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Hopefully, afterward, I’ll call Ryan and see if there’s anything left to salvage. See if he’ll speak to me then.
I burst into another round of tears.
If.
My head pounds and snot drips from my nose. I take the last tissue from the box I’m cradling under my arm and blow my nose. I’ve screwed up my chance with Ryan. Again.
How am I going to face him again when I pick up my car?
As the evening wears on, more and more dread pools in my stomach. I can’t bear to see him again.To see what I'm missing, and how badly I've blown things.
I’ll end up breaking down and looking like a fool.I can’t do that to myself again. I just can’t.
When I'm sure I’m out of tears, I pull myself out of bed and started shoving my possessions into my suitcase. It doesn’t matter that the car probably won’t be done for another couple of days. I'm not going to be here. I’ll just Venmo the money to Ryan and find a way to have someone drive it over to me. Or not. At this point, I’ll pay anything to avoid the humiliation of seeing him again.
Chapter 24
Not Again
Ryan
WhenI'matthegarage, I slide into the nearest seat and stare at the screen of my phone for several seconds.
Carrie: I have to leave. I’m sorry. Let me know how much I owe you for the repairs. I’ll wire you the money and have someone drive it to me so you don’t have to deal with it.
What just happened? She skipped town? Does she hate me so much that she doesn’t even want her car back?
Pressing my eyes closed, I slide my phone onto a nearby counter and rub my throbbing temples with my fingers. The AC/DC playing in the background is suddenly too loud, and the gas-scented garage makes my stomach churn.
I’ve gotta fix this.This is what I do. I fix things.
I don’t know how I'm going to fix this. But I have to find a way.
Babs is walking out of my life, and she’s not gonna look back.
I’ve spent my entire adult life in love with this woman. I cannot let my pride be the reason why I lose her.
Not again.
Chapter 25
So Close To Freedom
Carrie
Istandbytheroadway of Dad’s home in Sammamish, Washingtonand watch as the contractor digs a hole and inserts the for sale sign.
I was stunned when the lawyer said the home was mine. Dad had put it in my name earlier this year when he opted to do hospice instead of chemo. I nearly fell out of my seat when I saw how much of his estate he willed to me too. He'd amassed millions over the years working for Microsoft. So much more than I'd been aware of.
The look on Hilloria's face was priceless. Red, sputtering, practically foaming at the mouth. Utterly satisfying.
The realtor—Nancy is her name—stands next to me, her back to the roadway. She’s an impossibly skinny woman with blonde extensions, a French manicure, and enough contouring that even a Kardashian would approve. She picks at an imaginary piece of lint on her silk blouse. “The open house starts in less than an hour. Have you found a place to be this afternoon? Shoppers are uncomfortable when the owners are around.”
Nancy waves her hand toward the house. “I don’t think this house will be on the market for long, though. People are clamoring for a lakeside home. Especially so close to Seattle. You'll probably have a bidding war.”
I nod and wrap my arms around my torso. “I think I’ll stop at the Starbucks down the street, then I have a few errands to run and loose ends to tie up. I probably won’t be home until well into the evening.”
“Excellent,” Nancy says. “If we have any last-minute visitors I won’t rush them through the house. Just make sure my car is gone before you come inside.”
