Have I told you yet today how much Harley misses you? He’d tell you himself … if he could speak English or human. Not sure which is the right way to say it.
This one actually made me smile a little. Because I really miss Harley, too.
Have I told you yet today that I used the bodywash you left in my shower? Because I missed you so much. And I don’t even care if you tell Kane this. Even though he’ll give me shit for days.
Have I told you yet today how much I loved sleeping next to you? That I’d sometimes watch you sleep? Go ahead and call me a creeper. But you were so peaceful and beautiful. Like a piece of heaven right beside me.
The last one made me cry which, in turn, pissed me off. Because I was trying my hardest to not reside in full-on ugly cry mode for the rest of my life. But this? This got to me. Even so, I didn’t respond. Even to the one where he admitted he’s an idiot—which he is, of course.
I open up my Amazon music library on what will soon no longer be my computer and adjust the volume as music begins to play from the small speakers. I don’t want it to be too loud but I need something to try and mask the eerie silence of the office. It’s rarely this quiet and my lips tilt up at the corners thinking about how there’s always conversation taking place, whether if it be about a site we currently have under contract, a new program implementation possibility, current events or just the average shit-talking amongst them.
As I place items in the box on my desk, my mind floods with memories. Of the time Kane gave Miller crap about Tate before the two finally mended things; when Lee was hired on and how we all witnessed her open up—to everyone; when Laney all but forced me to join the groups’ outings and I got to know—and come to love—the crazy bunch; when I was invited to witness Laney and Zach get married and, at the same event, was forced into slow dancing with Foster by Momma K.; the times when Doc discreetly took me aside to ensure that I was okay after everything happened with Brad; Kane and his sweet talking, teasing ways; all those dinner nights at Momma K.’s.
Blinking back the tears threatening to spill over, I mutter, “Snap out of it. It’s not like you’re moving to Timbuktu. Just changing jobs.”
Even as I say this, I know it won’t be the same. I won’t witness everything that goes on each day with my coworkers. I won’t be here to know when Kane’s likely going to have to take off early because he’s showing signs of those wicked migraines he gets out of the blue. I won’t be here to hear the guys go back and forth over whether Lee and Lawson should elope to Vegas or do the courthouse thing and go backpacking in Peru to see Machu Picchu—the latter being Lawson’s idea, of course, simply because he says it’s fun to say Machu Picchu.
There are so many things I’m going to miss and I hate it. I don’t want to close this chapter—don’t want to move on. I’m not ready. More glaring proof that I’m not ready is the fact that it’s taking every single ounce of willpower to resist walking over to Foster’s desk and curling into his chair. Just to feel closer to him.
But I know I have to do this; I have to move on. It’s what’s best for my heart—and soul. I have to break free and only then will I be able to start healing and getting over Foster Kavanaugh.
Yeah, this didn’t sound remotely believable to me, either.
Chapter Sixty-One
Foster
It’s Friday evening at around seven when I pull up my truck and park right beside Noelle’s vehicle. The lights are on inside, and I know what she’s doing. Packing up. Because she’s leaving this job—leaving me. I shouldn’t be doing this—shouldn’t be showing up like this, bombarding her unexpectedly—but I can’t help myself. I have to see her one last time and get things off my chest. I have to give it my best shot.
My only options are success, I remind myself, or going out in a blaze of glory and heartache.
Punching in the code on the alarm keypad beside the door, it clicks quietly, unlocking and granting me access. Once I enter the office, I make out the faint sound of music coming from Noelle’s computer speakers. Spotting her standing beside her desk, placing her belongings into a box, I take in the sight before me since she evidently didn’t hear me enter. Her blond hair is twisted up in a clip, and she’s wearing a pair of light blue drawstring linen pants paired with a fitted gray tank top and a pair of simple flip-flops on her feet. Nothing fancy about her attire, yet she still manages to take my breath away.
“You just going to slip away quietly in the night? Never to be heard from again?”
Startled, her head whips around, hand going to her chest, before she collects herself, refocusing on her task. “Please don’t do this.”
“You can’t take that with you.”
“What?” She stares at me in confusion. She’s holding a marble paperweight that has her name engraved on it.
“That. You can’t take it with you.” I wave my hand, gesturing to the surface of her desk, now cluttered with her belongings she’s planning to pack up. “Any of that, really.”