The Relationship Pact(66)

Relief washes across his face, and he starts the car. We head home in silence. I don’t think I’ll be seeing the light in his eyes anytime soon. Something just switched off.

But what?





Twenty-Two





Hollis





I should’ve stayed with her.

I sit in the chair in the corner of my hotel room, still dressed in the clothes I wore to Siggy’s house. I don’t think I’ve moved a muscle.

The sun came up a few hours ago. Even the sunrise was disappointing. It’s like it was prepping me that the new year will suck and not to get my hopes up.

Not to be wishing on any fucking stars.

I wipe my hand down my face.

For a moment, I almost bought into it. There was a period of time last night when things felt different. Like maybe River and Larissa were right, and a guy like me could manage to have people in his life and create something that rose from the bullshit and … wasn’t terrible.

That was my mistake.

“Thanks for the reminder, Mom,” I spit out as I press down on my right shoulder until it pops back into place. “Thanks for reminding me of who I am before I pull someone else into our curse.”

The feelings inside me that the stupid song rustled up are ones I’ve avoided nearly my entire life. But now they’re here, on the surface, and they’re fucking with me at a time in my life when things were finally starting to turn around.

Or I convinced myself they were.

It just goes to show that maybe they aren’t supposed to turn around for me.

All of that nonsense River was saying is a bunch of hocus-pocus, something some quack doctor spewed into an audiobook to get rich. It’s not real.

I put my head in my hands. My temples throb.

You did a really good job at faking your relationship with her. That’s why she bought into it. She told you herself that she always falls for the wrong guys. You are her type—the type that doesn’t work out.

My breath is shaky.

It wouldn’t have lasted anyway.

How could it?

You had to save her from her own undoing.

I force a swallow.

Her perfume is still on my shirt. It’s the only reason I haven’t taken it off. Every time I’ve started to, my heart lodges in my throat, and my hands fall to my side.

If I have to give myself a break somewhere, it’s going to be here. The scent will fade away at some point, so I might as well soak it in while it still exists.

I groan, bending forward and putting my head in my hands.

It was such a dick move to take her home and then go back to my hotel this morning. She didn’t expect it. She didn’t like it. But, to her credit, she didn’t make a big deal out of it.

She hasn’t called or texted. But I wouldn’t have either if I were her.

Suddenly, I have to move. I have to go. I have to do.

I jump to my feet and head for the door.

The elevator is slow as I wait for it and even slower as it takes me to the ground floor. The lobby is relatively empty as I stride across it.

The air is warmer than I expect. I don’t give it too much thought.

I just walk.

I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t sit in that room anymore.

My feet march down the sidewalk. I try to numb my mind by humming a song, but it ends up being the one that I helped Coy with last night, and that doesn’t help.

It makes things worse. I hate being fucking alone, but I need it. I need to be by myself.

But then I find myself in front of Judy’s pink sign … that says she’s closed. I peer inside to see her putting those little jars of honey on a shelf.

Relief washes over me at the sight of her and I peck against the glass—rap! rap! rap!—until she turns around. Her face lights up when she sees me.

She hustles as much as an old woman can hustle toward the door. With a quick snap, it’s unlocked.

“Well, how’d I get so lucky to see you on New Year’s Day?” she asks, kissing my cheek.

I grin. “I was hoping you had more of those apple fritters you put in my box.”

“You know I do. Come on, boy, and tell me what’s on your mind.”

I follow her toward the back of the building. “Who said anything was on my mind?”

“Am I wrong then?”

I slump into the same booth I occupied the last time I was here. “Well, no.”

“Okay, then. Spill.”

She carries a plate and a mug to the table. Two apple fritters and a steaming cup of coffee are placed in front of me. Then she slides into the opposite seat.

I don’t really want the fritters. As a matter of fact, the thought of eating them makes me want to vomit. I nibble at one not to be rude.

“Is this about your girlfriend?” she asks.

I consider the question. “No. It’s about me, I think.”

She lays her hands on the table with her palms up. Her skin is wrinkly and worn from a life of obvious hard work.

“Well, let’s figure it out,” she says. “What’s going on?”

I blow out a breath.

I don’t even know what to tell her or where to start.

Things got complicated so fast. How did that happen?

“Hollis?”