Page 222 of Rising Heat

Excellent. Love that journey for me.

I drag my bag upstairs anyway and let myself into the apartment, which looks exactly the way I left it. Everything is where it should be, except now I’m standing in the middle of it wondering why every ounce of confidence I had somewhere around Connecticut apparently stayed there.

I pick up one of the throw pillows from the couch and hug it against my chest.

This was significantly easier when I was still in the car giving myself motivational speeches.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

darcy

I wake up exhausted enough that my eyes burn and somehow still aware of the fact that I barely slept.

At some point around three in the morning, I gave up pretending otherwise and cleaned my kitchen cabinets—the inside. I found three soy sauce packets fused together at the bottom of a drawer and stood there holding them for a full minute, wondering if this was what rock bottom looked like.

I’m pacing again by eleven-thirty.

The problem with driving across state lines to deliver a potentially life-altering monologue is that eventually you arrive and still have to give it.

Except I didn’t.

I got back to Boston yesterday ready to finally say all the things I should’ve said before I panic-fled back to Pennsylvania, and instead I found an empty apartment and spent the rest of the night trying not to invent reasons for why they weren’t here.

Now it’s nearly noon, and I’ve worked myself through the same three questions so many times I’m starting to resent them.

Did I completely misread this?

Did I ruin it?

Are they avoiding me?

I’m halfway across the living room again when movement outside catches my eye.

Tyler’s Jeep turns onto the block, and I stop so fast I nearly trip over the edge of the rug.

I stare through the window as the truck pulls up crooked against the curb, like he parked it while still moving. His door opens and he climbs out looking exhausted, his shoulders drawn tight beneath his jacket. When he looks up toward the building, I can see the strain in his face even from here.

Mack gets out a second later. The moment his door shuts, he looks up toward my windows and finds me, and suddenly I can’t seem to catch my breath.

They’re already moving toward the building before Tyler locks the truck.

One look at them and the last four days come rushing back, but underneath all of it is the relief of the simple fact that they’re here.

Mack stops at my door, the breath catching somewhere in his throat.

“Hi.”

The sound makes me dizzy.

“Hi.”

They both search my face like they’re checking for damage.

“We went to your parents’ house yesterday,” Tyler says.

My throat tightens.

“You did what?”