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And it gave me a false sense of intimacy and closeness, which is the last thing I need right now with someone I’ll never be close and intimate with.
“Stop with this pity party,” I whisper to myself as I hurry through the library entrance hall. “You’d be annoyed if someone else was feeling sorry for themselves, so don’t do it.”
Life is what it is.
Accept it.
But as I approach the revolving doors, I hear someone calling my name, and to my surprise, it’s Sawyer.
“Hey! Brinlee! Wait!”
So I wait, my heart in my throat, sudden hope choking me. “Yes?”
He approaches me. “Are you okay?”
Oh. Of course that’s what he wanted to ask. I have to look terrible. “Yeah, I’m fine. That was a good meeting.”
“It was a mess.” He chuckles, runs a hand through his dark hair. His eyes are a beautiful shade of honey-green, and the light slanting through the library’s glass front makes them sparkle with colors. “I didn’t prepare enough. In fact, I had totally forgotten all about it. Almost missed the meeting I organized.”
“You don’t hold these meetings every week?”
“Oh, hell no. I attend them, as much as I can. But it’s Jared who usually organizes them.”
I nod, no idea who Jared is. It’s all kind of white noise, but one thing sinks in: Sawyer is usually here every week. I’ve been coming to the library often enough—my safe place to rest my mind—and he’s been in that little room every week.
“I have to go,” I say again, faintly.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Have a coffee with me?”
And hope is back, more dangerous than ever. So I shake my head, murdering it. “I have to get to work. Sorry.”
“Another time, then!” he calls out as I push the revolving doors and almost trip over my feet. “Please?”
This man doesn’t accept defeat. He sounds as if he’s hoping for something, too. As if it matters to him. But by the time I am outside and I finally gather the courage to turn around, he’s gone.
10
SAWYER
My phone starts ringing as I watch Brinlee exit the library with no promises to meet with me again. And every time, I get so tongue-tied around her, my brain twisting in a knot, and I can’t think what to say. How to give her my number without being pushy. How to interpret her words and expressions.
I glance down at my insistently ringing phone. It’s my parents, and I have three more missed calls from them, as well as two messages.
I debate answering. It’s probably about this pack they’ve been pushing me to meet. A quick look at the messages confirms it.
Christ, they have even set a date and time for me to meet with the pack. Next week. It’s as if all my arguments against this meeting meant nothing to them.
They probably didn’t. I feel so… invisible when it comes to my parents. At least Eric seems to see me, even if he’s trying to micromanage my life. Or manage it, in general.
If they demand I pay them back… if they shut down my café… I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. My hands are shaking. Cold sweat is running down my back.
If I go back home, I may never leave. And staying home with my parents isn’t something I want to experience ever again. Not because they are violent or horrible, no. They choke me with concern and strip away all control while acting kind. I can’t do it again. Madness threatens.
I lick my dry lips, considering the new phone call coming through, and my finger is already hovering over the screen, ready to swipe right and reply. Sooner or later, I will have to do it, and putting it off will only make my parents angrier.
