Page 23 of Slow Burn
Did she have someone who was taking care of her?
As much as it irritated me, I couldn't stop thinking about her. The amount of time that woman was spending running around in my mind was embarrassingly high. And I didn't know what to do about it.
Or if Iwantedto do anything about it.
If I were honest, daydreaming about a living, breathing woman was a lot better than the alternative. The one where the past refused to retract its claws out of my battered and bruised soul.
I eyed the coffee maker again, relieved that there was enough tarry liquid in the carafe to satisfy at least one of my needs. Mug in hand, I topped it to the brim and slipped through the glass door.
As it had done for the past few days, my gaze immediately went to the beach before I realized my beach ballerina wouldn't be performing any time soon. I wasn't even close to being prepared for the deep rush of disappointment that descended over me.
The light-wood Adirondack creaked loudly as I lowered my frame into it. Sighing heavily, I took a long swallow from the steaming mug in my hand, and instead of watching the waves roll to shore, my gaze flicked to the house next door.
What are you doing right now?
An incredibly stupid idea started forming and before I had time to properly process it, I was on my feet and striding toward the fence. I'd covered half of the distance when the fog covering the logical part of my brain finally lifted and I dug my heels in.
Was I really about to hop the fence and knock on her door?
How would that conversation have gone over? If ever there'd been a time to smack myself upside the head, it was at that moment. I had no business initiating anything with anyone.
My mood changed on a dime and it wasn't particularly fair to drag anyone into that. I looked down at my hand still clutching my morning coffee. Brows drawing together, I willed the black liquid for answers.
Not just any answers. I needed to know why after all this time, I had this deep-rooting need to be different. To not be so broken that the thought of letting anyone close scared the shit out of me.
Tipping the coffee out on to the grass, I stalked back into the safety of my house, locking the door behind me for good measure. I rinsed the mug, set it on the rack, and then stared at the scenery beyond the window.
A frustrated growl tore from my lungs when the only thing I wanted to see on that beach was Maddie. My insides twisted with the confliction spreading through me. On the one hand, I was relieved at the sudden change in direction my thoughts had taken. But on the other, I knew this… infatuation or whatever the hell it was had to stop.
It wasn't healthy.
A distraction of any kind would have been welcomed with open arms but since nothing was happening, I flopped down on my couch and turned on the television. Flicking through the channels, I swore roughly when onechannel was streaming a movie about a ballerina and a dance show of sorts was on the next.
Without changing it, I turned the volume down. I tossed the remote beside me, my cellphone catching my eye when the remote landed on it. Maybe it was finally time to reach out to a friend. Someone who knew me from before the accident. If anyone could give me some perspective, it would be Griffin.
He'd been as loyal as a brother even, especially, when I'd been a stupid prick and had blamed him for Angie being gone. As the memories of the unsavory words I'd spewed at him swirled around my brain, I was once again reminded how damn lucky I was.
My family, my friends, all of them could have walked away and left me to rot in the hole I'd dug for myself. No one would have blamed them one bit. But that wasn't how the people in my life did things. They stayed—even when I chased them away—and they fought like hell to drag me back.
I owed them so much.
Mindlessly staring at the muted television, I tossed the phone from one hand to the other. The last time I'd willingly sent a text to anyone had been a hell of a long time ago. So long, that I didn't even know how to initiate a damn conversation.
My gaze shifted from the wall-mounted screen to the one in my hand. I swiped the screen and opened my messaging app. After scrolling through the few numbers I had saved in my contact list; I pulled up my friend's number and stared some more.
How the hell did people do this? My thumbs fumbled over the small illuminated letters as I typed.
Me: What's up?
There. Short and straight to the point. The tiny dots on the screen started jumping almost immediately.
Griffin: Who died?
Me: What?
Griffin: You never text. Who's dead?
With a grunt, I threw my head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. Maybe I was still upstairs, asleep in my bed because everything about the past twenty-four hours was just… weird.
