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Just away, period.
When I’d asked if something was wrong, he’d given me theleastsatisfying possible answer.
“Something wrong? Nah, nothing’swrong.”
Goddamn semantics.
Maybe nothing was wrong, but something was definitelyup.
And because I didn’t want to push, after I’d already pushed – and won – about him going to therapy, I didn’t want to test my luck.
So I just wondered.
About all the things that could be the problem.
Was he depressed?
Was he bored?
Did he need to kill somebody?
Hadhe killed somebody?
Was he sick of me?
Was I hindering his progress because of our past?
I’d been so concerned about the possibility of my therapist telling me he wasn’t good for me, but it had never occurred to me that just maybe… I wasn’t good forhim.
What if?
What if?!
Girl.
You’re doing the most right now.
I blew out a sigh, forcing myself to think about something—anything—else before I induced a fucking panic attack. Instead, I spent the bulk of the flight writing out a whole other story outline, different from the one Alicia had found weeks ago.
Thatone was pretty much done.
It was amazing how rapidly that story had unfolded for me once I sat down and got started. I was probably going to make readers mad all over again for the shift in content, tone, and heat level, but ultimately… I was going to write whatever came to me.
By the time we landed, I had my new thing figured out, and had accomplishednotspending those hours with Isaiah filling my head. That put me in a much better mental space to meet up with Tempest, who picked us up from the airport and drive us to our hotel. This was our time to freshen up, eat, and decompress before the meeting with Pen’s tattoo artist—Tempest’s boyfriend, Tristan.
“You are like a whole other person,” I gushed at Temp, running my fingers through the long braids she was currently rocking. “Who would’ve thought we would find you in anything but all black, and those damn boots. Look at you in agreensweater,” I teased as she batted my hand away.
“I just tossed it on—no big deal,” she insisted.
“Oh, I beg to differ. That you even have it is telling me a lot.”
“Enough about me—tell me alotabout you and Isaiah, how about that,” she said, glancing at Pen, who was busy taking selfies out on the balcony. “You’re not moved in together yet? Hell, married? You’re up under him every time I call you.”
“Noteverytime.”
“Fine—mosttimes,” Tempest laughed. “Is that the only part you can deny?”
“I can deny all of it, because I don’t even know what we’re doing, so we’recertainlynot moving in together.”
