Chapter 45 Reagan
FORTY-FIVE
REAGAN
Idon’t remember the drive home from the Harts’ house. My phone was blowing up, and I eventually threw it in the back seat to avoid answering. I know it’s Riggs.
Somehow, I made it back to my apartment, barely throwing my car in park before completely breaking down. The car felt like the safest place to scream, cry, and cuss whatever it was that happened in Riggs’s bedroom earlier.
My body shakes as I finally allow myself to let go of all the emotion I’ve kept inside for the last week. Tears cloud my vision, and my breathing is erratic, trying to make sense of something that has completely shattered my heart.
A tap on my window causes me to jump in my seat, stopping my breakdown momentarily.
My brother stands beside the car, his face tense and getting angrier as he takes me in.
I unlock the door, preparing myself for the alpha protector version of my twin.
Instead, as his eyes meet mine, his face drops to one of complete devastation.
I must look even worse than I feel, and I’ve never known pain like this.
He quietly picks me up, cradling me in his arms. Jordan shuts the door with his hip and walks up the stairs of our porch and into the house.
Instead of dropping me in the living room, he carries me upstairs to my bedroom.
Setting me on my feet beside the bed, he pulls back my blankets and moves for me to slide in.
Then he does something we haven’t done since we were kids.
He goes to the other side of the bed and lies down, so we face each other.
“What’s your truth, sister?” He whispers the words like he’s afraid he’ll wake the emotional monster lurking just under the surface of my facade.
I close my eyes, willing myself not to shed another tear, but I’m denied, and twin streams are falling down my cheeks. I wait until I can form a coherent sentence before answering Jordan.
“He pushed me away. He told me that he didn’t want to bring me down and that he needed to handle things on his own for a while.” I croak out the words, surprise marking my brother’s face as he listens.
“He doesn’t mean that.”
“Yes, he does. I tried to talk to him about it, but he was adamant that I leave. It hurts, Jordan. It hurts so bad.” Sobs run through me, and my brother hugs me to him, comforting me.
I’m thrown into a flashback where Jordan and I were in a similar position, him comforting my broken heart. Only this time, I don’t know if I will be able to put all the pieces back together because Riggs Hart holds too many of them in his hands.
The next time my eyes open, it’s dark outside. I don’t remember falling asleep next to Jordan, but when I glance over, I find he’s gone. In his place is a piece of paper and a can of Dr Pepper.
Rea,
I’ll be home later tonight. Call me if you need me, and I will head straight home. I left you some pizza in the fridge. Please eat something. You will get through this. —J
I’m grateful for my overprotective brother right now, as I pick up the drink and walk downstairs to the kitchen. I know I should eat, but the thought of pizza makes bile rise into my throat.
Instead, I grab a pack of peanut butter crackers, my Dr Pepper, and plop down on the couch, pulling a blanket on top of me.
Opening the can with a pop, the fizz tickles my nose as I take the first drink.
It burns my throat more than normal from all the crying I did earlier.
Tears prick my eyes at the thought, but I quickly force all of it down into a tiny box and hope I can keep it there.
A buzzing sound has me out of my seat and walking into the kitchen. I see my phone lighting up on the countertop, and that feeling of dread and nausea comes back tenfold. I don’t pick it up; I just let it keep ringing until the screen goes black. Black, like how I’m feeling right about now.
When I finally get the nerve to grab my phone, I press the side button to illuminate the screen, and my hands start to tremble when I see all the missed notifications.
Ten missed calls from Riggs. Ten!
Eight text messages from Riggs.
Then I see a few other messages from my mom and Mack, but all I can focus on is him.
He didn’t leave any voicemails, so I immediately open our message thread.
Riggs
Reagan, answer your phone, please
The things I said, they didn’t come out how I meant them to
I’m sorry, Sunshine.
Please pick up your phone. I’m worried about you driving.
Reagan, call me back
At least let me know when you get home.
I know I don’t deserve any of your time right now. But trust me, what I’m doing will be for the best…eventually.
J, text me you made it home. I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. I don’t see another way.
My fury builds as I read the last few messages. How could he just decide for me? He decided to push me away. He decided that this is what’s best. He, He, He…I’m so sick of not being able to choose for myself.
I type and delete about five different messages ranging from anger to sadness to pleading before finally sending one back in response to all he threw my way today, both in person and on the phone.
I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that you decided for me instead of letting me have the choice. I’m sorry that you feel like you have to do everything on your own. But mostly, I’m sorry that this ended before it ever really began.