The hike up to my place feels like it takes an hour. I haveAmara leave her things—other than Fluffernutter, of course—in the car with the promise that I’d take good care of them.
She doesn’t look as if she believes me.
“This place is wild,” she admits as she steps fully into my new home.
“Thanks.” It’s uncomfortable. To be standing here like strangers. So many years have passed. So much hurt. And we’re standing in a new home I bought in a new phase of life, speaking to each other as if we’ve never spoken to a single human before in our lives.
“This is for you,” she murmurs quietly, pulling a small bottle out of her pocket. “I feel like I should give it to you before I let the cat out.”
I eye the little white bottle for longer than I should. “These aren’t going to kill me, right?” I smirk.
I can almost spot a small hint of a smile. Almost.
“Your funeral,” she shrugs.
I showed Amara her room quickly. As expected, it was strange.
The guest room is only a few doors down from my room, and too many memories cloud my vision for me to do much other than head back down to the garage to retrieve her things.
When I return, Amara sits on the bed with the giant, fluffy white cat, stroking him from head to tail.
My eyes start to gently burn, and I hope and pray with everything in me that the medication starts to work sooner rather than later.
“Do you?—”
“No,” she says quickly,sending a scowl my way.
“Oh, oka?—”
“Can I have a little bit of time to myself?” she asks, not even meeting my eyes.
Surrendering, I make my way back to my family room, falling flat on my face into my couch.
All I want to do is make things right, but I can’t do that if she’s not willing to accept it.
She also doesn’t have to accept a single thing I say. If she goes the rest of her life hating me, it would be well deserved.
I jump at the sound of the buzzer.
I groan, rolling my body off the couch and hitting the floor with a loud thump. I lay there for a second, thinking about my life choices.
“Hi Cooper! It’s Elsa,” a feminine voice calls from the intercom.
The interior designer. Of course, I’d forget that she was stopping by tonight.
I slap both of my hands to my face, dragging them forcefully down.
Getting up, I buzz her in.
This is a bad idea,I tell myself. But what else am I supposed to do? The woman has thousands of dollars of my money ready to spend on this place.
I stand at the door, counting down the seconds until I die.
And when the knock sounds through my empty, shell of a home, I know my time’s up.
With one more deep breath, I pull open the door.
“That was quick,” the blonde in front of me purrs, pulling herself off the doorframe.
