Simple and to the point. No word vomit, as I tend to do. It’s not how I wanted to tell him, but he needs to understand that I won’t turn my back on him. I can handle this. He’s fucking worth it, dammit. What I’mnotgoing to let him do is disappear from my life.
God, and that amazing connection with him during sex. I could’ve sworn he felt the same as me. Maybe he didn’t say the words, but I still felt them. All that’s been obliterated. It’s not his fault, though. I’m certain of it.
Give him time, Wes.
I’ll reach out in a couple of days if I don’t hear back.
In the kitchen, I wipe my face with a paper towel and blow my nose. Leaning against the counter, I look around the place. It’s not dirty, but I need a distraction. I’d go out for a run if it hadn’t started raining.
After having some coffee, I set about scrubbing the kitchen, changing my bedsheets, and folding the clean clothes I never got to. I don’t want to do fucking anything but bury myself in bed for the rest of the day, but I need a distraction.
It takes all my willpower not to keep looking at my phone to see if Jett’s responded. The only thing holding me back is being unable to handle the silence. I’m not ready to see that he hasn’t reached back.
A few hours later, I’m tired, emotionally drained, but I feel a little better, filled with more determination to make this work with him. I just need to be patient and give him time to process.
With nothing left to do, I can’t take it anymore, so I swipe open my phone, but there’s nothing there. The amount of disappointment that consumes me nearly knocks the breath out of me. I knew there wouldn’t be, but it still fucking hurts.
Patience, Wes. Patience. He’ll reach out. He can’t ignore you forever.
I look outside, and the rain seems to have stopped. It’s wet and soggy, but I can go for a run. After that, I’ll grab some late lunch.
I avoid the track at the university and go for a run in nature. It’s muddy, wet, and cold, but I’m in my element. My head is clearing, and I’m only focused on my feet sloshing through puddles and mud. With every mile, my head clears, and determination rises in me. It isn’t just me. I know he feels it too. What we have is something worth fighting for.
When it starts raining again, I head back home, shivering.
Out of breath, I step into the elevator, carrying the shoes I removed. Everything reminds me of Jett, even this damn elevator. I almost press the button to his floor instead of pressing mine. Everything screams at me to go to him, but I don’t.
The door opens to my floor, and I unlock my condo. I drop my shoes into a trash bag as soon as I step inside. They’re pretty much ruined.
With a sigh, feeling the weight of my loss again, I strip out of my wet clothes and take a shower.
I’m in there for a long time, letting the heat of the water warm my cold bones and soothe my sore muscles. Fragments of that day in the locker room shower with Jett wash over me. Fuck, is everything going to remind me of him? Tears press against my eyelids again, and I swallow back the hurt.
As I get out, running a towel through my hair, I hear my phone blowing up with texts and calls.
“Shit!” I yell out loud. He’s calling me back sooner than I expected.Fuck, yeah! Excitement and relief course through me as I rush to snag my phone, but instead of seeing ‘Whiplash’ calling, it’s my granddad. My soul deflates in disappointment.
“Hey, Granddad! What’s up?” I answer with more excitement than I feel. I’m not ready to tell him what’s happened yet.
“Wes! There you are,” he says out of breath.
I swallow because his tone sends warning bells through me.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s your mom… You need to get home. She’s had a seizure.”
I freeze, and my hand grips my phone so tightly I’m afraid I’ll break it. “What do you mean? Is she okay? What happened? She hasn’t had one in so long. Has she not been taking her—”
“Hold on, son… Before you work yourself up, she’s fine. She fell when she seized and hit her head… again. They have her in the hospital for observation, but I know you’ll want to be there for her. And she’s been asking for you. She needs you, son.”
I run a hand through my wet hair. The last thing my mother needs is more brain injuries. “Jesus. Yeah, I’m on my way.”
“Don’t rush and risk a car accident. The roads are wet.”
“I won’t.”
We say our goodbyes, and I email my boss and Don to let them know I’ll be out on Monday due to a family emergency. Don can help out with my rounds.
