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My chest tightened at his response.
“Jemma,” I said, voice full of desperation.
“Jemma…” he started to say, as if he couldn’t place the name.
It’s me, Jamie. Please. You know it’s me. Tell me you hear me thinking this. Tell me you’ve been waiting for me.
Jamie… don’t you hear me?
“Uh, hello?” he asked. “Are you still there?”
“This is Jemma,” I said, voice weak. “You know… the girl you dated from Stony Point?”
There was a pause on the line. Then, “Fuck. Jemma? Wow. It’s been… what… I mean, uh…”
Another pause.
“Umm, can I come up?” I asked, feeling stupid as fuck outside like this.
For a second, our line hung open, and he didn’t answer. My feet planted firmly in the ground. Part of me was saying I needed to leave, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I’d come too far. We’d been through too much. I needed to go in and see him.
I knew how this narrative ended if I did nothing.
Yet… I said nothing, heart pounding in my chest so hard there was a pinch. Suddenly, it felt as though I’d made one grave mistake. Had this entire thing been a dream? Had I been on some crazy drug that sent me on the wildest trip of my life before returning me back to my correct reality?
Had everything with Jamie been a trick my mind played on me to ease me away from the hellish reality that consumed me?
No, I reasoned, putting my foot down firmly. It hadnotbeen a dream. I knew in my heart it had all been real, and I was not going to give into the darker thoughts telling me that I had either gone crazy or had dreamt up the entire thing.
I was never going to give in to the darker thoughts ever again.
Jamie was too good to have been dreamt up. And I’d do everything in my power to fight for him. Even if he couldn’t remember anything we’d shared over the last couple of weeks.
A quick buzz sounded, and the door clicked. My insides fluttered.
God help me, I thought before pushing away all the things going through my mind and entering the building.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Edge of Forever
“How the hell are you?” Jamie asked from the doorway of his apartment, a shoulder propped against the frame, his other hand resting on the ajar door.
“I’m… better than I was,” I said, aware of how truthful yet how strange my answer must have sounded. I dug my hands into my pockets, standing in the hallway of his apartment complex.
His blond curly hair was matted against his head, parted unevenly, some of his locks flipped to the “wrong” side. Bags hung below his tired eyes, and he crossed his arms over a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt that had a couple of stains near the top.
No wonder he always wore the Guns N’ Roses shirt,I realized.
He must have died in it.
I expected Jamie to respond to my thoughts. To smirk. To give me something. To come back and tell me some story or quirk about how awful his life had been before we reconnected.
But he gave me nothing.
Here he was in front of me—in the flesh—and I wanted nothing more than to rush into his arms, press my lips to his, and then maybe have us migrate to the bedroom as we made love and exchanged words promising to never leave each other again.
But… this Jamie…
