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Panicking at the possibility of miscommunication, I reassure him, "No, no. I promise, I really want to see you."
He glances away briefly, stating, "Ronan just came back into my room, so I'm going to let you go," as he moves the phone away from his ear to converse with Ronan, his words becoming muffled to my ears.
"Make sure you text me your address, and I'll see you tomorrow."
With excitement building in his voice, he exclaims, "Fuck yeah, I can't wait. Bye, sweetheart," and in the background, Ronan's rapid-fire questions become audible as he engages Lincoln.
"Bye," I mutter as I hastily hang up the phone, my hand trembling from the intensity of our conversation.
My emotions are in turmoil as I grapple with a mix of feelings I've never experienced before. For the first time in my life, I'm taking a step to make myself feel better, and it's a concept that feels foreign and bewildering.
My next task is to approach Elliott and ask if I can borrow one of his cars. He has an apartment and keeps some of his vehicles at our parent's house. But I'm unsure if he'll trust me behind the wheel of any of them.
Thankfully, he's not here to intervene or object.
The troubles that have haunted me throughout the night no longer consume my thoughts; all I can think about is the anticipation of seeing Lincoln tomorrow.
After managing to focus on a movie for about an hour, excitement and nervous energy coursing through me, I eventually fall asleep, eagerly awaiting the days to come.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
LINCOLN
My phone'ssudden ding catapults me from the comfort of my bed. Beside me, Ronan awakens too, squinting in the half-light.
"Sutton's here," I blurt out, my voice tinged with nervous energy.
His reply is stubborn and unwavering, "I'm not going home."
Defying my efforts to block his exit, he pushes past me, bolting out of my bedroom with such reckless speed that he stumbles and takes a tumble down the stairs. I seize the opportunity to step over him and throw the front door open.
Approaching the sleek, midnight-black Jeep Wrangler perched in my driveway, I find Sutton behind the wheel. Her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, her distant, fixed gaze, all signal that something is very wrong. I make my way to the car and give the driver's side door handle a tug. It resists my efforts, locked.
A sudden jolt of panic sweeps across Sutton's face as our eyes meet, and I curse under my breath. She fumbles for the unlock button, finally granting me access.
With the door open, I quickly unbuckle her, pulling her fragile, trembling frame into my protective embrace. She wraps her legs around my waist, her entire being seeming to sigh with relief.
In a hoarse whisper, she manages, "Sorry. I h-hate driving, and my brother let me drive his c-car, and it's t-too big." The vulnerability in her voice tugs at my heart, deepening the already tense atmosphere.
Sutton buries her face in my neck, taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to regain her composure. The knowledge that she drove all the way here for me, despite her aversion to driving, tugs at my heartstrings. My chest constricts with emotion, the weight of her gesture sinking in.
But our intimate moment is swiftly interrupted by Ronan, who evidently thought it was a good time to join our impromptu hug. Lately, he's been sticking close to my side, and it's a pattern I need to investigate, adding it to my growing mental checklist.
So now we find ourselves in a peculiar three-way embrace, with Sutton sandwiched between me and Ronan.
"It's okay, Sutt. Linc drives me everywhere, and I'd hate driving three hours alone too," I assure her.
She lifts her face from my neck, seeking reassurance. "Really?"
"Absolutely," I confirm.
I gently extract myself from Ronan's grip, much to his theatrical dismay. He whines and exclaims, "Guys!" as I carry Sutton into my house. I pause at the threshold, glancing over my shoulder at Ronan and casually remark, "Get her bags, will you?"
As I continue inside, I can hear him grumbling, "Yeah, of course. No more hugs for me, just getting right to work."
Could he possibly be any more dramatic?
Gently setting Sutton down, I take her hand and guide her into the welcoming glow of the kitchen. I retrieve a glass from the cabinet and make my way to the fridge to fill it with cold water. A quick glance in her direction reveals that she's now fully composed, her eyes absorbing her surroundings.
