Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Byeeeee.”
“Bye, Bells.”
I slip the sweatshirt over my head and throw my hair in a messy bun that looks more homeless than chic, but whatever.
I grab my keys and my purse and go.
I pull into the parking lot of the hotel across from Paddy’s. It takes a whole minute to find Hollis’s black Mustang.
There is a spot two spaces down from his, and I pull in and park.
I climb out and make my way through the sea of cars until I hit the sidewalk. It’s a pretty morning, and birds chirp happily overhead. It gives me a spring in my step as I try to find my guy and help him through whatever is going on.
He won’t like it. That I’m sure. But I know he’ll come around. He gives in to me eventually. He has, anyway.
The thought makes me smile as I round the corner of the building. I come up with a plan to persuade the desk attendant to give me his room number—the one little piece of the puzzle I don’t have figured out.
The lobby is modern and clean with orange and bright green accents that feel very Savannah. I make my way toward the reception desk when my attention is drawn behind me like a magnet.
I turn on my heel and come eye-to-eye with Hollis.
“Hey,” I say, trying to hide my surprise at how shitty he looks.
He’s wearing the same clothes as last night. The area beneath his eyes is dark, as if he didn’t sleep, and his hair is more of a wreck than usual.
The lines are heavy between his thick eyebrows.
Whatever was wrong last night is still wrong. That much is clear.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me.
“I came to see you. You didn’t call.”
He runs a hand through his hair and looks around the lobby. I get the distinct impression he’s not looking for someone or something. He’s just not wanting to look at me.
A sense of doom settles in my stomach. It’s heavy, and my body shakes, physically recoiling its presence.
“Hollis? What’s going on?”
He looks at the ceiling. The skin on his throat is red as though his internal irritation is seeping out of his body.
“Did I do something?” I ask although I’m clueless as to what it could be.
He levels his head but closes his eyes. “No, Riss. Of course not.”
“Then what’s going on.”
With a sigh that causes his whole body to sag, he opens his eyes. “I wish you would’ve called first.”
“I wish you would’ve called too.”
“Fair enough,” he mumbles. “Let’s … We can’t do this here. Come on.”
Can’t do this here. What?
He turns toward the elevators. He does not grab my hand.
The rock in my stomach gets heavier and heavier with each step I take behind him. I scramble through last night and try to make sense of this.
We enter the elevator in silence. I reach for his shoulder because my touch usually settles him, but he leans against the wall and avoids my hand.
My breathing gets more rapid as I fight to stay calm. Tears prickle my eyes even though nothing has even happened.
Maybe it has nothing to do with me. Maybe it has nothing to do with us.
With us.
Shit, Larissa.
My senses go into hyperdrive as we walk down a short hallway, and he opens a door. There’s nothing friendly or warm about the process. It feels more like a death knell.
I want to bolt, to turn around and leave and pretend I never came. I want to get in my car and go home and tell myself he’ll come over later.
But as the door clicks shut behind me and he turns around to face me, I know that’s not going to happen.
“Hollis?” I ask despite the compression in my chest making it hard to breathe. “What’s happening?”
“I …” He sighs. “I have the Landry thing tomorrow, and then I’m going to head to Vermont and check on River.”
He’s going through the motions of telling me goodbye. He’s just not saying it.
“Why?” It’s all I can say, all I can ask.
“His mom is—”
“Dammit, Hollis. I know his mom is sick, and you know I’m not asking why you’re going to see your friend.” I take a step closer to him. “Why are you leaving?”
“To go see River.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” I tell him, my voice rising.
He might need to check on his friend, but that’s not why he’s leaving. We both know that. But the only other reason he could be avoiding me—which he clearly is—is that he doesn’t want to be with me.
It’s a shot directly to the heart that I’d opened up for him. My body tightens as if I was actually hit with a bullet. And, to make it worse, he was choosing to avoid me rather than even saying goodbye.
“You don’t have to want to be here with me,” I tell him, “but you could at least tell me the truth. Don’t I deserve that much?”