Life In Reverse(73)

“It’s okay.” I cross the room until I’m standing in front of him, then take his hand and hope my expression conveys my apology. “I’m sorry, Grant.” My shoulders dip right along with the rest of my spirits. “Listen, I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day and I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Sure, babe. No worries.” He hesitates before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I can’t blame him for being apprehensive. I’ve been all over the place tonight. With one last glance, he grabs his jacket and heads out the door. As soon as it shuts, I sag against the wall, my gaze wandering to the book. After staring at it for far too long, I walk over to pick it up then drop down on the sofa. My hand is unsteady as I open it to the first page.



“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

I thought Tolstoy said it better than I ever could.

xoxo Vance



I close my eyes, desperately trying to push it all away. But the hurt is still there. Sometimes it hides behind other things. Like a smile that’s a little too bright, or a laugh that’s much too loud. But I’m trying to move on. I have to move on. After all, it’s been three years. Vance didn’t even attempt to search for me. It was pretty easy for him to toss me aside, and that’s what makes my heart resent him—or want to, anyway.

Still, he continues to invade my mind. He won’t leave me alone. Those blue eyes and that crooked grin. That damn earring he used to tug on all the time. I miss our talks and the way he used to hold my hand, my face, my heart. And I wonder if he’s okay, if he’s healthy. The thought of him not being well makes my stomach clench. I slam the book down on the couch, slouching deeper into the leather.

“Whoa, whoa. Does someone need anger management classes?” Avery jumps on the sofa and I lunge for the book, shifting it to my other side. “Protective much?”

“No. It’s just that the book—”

“Means a lot to you.” She lowers her body until her head rests on my shoulder. “I know.”

“It’s just a book,” I pout, heaving my feet onto the trunk. “Any chance we still have that half-gallon of cookies & cream in the freezer?”

“We do.”

“Two spoons. No bowls.”

Before the words are out of my mouth, she’s sprinting to the kitchen. “Oh,” she calls back. “Dad sent us a package and there was a puzzle in there for you.” A drawer slams closed. “He misses us.”

“I miss him too,” I mumble.

“Just what the doctor ordered.” She settles next to me and digs her spoon into the ice cream, scooping out a chunk of Oreo. “So tell me. How was your night with the even-keeled one?” she asks dryly, and I glare at her.

“It was fine. We went out for Thai food and then a movie. He wanted to go back to that bar we went to a few months ago to see that band he likes. But I wasn’t in the mood for anything loud.”

“I just want you to know,” she taps her spoon against her mouth, “that every time I ask how your night was with Grant, you say fine.”

Swirls of vanilla suddenly capture my interest. “He still wants me to marry him, practically asked me again tonight.”

“Again? First of all, you haven’t been dating that long and second, you haven’t even had sex with him.” She lets out a dramatic groan. “You certainly can’t marry someone until you know if you’re sexually compatible.”

I frown. “Yes, but we’ve known each other for a while. I feel bad. He’s such a nice guy… and I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, Em.” She bangs her spoon against mine to get my attention and I look up at her. “He just may not be the right guy for you. When the right guy comes along, you’ll be ready.”

“Yeah. Given that I’m such an expert on relationships.” I laugh, and she joins in. “I have too many other things to focus on anyway. Work, school, my sculpting….”

“Kickboxing classes at the gym with your sister.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” I retort, shoveling a heap of ice cream into my mouth.

“You did,” she counters with a not-so-innocent grin.

Since I know my sister, I crack a suspicious smile. “It must have been under duress because I don’t remember.”

“You remember…,” she drops her spoon into the ice cream and pats her stomach, “everything.” Her expression turns somber. “Seriously, though. I think you’re doing really well. I honestly can’t remember the last time you had a ‘no bowls’ kind of night.”

“Yeah.” I huff out a long, uneven breath. “I’m getting there.”

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll finally believe it.





DARK CLOUDS INVADE the sky, various shades of gray reflective of my state of mind as we arrive at Chris’s house. The threat of an impending storm chases us. My brain following the same pattern—flooded with chaotic thoughts that all lead to one person.

We pull up to the saltbox colonial, the home that Chris’s mom and dad have owned for the past two years since moving from Oregon to New York. Wanting to be closer to their son but not being city people, they found a compromise in a suburban area of Westchester.