Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Rowan
Pulling down the sun visor in my car, I slide open the mirror to inspect my eyes – red and bloodshot, my mascara clumping my lashes together and a haze of black coating my lower lids.
Great. I’ve always wanted to look like the unstable girl who not only passes out on the clock, she has screaming, crying breakdowns in her car on the clock, too.
I toss the visor back up with a groan and pull my plastic container full of salad onto my lap, then open the lid and stab my fork into it. I have no appetite, but I need to eat, and being on my lunch break is a great excuse to not be available to Colt if he calls or texts.
I don’t get how he can be so much older and still so stupid, all at the same time. Aren’t older men supposed to have a certain level of maturity to them?
Apparently this one didn’t get his share.
A series of hard knocks at my window make me jump, and I almost throw the salad to defend myself, which would just be the icing on the crap cake that is today.
Emmett leans to look into the car with a smile and motions for me to open the passenger side door, which I do. He climbs in, carrying with him a huge fast food bag and a coffee cup that looks big enough for seven people to drink from. He must get that from his dad.
“Why aren’t you in the cafeteria?” He asks. When I turn to look at him so I can answer, his brow furrows. “Whoa, hold on. Were you crying?”
“Just having a really crappy day,” I say, brushing off his concern. When it’s clear that answer isn’t satisfactory, I add, “Guy problems.”
Guy problems like, I fell in love with your dad and when he whisked me away on a romantic vacation, I settled into the belief that we were in a relationship and that maybe he loved me too, and now he wants to keep me as his dirty little secret mistress.
Or even worse, just a toy to take out and play with when he gets home.
He digs through his bag to pull out his meal, getting it situated on his lap, using the bag itself as a makeshift place mat. He’s definitely done this before – and here I was, thinking he didn’t even know what a drive thru was.
“Same guy who was giving you problems before?”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna know what my dad always says?” He asks, popping a fry into his mouth. This ought to be good. Deepening his voice to mimic Colt’s, he continues. “’Don’t let someone tell you who they are, Emmett. Make them show you.’ What did I show you when we went out?”
“Um, I guess that you’re a really nice guy and could be a great friend. But that you aren’t someone who is willing or able to deal with complicated things,” I answer honestly.
“Ouch. Harsh, but fair,” he says. This time he pops a chicken nugget into his mouth before asking, “What about this guy?”
My throat burns thinking of the answer, and I instinctively push my salad away from me.
“He’s shown me that he’s kind and patient, and that he would drop anything if I called and needed help.
And he’s-” I clear my throat, trying to send the burn away.
“He’s attentive and gentle, and he’s never made me feel bad for being sick.
But he scares really easily and he runs when things get real. ”
“If you want my two cents,” he offers after a few beats of consideration, “people can get over being scared.”
I move my gaze to my lap as the tears well up, stinging my irritated eyes, not wanting them to be seen and not willing to let them fall.
“I can’t tell you what to do here,” Emmett continues. “But you have my number, and my dad and his friends have connections. If you give him another chance and this dude screws you around again…I’m just saying.”
A laugh slips out of me – quiet at first, because if he only knew he was threatening his own father, with the wrath of said father, he wouldn’t be saying these kinds of things.
As the unwanted tears fall from my eyes, the laughter builds more and more until I’m cackling, clutching my stomach and hardly able to breathe.
Emmett stares at me, concern etched into his face as I howl in laughter.
I can’t get it to stop – the laughing or the tears, both are overflowing, feeling like they’re pulling me out to sea, far away from any remaining piece of my sanity.
“I’m fine,” I wheeze, pressing my hand to my chest, “I promise. I’m sorry.”
As the uninvited emotions come to a stop, I wipe at my eyes to try and clear away any smeared makeup and any tears still left on my face.
“I must look insane,” I comment.
“I mean, I’m not gonna start lying to you,” Emmett chuckles. He plops my bowl back onto my lap. “You should eat...and maybe think about taking a couple of days off.”
He’s right, I should. Being here isn’t good for me right now – but home isn’t much better, not that he knows that.
Dirty little secret, and all.
·
I spend the next few hours actively avoiding Colt.
I don’t want to hear whatever it is that he keeps trying to say to me, and I definitely don’t want him to know that I was crying over him, though I’m sure Emmett will tell him something about his assistant having a complete breakdown in her car, with a lap full of lettuce and vinaigrette.
As the end of the day draws near, I suck in a deep breath and force myself to stand tall, chest puffed out, as I walk into Colt’s office to collect my things. He’s at his desk, engrossed in an email on his computer, with a glass of whiskey in hand.
I consider grabbing his keys and forcing him to get a ride home. I may be angry and hurt, but I still care about him and his safety. I don’t think that’s the first drink I’ve seen him with today.
“Can we talk?” He asks, peeling his eyes from the screen to look at me. “Please?”
I finally meet his gaze, letting him see whatever mess is on my face, and for a second, I think I can see his heart crack, just a little.
Good. He deserves to feel like crap.
“Don’t tell me who you are, Colt. Show me.”