4. Colter
CHAPTER 4
COLTER
M y phone dings, and instead of looking at it, I rub at my eyes. As soon as I got back from my run, I took a cold shower and then had to take some meds for my headache. I hate taking pain relievers, but sometimes it's the only thing that helps. I should have worn my glasses even in the shade today. I know better, but I guess I was too busy watching Poppy.
Two minutes later, my phone reminds me that I missed a text, so I roll to my back, taking the phone with me. Fully expecting a text from Davis, Kanan, Elias, or Jason, I’m surprised I have a message from an unknown number.
I click on it and scan the text and then take my time and read it again.
“Hi, Colter. My name is Poppy. I’m the woman from the food truck today. I hope it’s okay that I’m texting you. I got your number from Abby. Anyway, I would like to talk to you and apologize to you for my behavior. Will you call me?”
I sit up in bed and stare at the phone. My mind starts to race, and I have to force myself to relax and slow down. I’m not able to compute or make sense of things like I used to, and when my mind races, it makes it damn near impossible to make sense of anything.
I take a few deep breaths, read the text again, and then start typing a response. I have to read it a few times to make sure it sounds right, but eventually I push send.
“Hi Poppy. You don’t owe me an apology. I’m sorry if I bothered you today. It won’t happen again.”
I put my phone down and then pace through the living room and back to the bedroom. Back and forth I go, waiting to hear the ding of an incoming text. As soon as I hear it, I’m jogging to the bedroom to check my phone that I laid on the nightstand.
“I do owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have said the things I said and I truly am sorry.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed and try to figure out what I need to say to her. I don’t want her to feel bad. Obviously, me being there today, watching her spooked her, and I don’t want to scare her in any way. But I also don’t want her to think that I thought any of those things she said today either. I type out a text and send it before rereading it.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, but you’re forgiven. I’m sorry for watching you work for the almost three hours you were stationed at the Rehab Center today.”
I scan the text I just sent, and my stomach drops. I sound like a stalker. I admitted to watching her work for three hours. I mean, I won’t be surprised if the police show up and arrest me for stalking. I toss the phone onto the bed and lay back with a groan. It only takes a few seconds for my phone to ding to let me know that I have another message.
Refusing to read it, I cover my eyes with my arm and wish the whole situation away. I hate the person I’ve become. I feel like I’m always saying the wrong things. I question everything I do, say, and think, and even though the therapist says it’s normal, none of this is normal to me.
I’ve always been assertive and confident, and I thought I was getting back to being that guy, but the first woman that I have any feelings for, I fall apart at the seams.
The phone dings again and then again.
Unable to resist, I stretch to reach for it and read the incoming messages.
The first text says. “You were watching me work?”
I groan again, knowing how awful that sounds.
The next text says, “I thought you were offended by me. Or upset or something. I didn’t know you were watching me… I thought you were scowling at me like I was bothering you somehow.”
I tilt my head to look at the phone. Bothering me? How the hell could she have been bothering me? Before I can ask, she sends another text. “Can we please talk?”
I drop the phone because there's no way I’m going to talk to her. I can’t. I’ll stutter through the whole thing and embarrass myself more than I already have.
She texts a question mark, but no matter how much I’d love to hear her voice, I can't do it. Instead of trying to explain to her, I just ignore her request and her follow-up with the question mark.
I rub my hand along the scruff of my chin and not for the first time wish that things—that I—could be different.
When my phone dings again, I look at it hesitantly and see that there is an attached voice message that Poppy sent me.
I take a deep breath and listen to her soft Southern voice come through the phone.
She speaks slow. “Hi, Colter. I hoped we could talk, but I understand if you don’t want to. After everything I said to you today, I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me.” She takes a breath. “Anyway, I really am sorry. I uh, had a bad morning, and unfortunately, I took it out on you. What I did was wrong, and I feel really bad about it. If you want to talk—so I can apologize in person—please call me. Or if you want to stop by the next time I have the truck at the center, I’d be happy to buy you a piece of pie or a cupcake or whatever you would like to eat.” She pauses and then blows out a soft breath. “Anyway, I am sorry. I hope you call or I get to see you again, but if I don’t, I don’t blame you. Sorry… again. I’ll talk to you or not, whatever you decide. Bye.”
As soon as the recording stops, I play it again and listen to her talk.
Everything inside me wants to talk to her. I wish I could call and have a normal conversation, but I don’t trust myself to do it. And there’s no way I’m going to go and talk to her in person, not after today’s epic fail.
I start typing. “I’m sorry you had a bad morning, but I promise you don’t owe me an apology or a piece of pie. All is forgiven. I hope your day is better tomorrow.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I hit send, turn the volume off on my phone, and then leave it on the bed as I walk through the house and to my office. I sit down behind the four computer screens and decide to focus on my work. Each of them are set to a black background, meant to help fend off migraines. I turn the brightness up a little bit. At least with my job, I know what I’m doing. It’s easy for me, and it’s the one thing I have left that I’m confident with.
It helps that what I do is important. I may not be able to go on missions anymore or work in the field, and I am behind a computer, but what I do still saves lives.
I try to focus on the work at hand, but only a few minutes pass by and I’m logging into my phone messages from my computer. I listen to Poppy’s voice message again and again.
Each time I get to the end of the message, I hit play again. Over and over, I listen to her sweet voice until I lean my head back, close my eyes, and picture her in my mind.
When her voice stops and is replaced by my phone ringing through the speakers of my computer, I open my eyes and look at the pop-up on my screen. Walker.
I sit up in my chair and open all my screens as I answer the call. “Walker.”
He gets straight into giving me my assignment, and I hit the record button to make sure I don’t miss anything. As soon as I hang up the phone, I get straight to work because I know that lives can be lost in minutes if I drop the ball.
It’s not until hours later when the assignment is done that I finally let my mind wander and think about Poppy, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s doing right now.