Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I hefted my large purse over my shoulder and pulled the handle up on my suitcase and rolled it out the door.
Thankfully the checkout process was quick and in mere minutes I was outside stepping onto a shuttle that would take me to the airport. I prayed that there was a flight I could get on tonight, but if not, I’d sleep in the terminal. It wasn’t much of a plan. I almost laughed but caught myself. Then I almost sobbed and caught myself again. All my well-laid plans had gone out the window.
As the shuttle pulled away, I looked back over my shoulder at the Bellagio. I’d become a different person this weekend. Carson had changed me in ways that I suspected were going to make me look at all my decisions differently, make me reevaluate all my future plans.
Deep breath. I turned forward, watching the road ahead. The best I could do was take the lessons from this weekend with me and think of them—of him—as a gift, even if now, my heart was breaking with loss. My hands gripped the strap of my purse as I forced myself not to demand the shuttle driver stop and let me out so that I could go running back to Carson. Instead, I leaned my head back on the seat and let myself feel the mixture of heartbreak and hope mingle inside, bathing my heart in both darkness and in light.
__________
The wheels of my suitcase bumped over the threshold of my apartment the next morning at seven thirty and for a minute I stood looking around, feeling like a different person than the girl who had walked purposefully through this very door, spine straight, future set, all plans firmly in place. I closed the door behind me, stifling a yawn. I was completely exhausted in every way possible. I had been able to change my flight to a red-eye and had sat around the airport for several hours waiting until boarding started. Once on the plane, I’d tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t let me, too active to shut down and allow me some rest.
I went over every minute of my weekend with Carson, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when I handed him a piece of my heart. Had it been over hot dogs that first night? After the amazing sex? Laughing in the pool? When he told me he was jealous of Parker, revealing that he had feelings for me too? Or had it been sooner than that? Maybe in the elevator when he sang to me to keep me from panicking? When I discovered why he put on that false front? Was it possible to connect to another person that quickly? I wanted to scream! Shut down, brain! Did it really even matter? It was like I was trying to investigate the scene of a crime, attempting to find the smoking gun that had resulted in the mangling of my life as I’d known it.
I sighed, my shoulders slumping as my purse slid down my arm, and I let go of my suitcase.
“Hey, pod person!” I heard called from the kitchen.
“Hi, Abs,” I said, meeting her in the doorway. She gave me a quick hug and then sat back down at our small kitchen table, reaching for the mug of coffee sitting next to some papers and a pen in front of her.
When I remained standing, she looked up at me over the rim of her cup, her eyes widening as she set the coffee back down. “What’d he do to you?” she demanded, standing up again and walking to where I stood.
I shook my head as my face crumbled and my raw emotions welled up in the midst of the safety and comfort of my best friend. “He didn’t do anything to me, Abby. I did it to myself. I—” I choked and the tears started flowing.
Abby pulled me to her, stroking my back and hugging me silently for several minutes as I got ahold of myself. When my tears had subsided, she pulled away and looked into my face, her expression stern. “I can’t believe you did this to us, Grace.”
I laughed a soggy laugh. “To us? How do you figure I did anything to us?”
She pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “Because, Gracie, I love you, and so we’re going to deal with the aftermath of this weekend together. I’m busy. And still itchy. I hardly have time for this.” She let out an exaggerated sigh, a corner of her lip quirking up. She was trying to make me smile.
It worked. I loved her.
“Sit,” she said. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee and you tell me all the details. I don’t have to be at class until eleven.” Abby was in school at one of the best culinary institutes in the DC area. Her cooking was to die for. If I ever indulged, it was to try out one of her recipes and I was never disappointed.