My silence speaks for itself.
“Holt …”
“She has a full life in Chicago. I have a full life here. We both are so busy that it would never work anyway, even if it were a good idea.”
“I’m assuming you got her opinion on the matter. Right?”
“She’ll agree once she gets home and thinks about it.”
She groans. “I could kill you right now.”
“For being kind? Thoughtful? Mature? Okay.”
“For being a fucking idiot. How can someone so brilliant be so dense at the same time?”
The alcohol begins to do its job. My veins pulse with an unnatural warmth. My head fogs with a welcomed haze. I’m still well aware that Blaire is gone and that I’m a well-intentioned asshole, but the sharpness of the pain is muted.
Thank God.
“Tell you what,” I tell her. “I’ll try to call her again. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll assume that’s her way of telling me to go fuck myself. And if that’s the case, I’ll agree with her methodology.”
“Please, Holt—please think about this before you make it worse.”
I laugh sadly. “How worse could it get? She’s gone.”
“Because you let her go.”
“Because I had to.”
I eye the bottle of bourbon again.
“I gotta go, Riss. Thanks for calling and checking on me.”
She sighs. “You’re welcome. Just … remember that it’s okay to be happy. It’s not a character flaw.”
“Sure. Talk to you later.”
“Goodbye.”
I end the call and pour myself another drink.
Chapter Thirty
Blaire
My apartment is so cold.
I shiver as I pull the shades down over the windows. The thermostat says that it’s not as frigid as it feels, so I wonder if the chill is somehow coming from me.
By a stroke of luck, Yancy texted me as soon as my plane landed. The Grimrose Building was open again, and I could go back home. It was like the universe took pity on my poor self and couldn’t stand to watch me struggle anymore.
My face is swollen from crying for the past three hours. As soon as I walked through the door, I started crying and couldn’t stop.
I’m sure Sienna thinks I’m a complete lunatic because she called in the middle of it. It was all I could do to reassure her that I was fine.
I just wish that I felt reassured too.
My stomach growls, but the idea of food makes me want to hurl. I want to crawl in Holt’s bed, under one of his strong arms, and listen to him tell me about his day.
