My blood is hot. I need to go for a run.
I get back to my house, feed Slate, and change so I can get out of here and on the trails.
My feet pound into the ground. I’m running much faster than I’m used to. It’s not long before my side aches and my legs shake. I can smell last night’s bourbon on my skin. Nausea takes over and if I don’t stop, I know I’ll throw up.
I don’t want to think about Ivy. Or what I said last night. Or what I said this morning.
It doesn’t work.
Her tear-stained face and her panic when she saw the missed calls play on repeat in my mind. I keep hearing how she called me out for not having anything besides this lodge.
But then it’s her smile when she opened the door last night. And when she squeezed my hand. And our pinky promise from days before.
Chaos. My thoughts are complete and utter chaos. I can’t keep anythingstraight. The loop of our argument replaying over and over is horrible.
In attempts to not make today worse, I stop before I push myself too hard on this run.
While walking, I realize she’s right. Well, sort of. I have no vacations to miss. No friends to meet up with. It’s by my own choice, but it still stings.
How did I go from needing to tell her how I feel to leaving her as fast as I did?
It hurts. More than my cramping muscles. More than the headache coming on from too many bourbons.
I’m better off alone. I’ve told myself that for years. And I’ve believed it for longer.
Fucking Ivy. Why did I think it’d be different with her? That I could be different. I can’t. I’m going to end up a lonely bastard because that’s what I deserve.
Clearly, I wasn’t paying attention to my route because I’m much farther than originally planned. Damn it.
I’m home, making dinner, when I hear the lodge radio going off. Slate barks at the radio like he always does.
“Holland, just wanted to let you know the flowers you asked for were delivered. She was in her room. It’s all set.”
Fuck. The flowers. I ordered those days ago. Before everything happened. Of course, they’d get delivered today.
Chapter Forty
I SPEND THE ENTIRE day in bed. Which is ironic, considering this is the catalyst for my argument with Holland.
First, I try to read one of the books I picked up when I was shopping with Viv. I get about ten pages in before realizing reading a romance book is not what I need right now. I hate the characters, their names, the title, the small town they are in.
I order room service twice and do anything I can to stay in here, under the covers, with the curtains closed.
The sun outside is too bright. I swear there are birds chirping outside my window. I want none of it. It’s like mother-nature is teasing me. I wish it’d rain. Are thunderstorms a thing out here? I’d pay a ridiculous amount of money to have it be a stormy, dark day.
Viv tries to FaceTime. I decline. Now’s not the time. My mind is all out of sorts and I’m not ready to talk about anything with anyone yet.
My phone taunts me. I can’t even stomach looking at it.
When all else fails, make a list. My therapist encourages me to make a list of how I feel when I can’t crawl out of a hole.
Here’s what I feel:
Lost
