Chapter 34
Asher
“Let me guess,” Wesley says from behind me. “It’s your fault that Sloane just stormed out of the house crying?”
I drop her journal back into the box that I carelessly left out and quickly wipe away the water welling up in my own eyes
before I turn to face my cousin. I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to tell him it’s not his business, but when he steps
forward and flinches slightly at the pain still in his side, I realize it is his business. What would he say if I told him
the truth? That it wasn’t just Annica that betrayed him, but his own flesh and blood.
“Yes, it’s my fault,” I say, locking my hands together on my head and taking a breath. I stare up at the ceiling and Wes stands
in the doorway waiting for an explanation. “I have to tell you something.”
“Shoot,” Wes says.
“I . . .” I choke on the words as my future flashes before me.
Wesley would tell the family, and would they be shocked to find out that Ben’s son almost let his cousin die in order to take over the business?
No, probably not. But that would be it. That would be the nail in the coffin.
I wouldn’t have the resort, and I wouldn’t have Sloane, and after all that happened just to get to this point .
. . “I think she would’ve been better off with you. I’m sorry that I got in between that.”
I watch as Wes tries not to roll his eyes, pushing off the frame. “Right,” he says, turning to leave.
“Wes,” I call after him. “I really am sorry for everything that happened this year. I’m sorry.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out if this is a genuine apology. It makes me hate myself even
more than I already do. “Whatever, man.”
He turns to go back to the party, and I let out the breath I was holding. The one that should’ve contained the truth. But
again, just like everything else in my life, I fucked it all up.
I finish packing up my things in silence, the whole time picturing Sloane’s face when she found out the truth, and how I wish
I could go back in time and never put the journal in that box. No, fuck, I wish I could go back to the moment Annica stormed
into my bedroom with that journal in hand. When I close my eyes I can still hear the way she raged over Sloane and Wesley.
And dammit, I should’ve known better. I truly made a deal with the devil that day.
I pick up my phone, the only thing not packed away, as I lie in bed and try calling Sloane. It rings five times before going
to voicemail. I text her with another useless apology and watch as it says delivered. She hasn’t blocked my number. Not yet
anyway.
I hand the last box off to the moving company that’s driving my stuff back to Colorado and check my phone again.
By now I’ve called and texted Sloane a handful of times, even leaving her a voicemail.
I can’t remember the last time I ever left someone a voicemail.
But it’s been almost twenty-four hours since she left my room and I still haven’t gotten a reply.
A loud thump catches my attention as the two movers lifting my piano into the truck drop one end of it.
“Dude, I said be careful with the fucking piano!” I yell.
“I wouldn’t be so rude to the people moving your most prized possessions across the country for you,” I hear Danielle say
from beside me.
I only shake my head, putting away my phone so she can’t see the embarrassing amount of texts and calls I’ve left Sloane.
“Still haven’t heard from her?” she asks.
“No,” I sigh. “Have you?”
“No,” she says. “I think she just needs some alone time. That’s usually how she is after a breakup.”
“I asked her to come with me,” I tell Danielle. Her raised eyebrows tell me that Sloane didn’t tell her that. Perhaps because
she never intended to go.
“When is your flight?” she asks me.
“Tomorrow at two.”
“Then there’s still plenty of time to fix it.” She pats my arm before walking into the house.
By 6 p.m. my room is as empty as the day we moved in and my time at Pembroke is officially over. I say my final goodbyes to
the boys, who all promise to come up to ski next season. Though we all know that if Wes doesn’t go, Jake, Sam, and Charlie
won’t either. They were always his friends more than mine.
Danielle gives me a hug and starts to cry. “It’s really over,” she sniffs. “We’re all leaving.”
“It’s not goodbye,” Charlie tells her. “It’s just . . . ‘see you later.’”
I nod in agreement at that. I was never good at consoling anyone. I never seem to have the right words.
“Maybe for us,” she whispers to herself, hinting at Annica. I swallow hard as I feel the guilt creeping in again. A reminder
that everyone got hurt. Maybe not physically, but everyone lost someone they thought was a friend. And I had a hand in that.
The room starts to feel suffocating, and I find myself backing toward the door before giving a brief wave of my hand and exiting
the house. I get into the back of the Uber with my carry-on luggage, checking my phone one more time for a response from Sloane.
“To the Holiday Inn by the airport?” the driver asks. I consider changing the drop-off point to her apartment. Would she even
want to see me? Is she still there?
“Yes,” I say. “The Holiday Inn by the airport.”
I text Sloane again, and again. I leave another desperate voicemail. I order a bottle of wine to my room and leave her five
more voicemails. I send one more text after I’ve finished the bottle. I can barely read it at this point, but it doesn’t deliver.
Sloane has finally blocked me.
The sunglasses do little to nothing to help with the hangover I have today as I trudge through the airport. I grab a coffee
and get settled at my gate before going back through the messages I sent last night, each one sounding more desperate and
embarrassing than the last. Part of me is glad she finally blocked me, as if it could’ve gotten any worse.
“We are now boarding flight 1371 with service to Vail, Colorado,” the airport worker announces on the speaker. “Please have your boarding pass and identification ready.”
Although I have a first-class seat, I wait out the boarding process until the very end to minimize the amount of time I have
to stand in line with this bad of a hangover. I’ve never been sick on a flight, but I’m starting to think today might be the
day. When the line begins to dwindle and the last group is boarding, I stand and grab my carry-on. I look down at my phone
for a moment, thinking of Sloane, like I have been nonstop for the past three days. Hell, the past nine months really. I have
thought of her every single day of this school year. At first just to wonder what would make her tick and how best to manipulate
her into getting what I wanted . . . until I began to wonder what made her laugh, and how in the world I was going to keep
her safe from all of this. Every. Single. Day.
I dial her number one more time knowing it won’t ring now that I’m blocked, but it does. It rings three times, and I’m hopeful
that I can at least leave her one last pathetic voicemail before I fly home, but then the line stops ringing and there is
no voicemail prompt. Because she answers the phone.
My breath is caught in my throat as we both sit silently on each end of the phone. “Sloane?” I say finally. She doesn’t answer,
but I hear her take a long breath and sigh on the other end. “Sloane, please—”
“I need to know everything,” she says in such a small voice that I have to practically press the phone into my ear to hear
it.
The airport speaker turns on again: “Last call for boarding flight 1371 with service to Vail, Colorado.” I look back at the gate and the attendants getting ready to close the door to the terminal, but my mind was made up the moment she answered the phone.
“I’m on my way.”