Page 36

I stand up to give her a quick hug. “Thank you. You’re the best.”

I debate for a minute if I should stick around and get a coffee, but I decide I don’t need the caffeine jitters on top of my anxiety. I stop by the front door and notice that it’s raining again. Like the idiot I am, I try to open my umbrella while I’m still inside, and I get stuck halfway through the door. I hear my friend laughing behind the register, but I don’t turn around.

It’s not until I get in my car a few minutes later that I think about what Kora said. I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew the night that Hayden and I met that he was interested. Hell, I was very interested myself. A part of me wishes I could go back to that night and keep Hayden in my mind the way he seemed back then. Confident, charming, and insightful. I wonder if he’s so suave that he put all that on as an act, or if the spoiled, grumpy bad boy has more sides to him than most people give him credit for.

Hayden: I’m sorry I left early the other day

Hayden: Hey, I have some ideas for the funeral. You free to meet?

Hayden: Robin?

Robin: I’m busy. don’t worry. I have it all figured out.

Hayden: Are you mad at me?

Hayden: Robin, I’m really sorry. I did not mean to disappear on you. There was an emergency. I should have kept you in the loop, and I know it’s no excuse. I know this is event is a lot of work and I left you hanging. It won’t happen again, I promise.

Hayden: I’m coming over

Chapter 15

Hayden

Robin is mad at me. There’s no doubt about it.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I drive to her house to talk. She ignored all my text messages; therefore, this is the only way I can reach her. My unannounced visit might make things worse, but I honestly don’t know what else to do.

After a good hour of convincing Kora to give me Robin’s address and stating my good intentions, it’s now past five in the afternoon, and I pray she’s back from work.

I pull up to a small red house at the end of the road and park the old truck I bought off Jon this morning. I realized I needed something other than a motorcycle to use during my time here, because there’s no way I can haul items for the event around on my motorcycle. Jon always has some old cars for sale, and he was more than happy to help me out. I hope it’s another factor that will convince Robin that I’m serious about this. Oh, and the fact that I officially took a few weeks off work to be here.

I step out of the car and take in her house. It’s small, with a tiny front porch that has some cozy wicker furniture crammed onto it. Her garden is fenced in, and I spot a wild array of flowers and plants around it. The short cobble path toward her front door seems old and cracked, but it adds to the charm of her home.

At the front door I stop and take a deep breath. I have no idea how she will react. As a people-pleaser, I’m anxious she’ll yell at me. I don’t want to cause any conflict.

But before I can gather my courage and knock, I hear a loud bang coming from the inside and, with it, a heartbreaking wail.

“Robin?” I pound on the door, panic rising in my chest.

I hear another agonizing cry and decide to try the door handle. To my surprise it opens, and I stumble inside. It takes me a few seconds to gather my bearings, but when I see Robin, I stop in my tracks. She’s kneeling on the floor in front of a small puddle of blood, a limp orange cat in her arms and her phone pressed to her ear. Her eyes are bloodshot, and massive streaks of mascara are running down her face.

She visibly startles and drops her phone when she sees me standing in front of her. “Hayden?” Her voice is flat and unsteady.

“Fuck, what happened?” I rush to kneel besides her and take her face in my hands.

“It’s Mort. I came home, and I saw the blood and I couldn’t find him. But when I did, I saw he’s all lethargic, but my car is not working again, and I’ve been trying to call a taxi, but I don’t even know where the nearest vet is,” she chokes out, hiccupping after every second word. “I don’t know what’s going on lately. Why do bad things keep happening?”

Without wasting a second, I drag her to her feet with me. “I’ll take you to the vet.” I put my arm around her lower back and guide her toward the front door.

“But we can’t go on the motorcycle,” she cries out.

“It’s okay, I’m here with a car.”

There’s a little seat by the front door, and I tell her to sit there so I can help her put her shoes on so she doesn’t have to put her cat down. The orange fluff ball in her arms barely moves, and I feel sick to my stomach.

Please don’t fucking die.

I shove her feet into a pair of boots rather roughly before I open her front door, and we race outside. Neither one of us bothers to lock the front door. I rush ahead of her and open the passenger side door for her before I haul myself over the hood to the driver’s side.