The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(70)

Oh shit. SHIT.

I knew it happened the second it happened. And not only was I not with him, but I was not even in the same country. And it freaked me out. It scared me for a million reasons.

“Jesus …” he whispered.

And me? I ended the call. The equivalent of turning and running away as fast as my feet could take me.

Running to hide from the truth.

Running to escape reality.

Running to slow down the inevitable catching me.

Fisher triggered a memory by himself. A big one. The one I wanted him to remember in McDonald’s where I could do damage control. Help him make sense of it. Help him understand why … why I did what I did.

“Oh god.” I stared at my phone as Fisher tried calling me back. “No. God no. Shit. Shitshitshit! FUCK!” I tossed my vibrating phone into my bag and covered my face with my shaky hands.

I was late for work, and Fisher was in Costa Rica with the memory of him zip-tying me to the stool in his workshop.





“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said to Holly as I hustled to peel off my jacket and toss my bag into the cubby.

She laughed looking at her watch. “I’m not sure two minutes counts as late. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. No.” I shook my head before taking a deep breath. “It’s a crazy situation.”

“Well…” Holly leaned back in her recliner and sipped her tea “…Isabella had to cancel her appointment this morning. So I have time.”

I twisted my lips. “It’s really messed-up. Promise not to judge me?”

She chuckled. “Oh, Reese, you have no idea how sordid my life was before I became a midwife.” She smirked. “Grab your coffee. I’m all ears.”

It only took a few more seconds for me to nod and grin. “Okay.”

My story took up the full two hours we had free that morning, and Holly scowled at me when I left her with the Costa Rica cliffhanger. But I didn’t have any more to give her because the story was still being written.

When I took a break that afternoon to grab a snack and check my phone, there were a string of twenty-five missed calls and a string of messages from Fisher. Messages with all caps and exclamation points. And a few screen shots.

“Oh no …” I cringed, scrolling up through the messages. It was the first time Fisher had messaged me since five years earlier which meant when he brought up my name in his messenger, he saw those five-year-old texts.

Innocent texts telling me to drive myself to work or informing me of what time we’d be leaving. Then there were texts of him apologizing for telling his family that I had tummy issues.

Fisher: I’m sorry.

Fisher: Are you going to stay mad at me forever?

Fisher: I’ll call my family and tell them it was a lie. That I just wanted to be alone with you.





That was one of the screen shots. Along with the message:

Why did I want to be alone with you?





Another screen shot.

Reese: Hi. Rose isn’t going to tell Rory or anyone.





Tell Rory what?





Where are you?

Answer your phone.

I’m sorry.

Please pick up your phone.

Don’t make me call Rory.

Or the police.





WHAT THE HELL?!!!!





Fisher: If you’re not dead, text Rory and tell her you made it safely to Houston. Don’t be a total asshole about it.

Reese: Go fuck yourself!





PICK UP YOUR GODDAMN PHONE!!!!!

MESSAGE ME THE FUCK BACK!

I ZIP-TIED YOU TO THE STOOL IN MY SHOP! WE WERE MORE THAN FRIENDS AND YOU GODDAMN KNOW IT!





The last text I received was five minutes before I checked my messages.

Who are you? Why did you do this to me?





My eyes filled with tears. I shouldn’t have hung up on him. Not only were we not together, I left him with crazy pieces to what must have felt like an unsolvable puzzle.

I panicked.

I panicked because I was angry at the Costa Rica situation.

I panicked because I didn’t have time to talk.

I panicked because I couldn’t see his face and he couldn’t see mine. I thought he would remember pieces of our intimacy when I could give him a look, and he could maybe see at least what I felt for him even if his feelings for me at the time were still missing. He wasn’t supposed to be so far away.

With her.

And her lingerie.

And her sexy dress.

And her sleeping in the same bed with him.

It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Life seldom did.

I didn’t have time to call him, but I needed to do something.

Don’t be mad. PLEASE don’t be mad. PLEASE let’s talk about it when you get home. I love you.





After I sent off the text, I grabbed a glass of water and stared at my phone, waiting for him to read the text or text me back.

Nothing.

Maybe he was getting a massage. With her. But that at least meant he wasn’t so mad he no longer cared to reply to me.

My short break ended, and I had to get back to work without a response from Fisher. Just … a bunch of angry all caps messages from him.