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I was so busy with nursing school that it forced me to live minimally. Enough to make me feel like I was living a decent life but not enough to hold me back if I ever had to pack up and leave. In a way, I’d always lived my life like that. Minimally and with no regard for anything frilly or decadent. Hayden had most certainly turned that upside down and slammed it on its head, but it wouldn’t be hard to revert. I never did need money or anything like that.
It didn’t rule me like it did some people.
“Harper’s Movers, how may I direct your call?”
“Yes, I’m looking for your smallest van and a team of two or three movers to help me out,” I said.
“What’s your move-out date and what’s the address?”
“It’s a bit complicated. Is it possible to have a team and a van put together by tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, ma’am. What’s the address?”
“There’s three, actually. I’ve got some things in a shared apartment as well as a storage unit I need picked up.”
“The extra address will jack up the price.”
“I’m aware, and that’s okay. I just need my stuff moved as quickly as possible.”
“Then give me those addresses and we’ll see what we can do for you!”
I rattled off the addresses I needed them for and I was relieved when they said they could piece something together for tomorrow. The movers and the van would stop off by the storage unit at nine in the morning, which meant I had to call the storage lot owner and make sure he didn’t try to stop them from getting my things. Then, they would head to Hayden’s apartment and help me with all the boxes before driving everything across town to help me unload. I needed to make sure I had money to tip them for their efforts, but other than that I was set.
One more phone call and a run to the bank, and everything would be in place.
I stood up from my bed and walked over to the bedroom door. I couldn’t hear Hayden talking to himself or getting frustrated or wheeling around anywhere. In fact, I couldn’t hear anything at all. I opened the door and poked my head out into the hallway, and the eerie silence made me shiver.
I wanted to call out for him to see if he was okay. But then I reminded myself that it wasn’t my job any longer.
He could take care of himself.
He made all of that perfectly clear after he smacked my hand like an incessant toddler.
I walked into the kitchen to get myself something to drink. I didn’t have anything else to pack up, so the waiting game was all I had. I decided to make myself a cup of coffee, and in all that time there wasn’t a sound to be heard in the apartment. Hayden must’ve gone off somewhere. Possibly interviewing other nurses for him to torture through his recuperation. Part of me was worried he would hurt himself out there, but part of me didn’t care.
Part of me couldn’t care if I was going to get out of here with my heart intact.
At least I was going to try.
But as the day passed, Hayden never returned. I tried calling his phone once nightfall began, but I never heard back from him. I ended up calling his mother to see if she had heard from him, and the first thing out of her mouth was an apology for how her son had acted.
Then she informed me he was there at her house. Sitting and staring out the window into that backyard garden.
At least he was safe.
I took a stroll down the hallway and found myself in the library. I really was going to miss the solace of his books. I sat on the couch and blinked back tears, trying not to get overly emotional. I looked around the room and committed some of the titles of the books to memory before I decided to get up and go to sleep. I had a long day of moving in the morning and I needed to make sure I was alert.
But something caught my eye.
In the corner, on a small round table near the window, was a notebook and a pen. It had always been there, but with Hayden no longer in the apartment with me it somehow felt appropriate. I didn’t want to leave things like this between us. I didn’t want to leave without saying anything to him. I’d spent the past three months catering to him. Getting to know him. Living with him.
That was intimate. Even if it wasn’t romantic.
But the smallest part of me wanted him to know how I felt. Wanted him to know how he had tugged at my heart and entranced my mind and caught my stare. He deserved to know that, despite how he was treating me. He deserved to know that a woman could care for him even while he was in that wheelchair. That it didn’t make him any less of a man that could provide for someone.
So I walked over to the table, pulled up a small chair from the corner, and began to write.
Chapter Eighteen
