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Everything about this is such a cliché…
Looking back,I should’ve known better than to stay in their bathroom. Situated right above the dining room, there was no missing the loud thud of me hitting the floor however many minutes later it took to choke down what I could without vomiting.
It was all black at that point, save for one fuzzy flash of clarity, one I can’t even be sure was real, and not just something concocted—the moment my parents stormed into the bathroom. My body jerking, head knocking against the floor, liquid drowning me, spilling out white on the tiled floor. And my mother’s wide eyes as she dropped to her knees, crawling toward me, clutching my face as I watched on from where I floated above.
Yep, definitely concocted.
Movement from out the window draws me fully back to the present, and I frown, squinting when I recognize the man stomping down the path.
Nolan.
I stand straighter, hand spread wide over the glass like I could reach him—touch him—summon him to me.
My frown deepens, when I realize he’s…upset.
He’s shaking his head, throwing his arm out. Against his ear, he holds something—his phone, it looks like.
I can’t make out his features from way up here, but everything about his demeanor screams frustration. Tension.
My insides twist with an unfamiliar sensation—a need to make it better. But how?
It’s ridiculous.
I’d be as helpless down there as I am up here.
I wet my lips, forcing a swallow.
Is it his…wife? Mel?
Something in me just…revolts, crumbling at the idea of him being married.
Even if he wasn’t, there’s no way he’d be interested in you,a voice reminds me.
I scowl, but it’s not like I can deny it. He’s probably as straight as can be, and even if he wasn’t, it’s clear he only sees me as a kid. A troubled kid at that.
That much is obvious.
My gaze dips, lashes fanning over my cheeks.
Just once I wish someone would see me for me, beyond all my issues. Beyond my age.
I just want someone to take me seriously.
CHAPTEREIGHT
NOLAN
Six more fucking weeks.
Well, seven if we’re counting the fact I only had one last week to go before I was set to go home and finally see Abby.
When Mel called me back yesterday, almost two weeks since we last spoke and after probably a dozen missed calls from me, I knew I wasn’t going to like what her reasons for avoiding me were.
Hell, I already had a feeling—a sinking, horrible feeling—but I convinced myself I was just being paranoid.
Well, so much for that.
The second I answered, only to be met by a shuddering breath, then the most guilt-stricken, “Hi, Nolan,” I’ve ever fucking heard, I knew.
