Page 22 of Run to Me

“You’re on edge.” He leans forward and pins me with a cautioning stare. “Don’t go there again, man. You have a lot more to lose this time around.”

My business, he means. I was nineteen when Maisy banished me, and my mind went to a terrible place. A dark pit. The few people who noticed me spiraling thought I was taking Logan’s death hard. That may have been part of the reason, but the primary cause of my descent was Maisy cutting me off a week after the funeral.

Mentally, I crashed because I couldn’t get through to her, and I ended up getting fired from my low-level job at Bruno’s. My boss had enough of my tardiness, absences, and shitty attitude. Thankfully, no one else in town wanted the job, and he hired me back two months later after Javi rescued me from the pit.

“I’ve got it under control,” I say, assuring him.

The skeptical looks he gives me says he disagrees. Standing, he runs a palm across his buzzed head. “I’m here if you need me.”

Need.

I nod to appease him, but we both know I won’t speak up.

After he leaves, I flip to the oldest key on my keyring and unlock the door to the stairs. Most tenants in these old buildings use the second floor for storage or extra workspace, but I use mine to relax and get out of my head. The staff thinks the upstairs area has rotted floors and asbestos, worthy of being condemned by the zoning board. In truth, it’s my hideout.

Using the flashlight on my phone, I check the coverage of the blackout curtains, making sure no one outside can see the glow from my lamp. With the curtains in place, I settle into the papasan chair and eye the stack of journals on the ottoman. I used to spend most days journaling while hanging out up here, but I stopped writing down my thoughts and dreams on my thirtieth birthday. I’ll be thirty-two soon, and one thing hasn’t changed since my first or last journal entry.

I’m still waiting for a stubborn girl to forgive me for breaking her heart.

8

MAISY

My head protests the amount of alcohol I consumed last night. Lying on my back, I kick off the covers and stretch, allowing the cool air to wash over me. Goosebumps surface along my exposed skin, which is a lot considering I sleep in panties and a tank top.

Why did I drink so much? After all the years of tending to Tatum during her binges and cleaning up the trail of damage she left, I should know better than to get carried away.

“So stupid,” I whisper to myself.

“I agree.” The bed shakes when the man next to me with the smooth baritone chuckles.

My head lolls to the side, and I glare at Graham. He’s propped on an elbow—hair mussed and chiseled abs on display above turquoise boxers—like he’s in a freaking magazine spread.

“Good morning, my little starshine,” he coos.

“Did you sleep in here again?” Glancing at the window, I’m met with the grey haze of early morning. Too early. Either my alarm hasn’t gone off yet, or I forgot to set it.

“I did, but only because I thought you might puke.”

“Did you take off my makeup?” I ask, patting my face.

He cocks a haughty brow. “Do I look like an amateur?”

“Thank you.” I close my eyes to hide my vulnerability because I don’t like being seen without makeup. My closest friends may have seen the me underneath countless times, but I feel exposed and raw without foundation at least.

“You’re welcome. Now tell me why you drank so much and how long you’ve been in love with Jensen Holloway.”

My eyelids pop open. “Come again?”

“Don’t deny it. You took a twenty-minute nap in the car, then you prattled on about his sexy face and his mega dick for the rest of the ride home.”

“I’ve never seen his dick. It could be tiny for all I know.”

“You were the one grinding on it in a dark alley, so you’d know better than anyone.” Graham’s smug face begs to be punched.

Flinging an arm across my eyes, another groan escapes me. “Oh my god. I told you?”

“Yes. That and so much more. Drunk Maisy’s an open book, unlike my best friend, Moody Maisy, who tells me nothing.”