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None of this will matter when we wake up.Chapter 12Remington
Twenty-one words.
That’s the total number he’s spoken to me since we returned to my house to find my parents already gone again.
“Do you want me to help with your bags?” Followed by, “I don’t mind.” Wrapped up with, “You should get some more rest. You look exhausted.”
Out of context that may seem like a lot, but we’ve been back for days, opting to convalesce here rather than staying at the hotel. His idea, not mine, of course.
We’ve been in the same room half a dozen times. I speak and get grunts from him. I feel his eyes on me only to look up and find him gazing across the room or out the window. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, he’s gone from holding me while I was sick to being unable to look me in the eye. He’s acting the exact same way my parents do whenever they’re around. I hate it, and with each grunt, I start to hate him too.
So, I’ve done the only thing I can think of, I avoid him. I lock myself in my bedroom and hide out, quarantining myself away from all interactions. Not being seen at all is easier to handle than being ignored in the same room.
But as much as I hate the possibility of running into him, my appetite, the one that disappeared while I was sick, roared back with a vengeance this evening. I’ve spent hours trying to convince myself I wasn’t hungry, but when the pains hit, I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
Orange hues from the sunset sparkle on the foyer floor as I descend the stairs and if I wasn’t in such a foul mood, I could appreciate the beauty of it. But I am in a dark mood, one that will end up bubbling over if I so much as smell Flynn’s spicy cologne on my way to the kitchen.
Fate is a twisted bitch because although I can smell his dark, tantalizing scent, I hear his voice—the second worst thing that could possibly happen with sourness swimming around inside of me.
I turn back around, knowing I can wait another hour before getting something to eat.
“Crazy, man.” He sighs. “She’s driving me fucking crazy. I don’t want to speak to you. I want to speak to Deacon.”
Silence surrounds me, and I freeze at the landing of the stairs, waiting to hear what he’s going to say next, all the while knowing it’s not going to get any better if I stick around.
“I’m going to turn that damn bird into a soup when I get back,” he grumbles. “No, Wren. Deacon, not Ignacio.”
Another pause.
“Hey, man. Yeah, I need to be pulled…It’s not that…you need to stop listening to him…laugh it up, fucker. You wouldn’t be doing any better…Four days not a fucking week, and I already told Wren, nothing happened…And if that’s the way he feels then why hasn’t he called me? If he thinks I’m fucking this up, I’d be happy to come home…Because I don’t want to be here any longer. I have better things to do with my time. This is a waste of company resources…The fact that you just called me a babysitter proves my damn point.”
I can’t stick around any longer. I knew he wasn’t interested. I knew my stupid crush on him wouldn’t go anywhere, but at the same time, before leaving the hotel suite, I thought we had bonded on some level, but it was all work for him. Taking care of me is his job, and it means nothing more.
With a growling empty stomach, I pull on a sundress and some sandals, fixing my hair into a messy bun and applying lip gloss.
I wait until I hear his bedroom door open and close an hour later. The second he’s in his room, I make my way quietly down the stairs, using the door through the kitchen to get into the garage. I don’t get into my car, opting to use the side door into the fresh night air and walking down to the road. The Uber I ordered not long ago idles by the curb, the man smiling when I pull the back door open.
“Where are you heading?”
“Into the city, please.”
He nods and we’re off. Flynn could be running through the yard calling after me, but I don’t risk a glance in that direction.
I promised I wouldn’t leave the suite while he was sick, but I never said I wouldn’t run ever again. If he didn’t want to have to deal with me, he could’ve easily packed his things and left. He doesn’t want to be there anyway after all.
Thankfully, the driver seems lost in his own head and doesn’t try to initiate conversation. When he drops me off outside of a busy club, I tip him generously for the quiet ride.
