Page 55 of Worth the Shot

I shouldn’t care this much about a text message, but I do. We haven’t gone a day without talking since Christmas and I just want to hear from her. Know how her shift went, if she got home okay, what disaster she cleaned up today, if someone pissed her off, if someone made her laugh. I try to tell myself that this is normal and that space is good. Healthy. That these moments we’ve been having mean something to me, but maybe they don’t mean the same thing to her.

I flag down Corey for another beer, taking a slow slip when he hands it to me, and the push–pull tightens in my chest. This is the part I hate. The part between wanting and waiting. The part where I hold myself still so she doesn’t run.

“Dude,” Miles says quietly beside me. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

He gives me a knowing look over the rim of his glass. “You should text her.”

I glare at him and he smirks like he’s been listening to my thoughts all along. Wes is flirting loudly, the girls are giggling, and I feel completely disconnected. Like I’m sitting in my old life wearing someone else’s skin. And then, right on cue, my phone buzzes. Once.

Heart. In. Throat.

I take it out casually, as if my entire nervous system isn’t hanging by a thread.

Delaney

Sorry, it’s been a day. Still alive. Barely. A drunk teenager projectile vomited on me like an hour ago. Thought you’d appreciate the visual.

A laugh rips out of me and it’s loud enough that Chelsea shoots daggers my way when I look up. I don’t even glance back.

Me

At least tell me you made the kid feel bad about it.

Three dots appear immediately.

My heartbeat stutters.

Delaney

Obviously. I told him I was quitting medicine and changing my name. He cried.

Me

You’re a menace.

Delaney

Pretty much.

Three dots again. Then they vanish.

Then they come back.

Then they vanish again.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull.

I sit perfectly still, phone in hand, staring at the screen like if I blink, I’ll miss something.

Finally:

Delaney

Missed talking to you today.

There it is. The pull. A tide I’ve been pretending I’m not standing knee-deep in. I grip my beer bottle just to keep my hands from shaking.