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“I’ve ended it.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“Stay away from her. She’ll pack your head with lies.”
“Speaking from experience, big sister?”
“Too much.”
“Give me the address.”
“I don’t have it.”
“You could have told me that three minutes ago.” I ended the call, uncertain if I believed her or not. She’d broken my trust, been the opening through which our dear mother had slithered back into our lives.
I needed closure. To have my say. Part of me thought I should let it go, not give her the satisfaction of a reaction. But I had to do this. I had to find her . . . before I moved on with my life.
The garage hadthat closed up smell to it when I stepped inside.Why did I think giving this up was the better option?Because I’d been blinded by hurt and fear. The time away had made me appreciate New York and everything it represented even more. Being back without the weight of the past had renewed my determination to build a future with the people I cared about.
I wanted to go straight home after a night of flights and layovers, but it was late. Did I think she’d just let me back in? Forgive me when I'd told her I couldn’t change, not even for her?
“Take the time you need. You have a lot of things to make up your mind about, including where you want to be. Only you can figure out what’s best and stop waffling. When you do, come back to me, Grease Monkey.”
Those words gave me hope. But I was delirious with the lack of sleep and smart enough to know I might screw it all up with Baker because of it.
So I’d wait. Get some rest in the leftover office chair. And regroup in the morning.
The textwith an address woke me up a few hours later, quickly followed by another that my sister had called in a favor with a friend.
Yeah, right. I didn’t know if she’d always been a liar or if this was a new habit. Either way, I still wasn’t ready to even think about forgiving her. She’d shattered our trust and stomped on the pieces.
Damn it. Why hadn’t I gone to a hotel? I needed a shower in the worst way.
I checked the clock on my phone. She’d be gone to work by now. I could sneak in, be in and out of the apartment before Baker knew it.
Just go to Dad’s.
No, I wanted Easy to be the first to know I was back.
My heart poundedas I turned the key in the lock. Silence greeted me when I pushed the door open.
Home.
I nearly sagged against the doorframe as relief swept through me. I’d almost given this up, but I wouldn't without a fight now. It hit me what that emptiness I'd felt the last month in Wyoming was.
Homesickness.
Being back in the space that was ours evaporated that.
The kitchen was tidy, but the dining table had more of whatever she used to make her products all over it. There was a string of stickers strewn over the coffee table and tiny boxes stacked on the floor by the windows.
She’d been focusing on her makeup in the last month.That’s my girl.
I left everything as it was and dropped my bag off in my closet. She hadn’t touched a thing. And no one else’s shit was in there. I grinned. No new roommate.
I hesitated in the doorway to her room. Honey and all things Easy invaded my nostrils.
I frowned. Her bed was made with a thousand pillows stacked on it. My girl didn’t have time for that stuff in the morning, always rushing to get out the door. I glanced back in my room. My side of the bed was disheveled, the sheets back and pillow dented in.
