"Then maybe fixing this thing with Jordan should also be because of you," Rachel said.
"I don't know if this is fixable."
Rachel's eyes met hers. "I refuse to believe that, and so should you."
Charlotte sat at her desk and stared, her eyes shifting back and forth from her computer to her phone. Her manuscript needed fixes and words, but her heart wanted something more.
She fought to get out of New York, fought to try and find her happy ending somewhere else. She couldn't give up just yet, especially because she knew what she wanted. She didn't want the fame or the money or the front page of theNew York Post. She wanted Jordan.
Her hand reached instinctively for her phone, and she quickly dialed the number. It rang three times before Jordan's voice mail kicked in. "Hey, you've reached Jordan King. Sorry I—"
She hung up. What was she thinking? Sure, she needed to fight for him, but she also needed to at least have an idea of what to say. What if he had answered her call and all she did was stumble over words, sounding like a blubbering idiot who wasn't even close to her fighting voice?
Charlotte took a deep breath to compose the crazy thoughts in her brain.
"Right, let's get on with this," she told herself.
His phone once again went to voicemail and she realized she had to talk now or risk looking like a fool if he saw missed call after missed call from her without a message. She took a deep breath and started.
"Hey, it's me. Charlotte. I was just calling because I heard you got hurt and I wanted to check and see if it was OK. I mean, if you were OK. So yeah, I... hope you're OK and maybe we can talk. So, bye."
Charlotte stared at the phone in her hands a few seconds before she finally disconnected the call. Then her head fell dramatically on the keyboard on her desk. That was the worst call ever. She sounded like she was 14 years old and calling some boy she had a crush on. Maybe it would've been better if she had just hung up again instead. Charlotte sat up and took a deep breath, trying to regain control over her thoughts. What had she said to him? She hoped he was OK? And the "bye" at the end? It sounded like she was a 1980's Valley Girl. "So, like, byeeeee!"
The worst. She looked at her novel again. Maybe it would be better to focus on that instead and deal with the call later. Unfortunately, her head slamming against the keyboard left a long line of random letters in chapter 11. A whole page full. She highlighted the offending text and instinctively smashed the delete key.
Instinct. She was over thinking all of this, wasn't she? Maybe calling again and just telling him how she felt, using her instinct to give herself a voice, maybe that would be what she really needed. Charlotte quickly grabbed the phone, hoping that Jordan wouldn't freak out when he noticed a third call from her. But she was determined to make this one count.
"Hi, it's Charlotte again. I'm calling because I need to know what I can do to make this right with us. I want to say so much so I'll start by telling you that my past is my past. But my future is still being written, and I want it to be written with you. I don't like that my story is being told without you. Writing metaphors, I know. Just call me or text or even stop by. I haven't given up on us yet."
She took a deep breath and hung up. That was it. That was the message she wanted to give him, the message she should've given him the first time. Hell, the message she should've given him weeks ago.
Charlotte turned back to the computer screen before her fingers began to dance over the keys as she wrote faster and faster.
Three hours later, she finally saved her work, exhausted but inspired. She walked through her secret door to stare at the clothes in her closet. She knew exactly what her plan of attack would be next when it came to Jordan King, and she couldn't wait for tomorrow to arrive so she could execute it.
Jordan was a creature of habit. Even though it wasn't a game day, he had still taken his normal afternoon nap.
That's apparently when Charlotte had called him. Twice. Or three time. There were three missed calls but only two messages. Maybe she left a third one and deleted it or called and then hung up without leaving one. He hadn't actually done anything with them after he woke up and saw them waiting for him. Maybe he just needed to build up his emotional strength for whatever was going to be there. He just knew this wouldn't be as easy as simply pressing the voicemail button on his phone.
That's how he ended up here an hour ago, sitting at the kitchen table staring at the phone he had dropped right in the middle of it. It was taunting him. He could hear the phone's little robotic voice in his head laughing at him. Jordan really needed to press the button and listen to the message, but he was too afraid to hear what she had to say to him. Maybe it would be good, but maybe it wouldn't. He wasn't sure he could handle it being less than good.
He needed to get over this whole thing. Yes, she should've told him about Declan but at this point, was Jordan being the coward? His ego was so bruised he was too afraid to just pick up the phone and say something to her. Anything to her, really.
The door to the garage opened, and Jordan could hear his brother coming in and dropping his bag on the floor. Ethan made an appearance in the doorway to the kitchen, stopping slightly at the sight of his brother.
"You look pensive," his brother said as he dropped his keys and wallet on the counter.
Jordan stared at the cell phone. "Kitchen table," he said quietly.
Ethan froze. "You OK?" he asked.
He turned back to his brother. "Kitchen table."
Ethan looked at him with trepidation. Then he walked over and opened the cupboard above the fridge to get the scotch, grabbed two tumblers, and set them all down on the table.
"So what travesty has befallen you at the hands of your dastardly cellular device?" he asked in an exaggerated tone.
"What?"
