Chapter Forty-Seven
Austen
I stare at the phone, ring after ring, waiting for the courage to pick it up, but it doesn’t come.
I wait to see if he’ll leave a voicemail, but he doesn’t.
He hasn’t since two weeks ago, when I left.
The night my entire life fell to pieces.
Mack knocks into my shoulder with a heavy box. “You’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” he says. I slip my phone back into my back pocket, avoiding his judgmental glare.
“I know, but I’m just…” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “One fire at a time, Mack.”
Mack narrows his gaze at me as if he wants to say something—which Mack’s never had a problem saying what he means—but before he can get a word out, we’re interrupted.
“What about the espresso machine?” Alex asks, holding up the too-large appliance in my former kitchen.
“Uh…” I take a look at the giant machine, which covers my brother’s face.
“I don’t think that will fit through the door of my apartment,” I say, still feeling the waves of anxiety when I say that word.
Apartment.
My parents didn’t take the news of my divorce very well, but I think they were pissed about letting Savannah have the house more than anything else because it had beenourwedding present.
My lawyer thought I was nuts too, but there was no point in me staying in a four bedroom house that never felt like home and Savannah would have dragged this out otherwise.
No, my deal was Savannah could have the house and we could walk away with anamicablesplit down the middle. She kept her assets, and I kept mine. Then we could both go our separate ways, and I could finally leave this town and live my life the way I envisioned it all those years ago.
Only this time it’s on my terms.
Besides, the house never felt like mine from the moment I walked in it.
“Maybe you can sell janky lattes out of your shitty little apartment,” Mack jabs.
“Or maybe—” Alex’s voice kicks up with excitement, and I can’t help but crack a smile and be glad he’s here to make this depressing day a little better. One glance at my watch tells me we have just under an hour before Savannah gets home for her mid-morning break, and I don’t want to see her any more than I have to.
Which my lawyer said was “wise.”
“Put the espresso machine back,” I say with a sigh. “I’m sure a coffee maker will be just fine.”
Alex clutches it to his chest. “Well if you don’t want it, I’m taking it. I bought it.”
I roll my eyes as Mack grabs the machine off of him, cursing him.
The last thing I expected was for either of them to step up like they have in the last week. I’ve never known either of them to be the dependable type, but they haven’t left my side since I showed up, and when I told them everything—including what happened between Cam and I, if only because the lawyer said he needed to know in case things got ugly and Mack and Alex were literally trying to not be obvious about eavesdropping and failing miserably—they were surprisingly supportive.
Though neither wassurprised,apparently, that Cam and I hooked up in Vegas, and neither was surprised we’d made up and ended up where we were. My brother didn’t seem to be shocked at my admissions and instead told me it must be genetic. When I asked him what he meant, he just brushed me off, teasing me and saying, “I’ll tell ya when you’re older,” like I’m not turning twenty-nine in just a few months.
Whatever, the less drama I have to deal with, the better, and as fun and supportive as Alex is right now, it’s only a matter of time before something blows up in his face. He’s not the kind of guy to play anything safe, not like me.
Except, maybe there’s something to be said that playing it safe didn’t work out so well in the end, did it?
I follow Mack out the door with another box of clothes, expertly loading it into the back of the car. When we’ve squared the boxes in, Mack leans against the back of the open trunk, and I do the same. We’ve been loading boxes for an hour and I’m pretty sure we’re almost done. I don’t have much I want totake to New York, save for some clothes and shower stuff and my bedding. All the decor, and the stupid little knick-knacks and artwork, none of it was my style or choice.
“You know…” he starts, his voice strangely caring. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, but he’s been more present than ever before. Checking in on me with texts, offering to take me out for drinksafter work. It’s not weird, it’s actually kind of nice, but it makes me feel a little bit like aliens have abducted my friend.
