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She’s really not coming.
Tristan claps his hand on my shoulder and gives a squeeze. “Come on, Trent.”
“Just another minute.”
“She’s not coming. Another minute won’t change that.”
His words punch me in the gut, and emotion clogs my throat. Disappointment. Regret. Heartbreak.
I can’t leave her. Not with things like this between us. But what choice do I have? With one more glance down the road, I finally give up and get on the bus.
But my heart? My heart stays right there, shattered on the sidewalk.
18
ONE MONTH LATER
“Becka, do you have that report for Marshall?”
I glance up from my computer where I’m looking over the latest reviews of our original series to see what I can pull for advertising quotes. Simone stands at my door.
“Yeah, they’re right here.” I grab the requested reports and hand them to her.
She briefly looks them over. “You’re a godsend. These look great. Thanks.” She turns to leave but then turns back. “Have you started any of the preliminary market research on the Rapturous Intent documentary? We’re hoping it’ll be as successful as the Taylor Swift or Jonas Brothers docs. Marshall’s getting nervous that maybe we’re losing our window.”
“Marshall worries too much.”
She smiles at that and lifts her eyebrows in agreement.
“I’ve got Riley on it while I wrap up a couple of other projects. He feels confident it’ll be one of our biggest premieres to date.”
Simone lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. I didn’t want to go to Marshall with bad news.”
I paste a smile on my face. “No bad news here. Rapturous Intent is hotter than ever.”
Simone gives me a thumbs-up and a wave and then leaves. At her departure, I sag in my chair and rub my chest, that nuisance called my heart aching relentlessly.
I can’t wait for this fucking documentary to be over so I never have to think about Rapturous Intent again. It’s like constantly rubbing salt in my open wound, and it’s a painful reminder of what I can’t have.
I rub my neck, hoping to ease the tension there, and then get back to work. I’ve been working overtime in an attempt to avoid thinking about Trent, even though work isn’t exactly the best way to forget about him when my boss asks me about his band every other second.
Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration.
Whatever.
I’m angry and maybe a little bitter.
Hours later, I blink from my computer and realize it’s gotten darker outside, and almost everyone else is gone. I head to the gym to get a workout in—my other attempt at keeping my mind off Trent.
Nighttime is the hardest time of day. When I’m home trying to relax and de-stress after a long day, that’s when thoughts of Trent sneak in. And even though I removed every trace that he’d ever been there, whenever I lie in bed, all I can think about is how his body felt on top of mine. How he moved inside of me. How he looked into my eyes and I let him see into my soul while he made me feel a bliss I’d never known before.
I decided I needed to be so mentally and physically exhausted every night that I pass out basically the second I fall into bed. So I work until my brain is mush and then I go to the gym and work out until my muscles are shaking. Then I go home, take a shower, and fall into bed.
It’s not a perfect plan, and I feel more drained than rejuvenated, but I’ve never been in better shape, and my boss is so impressed with my work ethic that she’s considering me for a promotion even without my work on the Rapturous Intent documentary.
So, there’s that at least.
When I get to the gym, my phone rings, and my mom’s name flashes on the screen. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
