Why did that just make my stomach sink?
Getting inside, it still smells like Nash. I let myself fall back onto the bed, grabbing the pillow and sniffing it, making flutters spread in my stomach.
God, I’m so pathetic.
As I put the pillow back, it makes a crinkling sound, which isn’t a sound a pillow should make. I sit up and look where it landed, and I see a piece of paper with Nash’s scrawl across it. It’s another poem, and I spend way more time than I should reading it over and over again.
NINETEEN
With the hopeSloan might eat with me, I use my lunch break as an excuse to bring her the sandwiches I made for her this morning.
It’s clear that she’s still pissed with us, but it’s also evident she’s yearning not to be alone. She’s scared on top of being hurt. I can’t take away the pain right now. That takes time. What I can do—whatwecan do—is ensure she feels safe and not alone.
North told me she let him run with her this morning, so I’m taking a chance she’ll let me have lunch with her. As I approach the van, ready to knock on the door, it suddenly slides open. I take a step back in surprise when Sloan steps out, and she looks equally taken aback to see me there.
“Hunter?” she asks, her voice a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. She’s beautiful, dressed in a gray sweater, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She still looks too thin, but at least there’s some color back in her cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes are not as prominent anymore.
“Hey,” I begin nervously. “I wanted to ask if you wanna have lunch with me? I made some sandwiches for us.”
“Why?” she questions cautiously.
“Because I miss you,” I tell her honestly, though admitting it to her like that makes my heart flip and my palms sweat.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Ouch.
She arches an eyebrow, but I can sense that thefuck-offvibe she’s been radiating for days now isn’t as strong as it was. A little hope stirs in my chest as I ask again, “So, sandwiches?”
“No thanks,” she declines, and my hope deflates just as fast as it came. But then her stomach growls loudly, and she bites her lip before asking, “Does it have cheese on it?”
A smile tugs at my lips as I retrieve the two sandwiches I wrapped from my bag. “It’s an Italian ciabatta sandwich with mozzarella, salami, ham, pepperoni, pesto, and sun-dried tomatoes.”
I’m trying hard not to smile because I can almost see her drooling as she hesitates. “Well fuck, that sounds amazing. Okay, thank you,” she says reluctantly. “I just wanted to go to the restaurant to get some water. We can eat in there?”
I nod, relieved she’s willing to spend some time with me, even if it’s only because I’ve got cheese.
Note to self—always have a block of cheese with me.
We walk to the restaurant with me a step behind her. As she opens the doors, loud, excited voices reach us. “She did it for Chelsey and Brad. Chelsey told me about it! And you told me you would ask her. She’s living right outside your door, living on your generosity. The least she can do is this, for our family, as a thank you.”
We step inside and are welcomed by the sight of Tally’s aunt berating her, with Tim standing behind Tally, his hands on her shoulders.
“She’s not, and she owes nobody anything,” Tally snaps.
It appears they’ve been arguing for a while now, but they still haven’t noticed our arrival.
“Ladies,” Tim tries, but none of them listen to him.
“She does! She—” Tally’s aunt starts, but Sloan steps up to them and chimes in.
“What’s wrong?” she asks Tally, who looks at her with an apology written all over her face.
“There, she’s here. I’m gonna talk to her directly if you won’t do it for me,” Tally’s aunt accuses before turning to face Sloan, leaving Tally crossing her arms over her chest and scowling. “Sloan, my name is Phyllis, and you’re going to do a reading for me and my husband.”
Who the fuck does she think she is?
My hackles rise as I see how Sloan goes stiff in front of me. I take a step closer, having her back.
