Page 67 of Off Script
Grabbing my bags from the backseat of Harper’s car, I walk inside the condo and immediately plug my phone into the new charger. Since my phone is completely dead, it’ll take a few minutes before it has enough juice to power up.
Harper hovers around me, unsure how to comfort me and unwilling to leave me alone in case I fall to pieces again. “Do you want me to stay? Or go? I can hang out in my room, and you can call if you need me.”
“If you were serious earlier, then I was hoping…”Ugh, why is it so hard to ask for help?“I was hoping that you might run to the grocery store and grab a few things for me? I’ve been thinking aboutan appetizer I want to create.” Smiling timidly at Harper, I add, “It’d be a great holiday appetizer for my socials.”
I grab a piece of paper and jot down the ingredients I’ll need before handing her the slip of paper.
“Of course,” Harper replies, plucking the paper from my fingers, but she lingers in my doorway. “Are you sure you want to be alone right now?”
“Yep, but I’ll give you a full recap upon your return.”
Once I hear Harper leave, I flip over my phone.
Anxious butterflies dance in my stomach once again. I’m not talking about gentle ballet dancing either. These butterflies feel more like buffaloes breaking dancing.
I’m relieved to see that he hasn’t shied away from contacting me. I have 37 text messages, 17 missed calls, and 11 voicemails from him.
I start scrolling through the texts first. There’s nothing enlightening in them. Only a sense of growing urgency that he needs to speak with me. After Friday night, he offers to explain his date with Willa, but doesn’t actually provide me with his explanation, although he does offer lots of apologies.
Bracing myself, I play his voicemails next and try not to cry. Listening to his voice is more personal. It brings back memories that I’ve been trying to push down and ignore. His messages all say the same things, but his tone becomes more desperate as they continue.
“Please call me back, Carlisle. I promise I can explain everything. I miss you so fucking much.”
My emotions vacillate, as they have all weekend.
Slumping onto my bed with my phone clasped to my chest, I wait for Harper’s return so that she can give me guidance. I’m so spun out and confused that I don’t trustmy intuition.
I need Harper to share her unbiased opinion on how best to proceed. Do I contact him? Do I wait to see if he tries to contact me again? Do I block him and move on? Do I yell at him and curse his name?
When my phone rings a few minutes later, I hope that it’s Ben, but it’s Harper.
Before I can even say hello, she begins speaking rapidly. “Just got back home. There’s a tricked out black Range Rover in the parking lot and a very muscular man storming toward the condo. Wanted to give you a head’s up.”
Then the line goes dead.
“What?” I jump from my bed and run to the window to peek out just as I hear a loud series of knocks.
With little time to do anything except glance in the mirror, I quickly finger-brush my hair off my face and pray that my sunburn camouflages my tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and gesture for Ben to come inside.
He looks haggard. His face is pale and the dark circles under his eyes suggest he hasn’t been sleeping well. He hasn’t shaved in days and his clothes are wrinkled and rumpled. He looks nothing like the suave celebrity I left at the airport two days ago.
Ben enters the living room, closing the door behind him, and walks right up to me, invading my personal space. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of retreating, of letting him know how much he affects me, so I stand firm. But I refuse to lift my gaze to meet his eyes because he reads me too easily. I can’t. I can’t risk him seeing how deeply he hurt me.
“Carlisle, look at me. Please.” The anguish in his voice undoes me in a way I didn’t think possible. Furiously blinking back tears, I don’tmove my eyes until his hand gently guides my face heavenward. “I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”
My spirit plummets as understanding hits me—he never meant forusto happen. To him, I was a mistake.
“You’re sorry? Sorry for what?” I retort, my scratchy voice barely above a whisper. “For cheating? For getting outed by the press? For leading me on? For sleeping with me when you had a girlfriend?”
Ben swipes his thumb across my cheek to wipe away an errant tear before cupping his hand against my cheek. Seeking comfort, even from the one who hurt me, I welcome his touch.
“No! This whole situation is a mess. Damn it, I’m so fucking sorry, Carlisle.” He pulls me into his arms.
Taking a trembling breath, I push away and disentangle myself from him. “You’ve gotten your chance to apologize, and now I think you should go.”
Shaking his head, he doesn’t budge, keeping me firmly in his grip. “No, Carlisle. I won’t leave until you hear me out. After that, if you want me to leave, I will. But not before then.”
