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“Thank you. Eliza's gone now. She won’t be back here. You won’t reach out to her. Communication is on her terms. You touch her again and I will fucking kill you.” I turned to leave, fist clenched at my side. I hopped into my truck, peeling out of the driveway before he had a chance to load a gun and shoot out my windshield or something.
I knew the event was at the biggest indie bookstore on the west coast.Whatever the hellindiemeans.A quick Google search and I was on my way.
Forty-two and a half minutes later, I was parking the truck and clambering up the steps. I was probably overdressed in slacks and a button-up. I wandered into the absolutely massive building, searching for where the event was being held.
And then I saw her name. Sort of. “Alex Carlson” was printed on an official sign blocking closed doors. Under her name, it read “author presentation and Q&A in progress.” I tried to go in but the staff stopped me.
“She’s my girlfriend,” I tried to explain.
“Sorry,” the guy said. “Already in session, we can’t let people in, store policy.
Someone exited the room, and I caught a glimpse of her in a pretty floral dress, sitting on a small stage with a man opposite her. She was talking, animated about some question she was answering.
“Please!”
“Sold out, you need a ticket anyway.”
“I had one!” I said. “Can’t you look it up? I have one of the tickets Eliza—the author got me. But it went missing.”
The employee shrugged.
I tried to shoulder past him. The door was locked.
“The fuck?” I said.
The guy, Brian his nametag read, shrugged again. “They exit from another door.”
“What about the guy that left?”
“Manager.”
“Fuck!”
“Look,” Brian said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t let people in and out. They are recording the sessions and the door makes a lot of background noise. Sorry. Just wait until it’s done.”
I turned, storming back to the main entrance to this absolutely massive building. There were shelves everywhere, all filled with books. I could read a dozen books a day and never scratch the surface of this inventory. But there was Eliza's book, front and center, on a table.Broken Thoughts: A Short Story Collectionsitting upright on its very own display. By Alex Carlson. Fuck, I was proud of her.
I called and texted Rosalie again, asking her to sneak to the door and let me in.
Rosalie: Hey, this is Drake. Rosalie was in an accident and is at the hospital. She’s okay. I already talked to Eliza. Tell her good luck from us.
Shit.I paced the front, waiting for the mass exodus of people to leave the event room. According to Brian, there were two hundred people in there. I should have been in there. I fucked up. She was faced with a sea of strangers and I wasn’t fucking there because I was a fucking coward. But I fixed it.I am fixing it.
My phone was blowing up. I was getting calls and texts from my parents, Ken, even Karina. But I only responded to one.
JUDE: I’m only 18 hours away. Let me know if I should set up the couch for you.
ME: I’ll keep you posted.
“Ma’am. Ma’am! You can’t go in there!”
I walked back over to the meeting room to find a woman trying just as hard to sneak in.
“I have the golden ticket!’’ She waved a paper in front of poor Brian. “That’s my daughter, you know!”
As I neared her, I was overcome with the stench of weed, booze, and something else. She wore shorts that left little to the imagination and a sweatshirt I recognized as Eliza's. She wore platform sandals and had a wild nest of curls on her head. I could see where Eliza got her waves.
“Ma’am, the presentation is in progress. Sorry, you’re too late.”
