Chapter Forty-Seven – Fawn
It’s been two days, and I swear, this motel room is starting to close in on me; it feels stale and flat. I haven’t ventured outside or opened the blinds. I’ve been existing on ramen and lukewarm water from a vending machine down the hallway.
My phone keeps buzzing on the bedside table like a pulse that won’t shut off.
It’s a signal. It’s a temptation. Sometimes, it’s a text.
Sometimes, it’s a call. I’m sure they’ve resorted to a payphone, hoping I will answer a number that isn’t theirs.
There is nothing I want more than to hear their voices.
I want to know they’re safe, that I didn’t destroy them.
But if I hear them . . . if I hear them . . . I’ll cave.
Thoughts scream in my head, and words don’t have an outlet. So, I do the only thing I know how to do when I’m drowning.
Slowly, I reach into my bag and pull out my old laptop. The hinges creak as I open the lid. For the briefest moment, it won’t turn on at all, but then the screen flickers to life.
I open the file.
My book.
I’m not sure how I feel about my career as an author anymore. It has been the greatest thing that has ever happened to me — and the worst thing.
It funds my grandfather’s care. It has given me a life in Ivywood. It led me to Dylan and Torin.
And now, it’s the reason I’m here. Alone. Hiding.
The cursor blinks, taunting me. My fingers hover over the keyboard, my hands shaking. I have no idea how I’m supposed to write when my heart is wide open. How do I find the words when they’re jammed inside, for two men who’ll never get to read them now?
But I have to try. I need to get something out. Anything. If I don’t, I’m going to implode.
So, I start typing.
The words aren’t smooth, but they are pouring out of me like blood from a cut. They probably don’t even make sense. Every sentence is like another strip of skin coming off me.
I don’t know how the hell I’m going to finish this chapter or if I can survive the next one.
My phone vibrates beside me. Hesitantly, I pick it up, and my thumb slips, because memory has its way, and voilà, I open the group chat.
The texts come in faster than the rhythm of my heart. Missed calls. Check-ins. The apologies that never needed to be made at all.
Then, the latest message comes through.
Dylan: I went out on the ice today, and I’m trying my hardest to get back to normal. But it’s so hard. I hope you’re okay, princess.
My nickname.
My eyes cloud over, and my vision goes fuzzy. Tears spill over, falling onto my cheeks. My hands quiver above the phone to type Please, don’t hurt because of me. I’m sorry. I love you.
But then, I hear his voice in my head — the coach. It’s cold and final.
Remember the rules.
Without thinking, my thumb moves before my heart can entirely skip a beat.
I hit the leave group chat button.
The screen changes in an instant, and nothing remains where their names once were.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, trying to push the words past my constricting lips. The phone slips from my grasp and falls onto the bed. My knees come up to my chest. My shoulders shake as I weep loudly.
What have I done?
I cut the last thread holding us together, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tie it again.