Page 63 of Come Back to Me

“I don’t know,” I answer, not able to look him in the eye.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he challenges me. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know,” I hesitate. “I haven’t read his letter yet.”

Ben just stares at me now, stunned silent, his mouth hanging open. After several moments, he shakes his head.

“You’re torturing yourself with guilt—and don’t say you aren’t because I know you—then you blow up your relationship, and you haven’t even read the damned letter yet?” His tone is incredulous.

“My relationship isn’t blown up!” I snap at him.

Ben sits down then. He looks up at me and says, “Jacky, she texted Shayna and me today to say that it’s over and she hopes we can stay friends,” he says. “And?—”

“It’s not over,” I answer. “It can’t be… I just have to go see her before she gets in her own head too much and I’ll explain things. She’ll understand. She has to.”

“Jack, you can’t do that,” he says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what I can do. It’s my relationship,” I snarl at him.

“Jack, I’m sorry, but I mean you literally can’t do that… She’s… she’s gone,” he says.

And with those two words, my world collapses in around me.

CHAPTER 28

ANNIE

I slide the keycard into the slot on my hotel room door, then use my exhausted body to push my way into the room after the clicking sound tells me it’s unlocked. Dropping my bags, I walk into the bathroom, and turn on the shower to let the water get warm. I need to wash off the grimy sensation I always get when I fly. After I go make sure the deadbolt is locked on the door, I return to the bathroom. I strip out of my clothes and climb into the hot shower.

I aggressively scrub my hair and my body and cry once again as the events of the last few weeks, and particularly the last twenty-four hours, overwhelm me. After rinsing the soap off of me, I don’t have the strength to climb out. Instead, I sit down on the shower floor and pull my knees to my chest, warm water cascading over me. And I sob. I stay like this until the water turns too cold to tolerate, then force myself to stand, turn off the water and get out of the shower.

After toweling myself off and wrapping a towel around my hair, I’m so drained from my meltdown that I can’t even dress. Instead, I pull back the blanket on the bed and climbin, curling myself into a fetal position while I hug the extra pillow.

I didn’t intend to fall asleep, but apparently I did because I’m waking up and it’s already seven p.m., which means I’ve slept for three hours. Unfortunately, there are still a few hours to kill before I can try to go to bed for the night.

I’m so tempted to turn on my phone and check my messages or scroll through my social media accounts, but I stop myself. It isn’t what I need right now. At least I have some self-preservation instincts left, even if I did foolishly set myself up for heartbreak by datinghim. I should have stuck to my rule and none of this would have happened.

After a while, I get ready and go down to the hotel bar to have a cocktail and people-watch. That should kill some time and maybe prevent me from spiraling further.

I find a cozy seat at the far corner of the bar that gives me the best view of what’s happening around me and I order a bloody Mary. It’s a Sunday night so there isn’t too much action here to distract me from my wayward thoughts, unfortunately.

Just as I’m nearing the end of my drink and thinking about heading back upstairs, the bartender slides a second bloody Mary in front of me.

“Courtesy of the guy at the high-top table over there,” she indicates with a tilt of her head.

I look over in the direction she points, but can’t bring myself to acknowledge the handsome man in an expensive suit looking my way.

A few minutes later, someone sits next to me and says, “Isn’t a bloody Mary more of a brunch drink?”

I look up and see my benefactor of alcohol next to me. I give him the only smile I can muster and mumble a thank you for the drink.

“I’m Blake,” he says, trying again to open conversation.

“Hi, Blake,” I say, dryly.

“So, what are you doing here in Florida? Work trip? Pleasure?” His voice has a creepy tone to it when he says ‘pleasure.’ Ew.

I turn my full attention to him. Clearly he’s not reading my non-verbals.

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