Chapter 19 Mile Nineteen
MILE NINETEEN
JUST KISSING
“Ican stay,” Catherine offers, running her fingers through my hair, as I snuggle against her on my sofa.
When I opened the door post my ugly bathroom cry at Bread, I found her standing in the small alcove.
She knew something was up the moment Garrett returned to the table, in a rush to leave.
Telling Anker a lie about me having “lady issues,” we grabbed comfort pastries from the bakery and took a raincheck on breakfast. Considering he’s a doctor, Anker gets unreasonably squeamish about my period, so he asked few questions.
Since then, she, Kayla, and I’ve been debriefing over pastries and many, many cups of tea.
Both my friends reassured me that I did the right thing.
As much as I realize this isn’t like with Chase, it doesn’t hurt any less.
With Chase, he didn’t want a woman like me—not as a girlfriend.
With Garrett, he wants me, but won’t let himself have me.
Whether it’s his grief or guilt about being with someone else, it doesn’t matter.
At the end of the day, he doesn’t want me enough to try.
To work through the scary things together.
I have my own things to deal with, but I’m willing to do that with him.
If he’s not willing to do it with me, then there’s no future for us.
“No. You two have plans.” I sit up.
Despite my friends’ plan to drive to San Diego this afternoon, they’ve postponed to stay with me.
I’m grateful, but they’ve done enough. Kayla is speaking at the National Jane Austen Society’s conference as their breakfast keynote tomorrow morning.
With several literary big-wigs speaking at the conference, including one of Catherine’s favorite romance authors, a writer known for Austen retellings, she’s Kayla’s plus one.
“We can always leave early tomorrow,” Kayla offers.
“You need a good night’s sleep, so you can shine tomorrow.” I scoop up the empty plate and shuffle to the kitchen.
“Please, literary Barbie always shines.” Catherine laughs.
“If only I had a Malibu Dream House.” Kayla sighs. “But she’s right. I could give this talk in my sleep. I don’t say this lightly, but you’re more important than Austen.”
I mock-gasp. “What would the National Jane Austen Society say if they knew their keynote speaker uttered such blasphemy?”
“I’ll blame it on my friendship with a Bronte scholar,” she sasses, grabbing our empty mugs from the coffee table.
“We Bronte scholars are the bad girls of the literary world, so that tracks,” Catherine quips. “Jensen, are you sure you’re okay?”
“No…” I heave a breath. “But I will be.”
Right now, it’s hard to feel okay about any of this. It’s hard to see past the pain right now, but deep down I know I did the right thing.
Just like my friends have said, this needed to be in the open.
I may have lost Garrett forever, but I’ll pick up those pieces in the morning.
If there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s that I can do hard things.
I can train for a marathon. I can ask a man I care about for what I want, and stay true to that when he says no.
“San Diego isn’t that far, and if I need you, we have these things called phones.” I hold up my mobile, currently supplying the music we are listening to, and shake it. “I’m going to take a long, hot shower and lose myself in an audiobook.”
“Perhaps one with female rage,” Catherine suggests.
“Or a gory horror.” Kayla wiggles beside me at the kitchen sink. “I have many suggestions.”
Once my friends leave, I do just that. I take such a long shower that I worry I’m breaking some sort of California drought-related ordinance.
After, I tug on pajamas. Braiding my wet hair, I stare at the hoodie at the end of my bed.
It’s Garret’s, which I haven’t returned.
It’s also my go-to hoodie most nights. I want to put it on to live in the delusion that his arms are wrapped around me and not just the soft fabric.
“Pathetic,” I mutter, scooping it up and tossing it into my closet.
Slipping on a different hoodie, I take Catherine’s suggestion and listen to a thriller with a gothic vibe.
The sudden banshee-like scream of wind causes me to jump.
Between that and the debris battering against my balcony’s glass door, I’m almost transported into the book’s spooky setting.
It’s a sharp contrast from this morning’s sunshine.
The power goes out, plunging my apartment into darkness. “Crap.”
I move to the balcony door, open it, and poke my head out. Outside is also blanketed in black. The lights that normally shine into the building’s small courtyard are dark. Grabbing my phone, I turn off the audiobook to check the power company’s website.
Losing power with my limited vision is an interesting experience.
In so many ways, I’m better prepared than most to navigate in the dark.
My apartment is set up so I can non-visually find and do most things.
