I hear the hitch in her throat, and I knew I wasn’t wrong. I wonder if her eyes are crestfallen. Is she tired but unable to find sleep thinking of me like I was her?
“Iceman…”
My eyes close as my chest lifts. Her tone a little more desperate now.
Maybe it was because it was so late, the darkness bringing to light our deepest desires. Blackness our only company. The walls were the only ones to hear our confessions.
“I know, baby, I know,” I say lowly, disdained. I felt it too. That pull between us.
I was going to make it right. Don’t give up on me. Not yet.
We don’t say anything for a while after that, but I think we relished in the comfort of knowing the other was on the line.
That’s all we needed, that simple knowledge and it became easier to breathe. I couldn’t explain it, it just…was.
The longer she stayed on the line the more I realized I had never been the one calling the shots the whole time. I had been the one desperately, hopelessly clinging to her every action, every move. Wanting her to need me, but she never had.
The truth in that hurt more than I wanted to admit. I knew Rory was independent.
I hear her quiet yawn and my stomach dips. Pulling the phone from my ear I check the time. I had to be up in a few hours to get ready for practice before school and Rory needed to try and get some sleep before then.
“Do me a favor?” I ask rather than tell. “Hang up the phone.” …Even though I don’t want you to go.
I can feel her overthinking through the line waiting on me, so I try to put her at ease. My little firecracker depleted in her need for rest.
“Go to sleep for me, princess.”
I won’t let you go, it’s okay. You can hang up the phone. I got you. I have us.
Her voice is soft, barely a whisper. “Good night, Cole.”
“…Good night,” I answer even though the line is already dead.
Flickering, I run my finger along the flint wheel once more. off. On, off. On, off. On, off. The glow up the yellowed-orange flame dwindling as my alarm goes off hours later.
Rory better enjoy her last day of freedom because come Saturday, that girl was going to be mine.Officially.And if they hadn’t known that before, then they were about to learn.
forty-seven
Rory
Todayistheday.The Kellet Foundation Charity gala is tonight.
I hadn’t been sure what to expect but waking up before the sun was not on the agenda. My sanity went out the window with the curtain, Hailey was currently drawing back with too much gusto.
God, this girl’s chipper-ness was worse than an alarm clock.
I exhale on a huff. My covers get thrown back over my head with overripe confidence in response. Today was going to be a long one.
Most of my morning and all my afternoon spent getting ready. At least she had the foresight to bring caffeine, or this could have gone a completely different way.
With a glare in my eye and coffee in hand, we show up to some overly lavish salon.
The modern space is one giant glossy white masterpiece. Hailey’s shoes click along the smooth tile floor seating herself in a black matte chair. I take the one next to her. The mirror in front of me was encased in large bulbed lights. The pattern repeated at each styling station.
Hailey spouts off her list of things to the stylist she wanted done. Most of it going over my head but I heard something about highlights or was it lowlights? A layered honey chocolate color? I couldn’t have heard that right.
“Thoughts?” she asks.