. He responds immediately.
What happened? Get fired? Did the dad come on to you? He asked.
Long story. I’ll explain when I get home, I reply then shove my phone back in the pocket of my jeans.
I feel like a failure. I can’t manage to be a girlfriend right and all I had to do was stand there and look pretty. Smile and nod and say nothing. How hard can that be?
Pissed at myself, I go into the bathroom and clear out all my toiletries, shoving them in the cosmetics bag I brought them in. I snag my razor and travel sized shampoo and conditioner out of the shower and throw them in the bag, then zip it up, satisfied with the loud noise it makes. Everything echoes in this house, what with the soaring ceilings and the tiled floors. The main house is worse and it grates on my nerves.
Maybe I will be glad to get out of here. When I get on that bus, maybe I’ll be able to breathe again.
I turn to leave the bathroom and find Drew standing in the doorway, much like he was last night. He’s gripping the top of the doorframe and leaning his body halfway through the door. His sweatshirt is riding up, taking his shirt along with it and his shorts hang low on his hips, exposing a thin slice of his stomach. I catch a glimpse of dark hair trailing from his navel and I jerk my gaze up to meet his, embarrassed I’m checking him out when I should be thoroughly pissed at him.
“Don’t go.”
I stiffen my spine. This is beyond ridiculous. All the push and pull is really screwing with my brain. “I’m not in the mood to play games, Drew.”
He lets go of the doorway and enters the bathroom. I back away from him, my butt hitting the edge of the counter and stopping me. I’m trembling, but not from fear. It’s because he’s so close, I can smell him.
Somehow the scent of beer is gone, replaced by Drew’s warm, familiar smell. I can feel his body heat, the tension vibrating off him in potent waves. “I’m so sorry, Fable. I just…this place sucks. And I don’t blame you if you want to leave so I was giving you an out. I was trying to convince myself that’s what was best, getting you out of here, but I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone. I’d like it if you stay.”
“Do what alone, Drew? What’s so bad about your parents anyway? You don’t tell me anything and my mind just…wanders.” I inhale sharply when he stops directly in front of me, so close our chests brush against each other.
Without warning, he wraps his hands around my waist and hauls me up, setting me on the edge of the bathroom counter. I let go a little squeal and he steps in between my legs. He’s even closer to me now and I tip my head back, meeting his troubled gaze.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers. “I want to tell you, but I can’t.”
I touch his face and he leans into my palm, closing his eyes. I study his beautiful face and I’m consumed by the urge to kiss him. Lose myself in him.
“Keeping it all bottled up inside isn’t healthy.” I stroke his cheek and he opens his eyes. “You really should talk to someone.” I’m trying to make him realize I want to be the one he talks to about whatever’s bothering him.
“I can’t.”
“All right. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.” I drop my hand from his face and prop myself on the edge of the tiled counter, lifting up as best as I can, and press a kiss to his cheek. I want him to know that I’ll be there for him no matter what. I don’t care what sort of secrets he’s hiding—and I have a feeling they’re pretty awful—I want to stand by him and help him.
He might be more trouble than he’s worth but I don’t think so. This man came into my life for some reason. Just as I came into his. Maybe we’re supposed to help each other cope.
Or give each other hope.
* Chapter Nine *
Day 4, 1:12 p.m.
She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she is woman, and therefore to be won. – William Shakespeare
Drew