Still, I’m at a disadvantage if I leave my apartment or need to use some of the devices I rely on.
Locating my flashlight, I go through my internal power outage checklist. I turn on several battery-operated candles, placing them around the apartment for light. Next, I double-check that my door is locked, including the deadbolt. Then, I text Anker that the power is out, but I’m okay.
Anker: Here too. Want me to come over?
Me: Nope. I’m going to listen to my audiobook and go to bed.
Anker: By audiobook, do you mean your erotic audios?
Me: Yes.
Anker: I did that to myself.
The grimace that—no doubt—covers his face causes me to snicker. It will never not be fun to mess with him.
Saying goodbye, I crawl into bed. I nix the scary book for the latest F.M. Iversen audio to lose myself in a Prohibition Era romance between a high-society darling and a bootlegger. Their angst to lovers’ story reminds me of Garrett and me. Only we didn’t quite get to lovers.
I rub my chest, hoping to soothe the ache that comes with thinking of Garrett.
Is he at the hospital right now? As much as I know his excuse for leaving early was bullshit, I wouldn’t put it past him to go there to check in, especially with the power outage.
The hospital has generators, so it’s likely unimpacted, but both he and Anker talk about increased admissions during outages.
I can picture Garrett, with that always-constant frown on his face, as the steady captain in the midst of all the chaos at the hospital.
The thought pricks sadness as much as it comforts.
Sighing, I undo my now dry hair from its braid, allowing the wavy tendrils to hang loose. I plop against my pillow, trying to lose myself in Alicia and Tom’s story, rather than my thoughts of Garrett and mine. At least, Alicia and Tom have a happy ending.
“Battery Low,” my phone’s robotic voice announces.
“Great,” I grumble, sitting up in bed.
Between using my phone to play music earlier and its nonstop audiobook use, its battery is dying.
I need to be better about charging it. The power company’s website estimates it will be on in the next two hours.
It’s almost eleven, so I know Anker is already asleep.
He’s never been a night owl, so I opt to turn off my phone to conserve energy and go to sleep.
With the power out, I’m on high alert with every sound. The creepy howl of the wind doesn’t help. This is why I seldom do scary movies or books. Every bit of debris that slaps against my balcony makes me think of the book’s scythe-wielding killer.
The sound of loud banging at my door makes me bolt upright in bed. “Fuck!”
Heart racing, I grab my phone to turn it on again in case I need to call for help. There’s no way I’m opening that door. Even if Kayla’s suggested book didn’t have me on edge, I never open the door to someone I don’t know.
“Jensen! Are you there?” More banging echoes. “It’s Garrett!”
Brow pinched, I jump out of bed. “Garrett?”
“Thank god.” The relief in his voice is muffled.
I undo the deadbolt and the lock on the knob. “What are you doing here?” I ask, opening the door.
He rushes in. “The power is out.”
“I know.” I close the door and motion at him. “How did you get in?”
“I snuck in through the garage,” he pants.
“You broke in… Again?”
“You weren’t answering your phone,” he grits out.
Dim candlelight outlines his form, but the rest of him is shadowed in darkness.
Even if I can’t see him, not clearly, his energy paints the picture of a man in distress.
Spine straight, chest heaving, and hands on his hips, he stares at me.
My body ignites with the intensity of the gaze sweeping over my figure in assessment.
“Why do you never answer your fucking phone?” he barks, exasperated.
Indignation blazes within me. “It’s off—”
“Why?”
“It was about to die. I turned it off to conserve the battery, so I could use it if there was an emergency,” I hiss, holding it up.
“You should have called me.” He prowls close. “I would have come. I—”
“We’re not together.”
“That doesn’t matter. You still should have called,” he shouts.
“Don’t you dare yell at me, Garrett Marlowe.” I poke his chest. “And don’t pull this overprotective, possessive alpha male bullshit on me. You’re not my boyfriend. You made it clear you don’t want that job, so I’m not yours to worry about.”
“I never said I didn’t want the job,” he leans close, his breath against my lips sends heat crisscrossing within me.
“You said—”
“That this isn’t a good idea—” He motions between us.
“That I don’t want to hurt you. I never said I don’t want the job.
That I don’t want you. All I do is want you.
Every fucking minute of the day. From the moment you blathered on about whatever Chicago trivia you’d googled at Anker’s birthday five years ago, I’ve wanted you. ”