Chapter 22 #2
I spread my hands as wide as they’ll go, steadying myself against the closed door at my back. Rubbing my palms along the bumpy texture of the wall, I absentmindedly study the chest.
Taking in the shape. The depth and the size of it.
My feet carry me a few steps forward. I approach the way one would approach a scared child: Cautiously. Curiously.
With a thumb, I swipe away the condensation gathered on the temperature gauge.
Negative twenty degrees Celsius.
I don’t bother whipping out my phone to do the conversion. I know that’s really cold.
How cold does it feel on the inside?
The box is long enough that if I bent my knees, I could easily fit inside.
The last time I saw the chest open, it housed only a few bottles of vodka. There was plenty of room. I could close myself in. It would be quick.
There may not even be enough time to feel the cold before I succumb.
It would feel incredible. Blissful. Soothing.
The idea of embracing the cold, and just letting go…
I want it.
I want to be inside the chest.
I try to lift the lid, but it catches.
It’s locked. I’d forgotten.
Scanning the cooler, I spot the keys hanging up by the door.
But just as I make my way over to snag them off the little hook on the wall, the door swings open.
“There you are.” Crystal appears, wearing a confused frown. “Did Sean send you back here? I was getting worried.”
I blink. Then blink again.
Suddenly, my brain is flooded by all the stimulus of my reality.
Where I am. How I feel. What I was about to do.
Blinking rapidly, I take Crystal in, registering the clear concern etched on her face as she scans up and down my body.
What the hell was I thinking?
Shivering, I wipe at my cheeks and only then realize that I’m crying.
“I’ll be right out,” I tell her, willing my voice not to tremble the way every other cell in my body is vibrating.
After she’s gone, I take a moment to compose myself. Then I head back to the hostess stand to continue my shift. The rest of the night slips by in a blur.
I keep meaning to tell guests who appear in front of me that we’re full, and yet there’s a disconnect between my brain and my mouth. People stream inside. The lists on the podium jumble together until they’re nothing more than dancing text decorating each page.
Eventually, Crystal joins me at the stand, essentially taking over my duties as she side-eyes me warily.
During a slow moment, she asks, “Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” I tell her with a yawn. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m coming down with something.” I can’t remember the last time I felt this wiped. Everything just feels so… heavy.
She nods, her mouth turned down in a sympathetic frown. “Why don’t you take off early? I can finish up here.”
I consider arguing, but the prospect of getting out of here and finding some semblance of peace is way too tempting.
So with a quick thanks, I head to the break room and clock out. When I check my phone, I see a few missed calls from Louie.
I ignore them. I’m still livid about earlier, but I’m out of fight tonight. Even if I spoke to her, I don’t have the first clue what I’d say. It’s best to save that conversation for another day.
Spence also sent two texts, but I haven’t had it in me to reply to either one of them.
I haven’t even opened his messages.
It’s like I’m hiding. Fading. Sheltering in place and making myself scarce.
I’m fighting against my own exhaustion as I stumble out the back.
The night air is cool, but it’s no match for the chill from the cooler. Maybe if I head back inside and go—
“Hunter. Is everything okay?”
Heart lurching, I spin and slap a hand to my chest.
Angelo is leaning against the alley wall, smoking a cigarette.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure him, swallowing back all emotion. “Crystal just sent me home early.”
He pulls out his phone and types out a quick message, then stashes it back in his pocket.
With a twist of his foot, he puts out his cigarette and tips his chin in my direction. “You live nearby, right?”
I nod. Barely. I’m so exhausted, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open, let alone form words.
“Let me walk you.”
Yeah. Okay.
Angelo’s a good guy. Spence trusts him. There’s nothing threatening about his aura—no creeper vibes or even an iota of implication to the offer. Even if there was, I’m so out of it I don’t think I could form the words to tell him no.
Mindlessly, I nod again, then take off in the direction of my flat.
Angelo walks beside me, close enough to make his presence known, but not so close that I feel compelled to carry on a conversation.
Typically, I’d be the one making small talk, asking about his weekend plans or what he likes to do for fun. Tonight, I barely have it in me to put one foot in front of the other, so we continue in silence.
I’m so tired.
So drained.
So done.
The street’s mostly quiet at this time of night, save for the occasional cab and a group of people here and there making their way to the clubs and pubs that stay open extra late on the weekend.
We trudge on.
I hold on. Barely.
My steps slow as we approach the block where I live, and I have half a mind to tell Angelo he doesn’t have to walk me all the way up.
I’m good. I’ve got it from here.
Though as I try to articulate the idea, my mind whirls, and the words don’t come. So I place one foot in front of the other, keep my eyes forward but downcast, and focus on the sidewalk.
A horn sounds, alerting us to a truck rounding the corner on the road up ahead.
Head snapping up, I zero in on the big, boxy truck. As it gains speed coming down the hill, I watch.
It’s going fast.
So fast.
It would be so quick.
Impulse lights up my veins, sending an alertness through me I haven’t felt all night, as the truck careens down the hill.
Could I get in front of it before the driver tries to swerve?
Would it hurt?
Would it be instant?
Would it all finally feel okay?
It’s approaching quickly. I have to decide now, or I’ll miss my chance.
I’m fast, but not in these shoes. Decidedly, I kick off my first heel.
“Hunter.”
Breath catching, I look around, confused.
Angelo is a few strides ahead of me, looking on with concern.
“Do your feet hurt?”
I assess him, his frown, the concern in his eyes, the way he’s clutching his phone. “No, why?”
He gives me a once-over, brow furrowed. Then, tentatively, he says, “You stopped walking, then took off one shoe.”
In my periphery, the box truck whizzes by. The moment has passed. I let out a choked sob as I spin and track its path.
As tears stream down my face, I fight back the urge to run after it. It’s gone. It’s over. I’m still here.
I continue to stare at the taillights as they disappear into the night, only blinking when Angelo places a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, why don’t I call Louie for you and see—”
“Don’t!” I bark out, batting at him. “Don’t you dare call her right now.”
Angelo raises both hands in surrender. “I won’t. Let’s just get you home, okay?”
Home.
I close my eyes, and sunsets over the lake cloud my mind. Flashbacks of fresh-cut grass and strawberry slushies overtake my senses. I’m swimming in the quarry. I’m riding shotgun, driving through the mountains, singing my favorite country songs off-key as the boys and I head up to the cabin.
His tanned skin so close I can almost touch it. His gorgeous, taut abs hovering above me. The hardness of his chest and the softness with which he holds me.
Home.
I miss home.
I wish I could go home.
It’s the only place I want to be, even if I can never go back.
Home isn’t a place to me anymore. It’s him.
Home.
I’m so tired of missing home.