Page 99 of Fourth Wheel
Even at his happiest, Dempsey never smiles quite that big.
“Is he here?” I pant, the adrenaline and the rain blending together and making me feel frantic. I’m standing on the covered porch, but I’m already drenched from running to the front door.
Fielding gives me a knowing look, then smirks before responding. “He’s not here.”
“When do you expect him home?” I ask as I pull out my phone to check how much time is left until last call at The Oak.
“I don’t. He’s not in Hampton. He went on a trip.”
I almost drop my phone on the stone patio as that revelation sinks in.
He’s not here. He’s not in Hampton at all. He’s out of town—on a trip.
Did he go to New York? Did he go back to her?
I mutter something that sounds like thanks, then turn on my heel so fast I almost slip on the wet pavement. My power walk quickly transforms into a jog. My stomach churns and my lungs riot as I push harder to get back to the car. But running is futile. Getting in the car is pointless. Jake would never forgive me if I barfed in his Tesla.
I drop to my knees near a bank of bushes and let loose. I sob as my stomach convulses. I expel every pent-up emotion, and even then, my heart still tries to escape with the purge.
“Fuck, Little Wheeler,” Fielding bemoans as he drops to his knees beside me. “Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
I shoot up like a shot, then shove him as hard as I can.
“No, you asshole. Girls can puke and not be pregnant! I’m literally on my period right now!”
“Well that explains your charming demeanor,” he quips. “I wasn’t trying to offend you. I was just checking. The last thing we need right now is a little Fielding or Dempsey running around.”
He may be an asshole, but he has the decency to hold back my hair as another surge of vomit releases from my body.
“He’s gonna be so pissed he missed you,” he mutters as he rubs my back.
Eventually, I calm my stomach and catch my breath, then Fielding helps me to my feet. The rain has slowed to a drizzle. Slow, sad tears from the sky that match my mood.
“Where is he?” I dare ask as Fielding ushers me back to the porch. He guides me over to a set of rocking chairs on one end, then settles into his before answering.
“He’s in California,” he finally declares.
“He’swhere?” I practically scream. He could have led with that, and he knows it.
“He’s visiting some buddies from college who live in the Bay Area and following up on a few leads at some start-ups he might want to invest in. I guess he’s out there looking for his next move. But between you and me”—he leans in close, searing me with his lagoon-blue eyes that make me miss Dempsey even more—”I think he went out there for you.”
For the first time in five weeks, hope blossoms inside me.
I hear the familiar tune of a FaceTime call before I realize Fielding’s even got his phone in his hand. I quickly try to smooth down my hair and wipe the mascara out from under my eyes, but what’s the point? I’ll be crying again in a minute, regardless of which way this call goes.
“Look what just showed up at the house,” Fielding sing-songs into the phone before pointing the camera at me.
I choke out a sob when I see him. It’s still daytime in Cali, and he’s outside. Tears of joy stream down my face before either of us can utter a word. I don’t know what any of this means.
But if he’sthere—and I’mhere—we both want more, and we’re willing to try.
I take the phone out of Fielding’s hand, then barely manage to choke out a “Hi.”
Dempsey’s face screws up with emotion. He looks away from the camera before looking back to me.
“I’m a mess,” I lament as I sniffle and try in vain to do something about my soaking wet hair. There’s a smattering of vomit on the corner of my shirt—so gross.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful to me,” he replies without missing a beat.
