Page 56 of Made for Wilde
“Okay.” She sounds resigned, defeated. “I should go. I’m meeting Sarah back at my apartment. She’s about to go out of town for a concert, and I want to see her off.”
“You’re not going with her?” I ask, surprised. Charlotte seems like the type who’d jump at any chance to get out and socialize.
“No, I gave this guy who works at my school my ticket.” Her voice is tired in a way that makes my chest tight. “I was going to go, but I just don’t feel like going out this weekend.”
She’s probably just as miserable as I am.
The thought should make me feel better, knowing I’m not suffering alone, but instead it makes everything worse. I hate the idea of her sitting in that apartment, sad and alone, thinking about what we can’t have.
“Well, take care of yourself, sweetheart,” I say gruffly. “And make sure you keep your doors locked.”
“I will,” she says softly.
The line goes quiet except for the sound of her breathing. I want to stay on the phone forever, listening to that soft rhythm, pretending we’re not about to hang up and go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist.
“Koda?”
“Yeah?”
“Take care of yourself, too.”
The tenderness in those words nearly breaks me.
“I will, baby. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down on the coffee table and stare at it for a long time. The cabin is silent except for the crackling of the fire and the steady tick of the old clock on the mantel.
What am I doing?
Charlotte’s right. We can’t do this. There are a thousand reasons we should stay apart. But for some reason, my traitorous brain keeps circling back to the fact that I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
I glance over at the clock on the wall. Just after 7 PM.
I think about the night stretching ahead like a prison sentence, empty hours I’ll fill with more whiskey and regrets. I think again about the promise I made to her. To myself. That we’d stay away from each other. That I wouldn’t destroy my friendship with Jason just because I can’t control myself around his daughter.
And then I think about Charlotte.
About how her hair caught the sunlight filtering through my cabin windows, how her smile lit up something inside me I thought had died years ago. How perfectly she fit against me, like she was made to be there. The way she looked at me when I dropped her off, like she was memorizing my face.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, rising to my feet.
I grab my keys from the counter, not giving myself time to reconsider.
Then I grab my jacket off the hook and rush out the door.
TWELVE
CHARLOTTE
“Areyou sure you don’t want to come? It’s going to be amazing.” Adrian waves the tickets like they’re golden passes to happiness. “The opening band is supposed to be really good too.”
“I’m sure.” I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “Really. You guys go and have fun.”
Sarah shoots me a concerned look from across the room.
