Page 466 of One More Kiss

VADA

ONE YEAR LATER

Memories invademy mind as I walk past all the tourists on King Street.

I’ve been excited, anxious, nervous—everything—since I found out one of my book tour stops was in Charleston. My publisher arranged the schedule, and there was no changing it, although I wasn’t completely sure I would’ve wanted to. However, being back is bringing a mixture of feelings, and I don’t know what to make of them.

Especially with the way I left—the last time I saw Ethan.

I’ve heard his voice, but we haven’t talked since that last day I was here.

Leaving Charleston in tears doesn’t give this city the best feeling of returning, but I’m not running away. At least, not yet.

It’d be impossible to forget a guy like Ethan, especially when my latest novel was primarily inspired by him. As cliché as it sounds, he really did bring something out of me that had been missing all this time. My writer’s block was gone, and I couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

Who knew my week with Ethan Rochester would lead to writing the best novel of my life?

When I returned home, I couldn’t write because I was so hurt and upset. But eventually, anytime I thought about Ethan and our time together, which seemed to be all the time, my inspiration fire would reignite. I tried to push away all the negative thoughts and only focus on the good that happened between us. It was the best week of my life until I ran into that witch of a woman, and she ruined everything. My trust had been broken, and I was too scared to start over, not knowing the difference between his truths and her lies. It was too much.

As soon as I presented the new book idea to my agent, she ate it up. The novel practically wrote itself, which, as a full-time writer, I can confidently say has never happened to me before. Once I finished the first draft, relief rushed through my veins. My agent insisted my characters get a full happily-ever-after, even if I didn’t.

So of course, they did. Complete with a big southern wedding and lots of babies.

Ethan had done what he promised all along—helped me find my writing inspiration. It’s safe to say it wasn’t the southern air or lifestyle—it was all him.

Our story ended with my heart broken and me crying in the plane bathroom. I knew the moment I told Nora, she’d tell me to talk to him and find out what happened. And if what Harmony said was true, she’d say to give him a piece of my mind. Hell, she was ready to fly to Charleston and do it for me like the mama bear she is.

Suffice it to say, I didn’t do either of those things. Everything from my past resurfaced, and it was the same issues and lies from all my failed relationships all over again. Fear, self-doubt, depression. It all kept me from making that step, from going back to Ethan.

He’d called and texted dozens of times. They were all left unheard and unread. I was being childish, and I knew that, but I couldn’t bear to hear if everything Harmony said was actually true. I couldn’t bear to hear him lie to me either. I needed more time to think, and I had major deadlines to worry about on top of that.

Until one night, I finally braved listening to his voicemails. It took two bottles of wine, of course.

The sound of his voice crippled me. God, it was so sexy when he spoke, but I could hear the pain in his tone. It was evident, yet I couldn’t bring myself to hit the call back button. I was pathetic and weak, I knew that.

In the beginning of his messages, he desperately begged me to tell him why I left and what happened. Those messages broke me down. I was the spitting image of Carrie Bradshaw crying in her wedding dress—except I was alone with an empty glass of wine and my cat.

Later, his messages changed because he had found out about Harmony and knew she’d said something to me. He pleaded with me to tell him what she said so he’d know how to fix it, but that was the thing. It couldn’t be fixed. Even if her words were complete lies, the fact that I let a guy like him affect me in only a week scared the shit out of me, and a part of me was running. Running from the reality of what happened so quickly. I’d become too vulnerable, and it was a hard lesson in trusting another guy with my heart. The pain made it impossible for me to move forward.

Part of me wanted to go back to him, hear what he had to say, and fall back into our easy ways. However, the logical part of me knew it was a formula for disaster. My life is in Chicago and his is in South Carolina. We both knew this; yet he didn’t give up.

After one bottle of wine was emptied, I continued to the other, listening to another handful of his messages. God, they made me hate myself. I wallowed in guilt and self-sabotage. Yet, I continued to convince myself that staying away was for the best. It’d be better to get over him now before I really fell hard because if it didn’t work out the second time around, my heart would be destroyed beyond repair.

I lied to myself, even if I didn’t want to admit I was. Eventually, I started believing those lies.

Nora’s words from earlier repeated in my head. Give the boy something, Vada. Whether it’s an explanation for your silence or just to say you want him to stop calling, give him some kind of closure.

I knew she was right, but I couldn’t work up the courage. Until I’d emptied those two bottles of wine and that’s when I finally hit the call back button.

He didn’t answer, of course. It was well after two in the morning, which meant it was even later where he was.

The next morning, I woke with the worst headache of my life. I rarely drank, and when I did, it was one or two glasses max. I was certainly paying for it now.

A loud knock echoed through my apartment, and I groaned, unable to deal with anyone or anything. It was well into the afternoon, so it could only be Nora.

“Use your key,” I hollered, hoping my words would make it to the front of my apartment. After a moment, the knocking continued. “Dammit, Nora,” I grumbled, pulling myself from the bed and opening the front door.

“Miss Collins?” an older man’s voice rang.

---