I back away, my throat so tight I can barely breathe as Ian continues to argue with whoever is on the other end of the line—his agent, I’m guessing. He’s probably cancelling that meeting he had scheduled for Monday. But that’s okay, he can always reschedule it, as soon as he sees…
As soon as he understands…
Hurrying into the bathroom I take the fastest shower of my life, ensuring I’m dressed and running curling gel through my hair by the time Ian sticks his head into the lightly steamed-up space.
“Hey,” he says, disappointment in his voice, “sorry. My call took a little longer than I thought.”
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just hungry.” I rake my toiletries into my bag with one smooth sweep of my arm and move around him to the door. “Enjoy your shower. I’ll wait for you in the sitting room.”
“Okay,” he says, seeming to sense that something’s not quite right, but he doesn’t pry.
Because he’s Ian. He lets people come to him. He doesn’t push or expect intimacy you’re not ready to give. It’s one of his best traits, but it also gives me plenty of time to throw my toiletries in my duffel bag, write a quick note, and slip out of the room while the water is still running in the shower.
Downstairs, the woman at the front desk informs me there’s a free shuttle to the Amtrak station in the next town over and that if I hurry, I can catch the van before it leaves.
I plop into the last free seat, accepting a hospitality box from the driver before he slides the van door shut and circles around to get into the driver’s seat. Inside the box are water, an orange juice, and a fresh-baked blueberry muffin, but my appetite is gone.
My stomach is a sour pit, and my heart is still overflowing but with pain now.
Ian is the last person I ever wanted to hurt, but I had no choice. I did what I had to do, I tell myself, a miserable mantra that offers no comfort as the van drops us at the train station and I buy a one-way ticket back to my old life, the one with no Ian in it.
Chapter 31
Ian
I know something’s wrong the second I shut off the water.
The air is too quiet, too still, too…empty.
That’s what a world without Evie in it feels like now. Empty. Lacking in the meaning and vibrancy it has when I’m with her.
But I guess that emptiness is something I’m going to have to get used to, I realize as I step into the sitting room to see no sign of Evie except a piece of hotel stationary on the coffee table with her writing on it.
Heart in my throat, I collect the note and read—
* * *
Dear Ian,
* * *
Thank you for a wonderful night (and morning), but I think it’s best I leave before things get any more confusing. I will always love you and be so happy you were my first but I’m not ready for a relationship right now. I’m focused on school and my friends and trying to grow into the best version of myself.
* * *
Even if you were staying in town, the timing just isn’t right.
* * *
For either of us.
* * *
This would end up being a rebound for you and a mistake for me and not worth the drama it would cause with Derrick. I think we both know, deep down, that the two of us were meant to be friends, nothing more.
* * *
But that doesn’t mean I won’t always be your biggest fan. No matter where you end up moving or what team you play for, I’ll be here cheering you on and wishing you well. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re on your way to great things.
* * *
Much love and good luck on your next adventure,
* * *
Evie
* * *
Pain explodes behind my ribs, followed quickly by more explosions in my throat, head, and deep down in my gut where I know that Evie’s wrong. We weren’t meant to be just friends, the timing isn’t wrong, and she’s the farthest thing from a rebound. She’s the one I’ve been waiting for, the only woman I want to build a life and a family with.
I’m more ready to get down on one knee after a week with Evie than I was after three years with my ex.
But she doesn’t feel the same way.
How can she not feel the same way? After last night, I was so positive, so certain… And so wrong.
Fuck, how could I have been so wrong?
I fetch my cell, but after letting my thumb hover over Evie’s name for a long beat, I tap my agent’s number instead. Fred doesn’t answer—he’s probably still pissed off about our conversation before I got in the shower—but he’ll be less pissed once he gets this message.