“I don’t think so,” I say, eyes lifting to her name tag, “Britney.”
Her thin lips bunch at one side. “I don’t know … “
If this is her lame attempt at flirting with me or feeling me out, she’s wasting her time.
I slide my debit card and punch in the PIN.
“Receipt?” she asks.
“No thanks.” I tuck the bag under my arm and get the hell out of there before she has a chance to stall me with that nonsense again.
“You’re back!” Lo rushes up to the door the second I walk into the apartment, her hands clapping as she does a little dance. “Thank god.”
“What?”
“You left your phone here.”
“I know. I forgot it.” I push past her, placing the meds on the kitchen table. “Sorry.”
“No, you missed a call,” she says, grabbing my arm and turning me around.
My heart climbs up my throat and my mouth runs dry.
Love.
“Jude, your old boss called,” Lo continues. “He said they just landed a huge contract and they’re hiring back all the guys they laid off … he wants you to come back as soon as possible! Isn’t that great?”
My sister does a little dance before flinging her arms around my shoulders.
“Yeah,” I say. “Best news I’ve had in a while.”
Forty-One
Love
* * *
I’m beginning to get used to waking up in a cold bed, alone. I don’t even search for his warmth anymore. Kicking the covers off, I slide out of bed and trudge to the bathroom to wash up before trudging to the kitchen to make some plain oatmeal. After three days in the Hamptons filled with buttery seafood and an endless supply of fine wines, I need to give my body a break.
Grabbing a packet from the cupboard, I rip the paper and dump the contents into a bowl before topping it off with water and sliding it into the microwave. There’s something about the hum of a microwave that puts me in a trance-like state, helps me to zone out. Only this time, my peaceful hum is interrupted by the sound of men’s voices and the clink of metal.
The first thing I did when I got home last night was text Jude to let him know I was back. My message, like all the others before it, went unread. As soon as I got myself settled and changed, I headed across the hallway to his door, knocking a handful of times, but his apartment was eerily quiet.
No footsteps. No voices. No soft hum of a baseball game on the TV.
Needless to say, no one was home.
That or he was sleeping?
Following the sounds, I dash toward my door and peer through the peephole.
Jude’s door is open.
A second later, a man stands in the doorway, motioning at someone down the hall. A second later, another man appears with a metal dolly. Sprinting down the hall, I grab my robe off the hook in the master bathroom and cover my pajamas before rushing out the door.
“Excuse me,” I say to a bald man with a hooked nose and clipboard. “What’s going on here?”
“And you are?” He glances at his clipboard before looking back at me.
“I’m a friend of the tenant’s,” I say.
“Okay, so if you two are friends, then you know he moved.” The man steps away from me, yelling at one of the guys coming off the elevator. “Down here, Marius!”
I try to respond but the words are trapped, stuck in my throat as I struggle to breathe. My stomach caves, same as if I’d been knifed, and my palms soothe an imaginary wound.
“I knew he’d be moving,” I finally manage to say. “Just didn’t think it would be this soon. Thank you for your time.” Turning, I duck back into my apartment.
So much for vindication.
So much for closure of any sort.
These last several days, I’ve suffered through mixed feelings … asking myself if I truly hate him or if I’m capable of forgiving him for what he’s done because I convinced myself that he’s a good person underneath it all.
But I was wrong because good people don’t do this. They don’t just disappear out of your life without warning.
He screwed me every which way he could—literally, emotionally, and almost figuratively—and I don’t even get a goodbye?
Locating my phone in my room, I fire off a text to Jude’s number. I don’t expect him to read it since he hasn’t read any of the others, but I need to get a few things off my chest.
“Wow, Jude,” I write, “Way to sweep me off my feet and then leave without so much as a goodbye. I thought I knew you. Turns out I had you all wrong. You’re a selfish coward and I’ll forever regret the day we met.”
I press send and watch the screen for a few moments, only a little red exclamation point pops up beside my message. I press the icon to try to send it again, but it fails to go through. After a few more failed attempts, I dial his damn number so I can say these things to his face—or let’s be real here, probably his voicemail.
“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected …”
Ending the call, I sink back into my bed pillows and draw my legs against my chest. Of course he disconnected his number. Why wouldn’t he? He completely removed himself from every aspect of my life.
I call Tierney.
“He’s gone,” I say when she answers.
“Who?”
“Jude. Who else?” I ask.
She groans. “I thought we were pretending he no longer existed?”
“Guess we don’t have to pretend anymore. His place is being packed up and his phone is disconnected.”
“He ghosted you.”
“He ghosted me,” I echo, but only because “ghosted” sounds more indifferent than “abandoned,” and I’m not quite ready to admit that I let my feelings get away from me.
I feel for him.
I freaking fell for him.
Letting that thought sink in for a moment, I find my breath shallowing and my skin abuzz with the kind of out-of-control anxiousness I’ve only known twice in my life before: first when Dad passed and then again when proof of Hunter’s infidelity plastered my phone screen.
Tierney clears her throat. “I can hire someone to find him if you want. I think Josh knows a guy.”
“Nah. I’m pretty sure he’s back in Brooklyn.” I shake this off. I have to. I can’t wallow in the dissolution of something that never should’ve happened in the first place. Exhaling, I pick at a loose thread in my comforter before getting the urge to burn the stupid thing. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s done. It’s over. Just wish I would’ve confronted him when I had the chance instead of carrying on like some lovesick stage five clinger.”
“You were just keeping your word to Marissa. You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”
“I know.” I pull in a deep breath. “I really wanted to call him out. I wanted to look him in the eye and ask him why.”
“Go to Brooklyn and ask him.”
I chuff. “He’s not worth the cab fare.”
“Hey, Love, I’ve got a conference call in two minutes. Call you back later?” she asks.