Page 60 of When I Fall In Love

Beeps sound from my bedroom. My phone is on again and alerting me to messages as they arrive in my inbox. With a groan, I go back to the bedroom and sit down on the bed to scroll through my messages.

Fifteen missed calls from Brenda. Followed up by several messages. As tenacious as a pit bull.

I don’t even glance at them. Instead, my eyes jump to a row of messages and seven missed calls from Kyle. He never responded to my last message on Friday before I went for a row and dip in the lake, but he responded later, when I was with Hunter and not interested in my phone at all. I’m thinking of coming over. Not sure why, but I’ll see how I feel in the morning. That message came through very late on Friday night.

Oh crap.

His first call was on Saturday morning on San Francisco’s side. The last call was this morning.

I glance through his messages.

Trying to call. Brenda has an interesting offer and I’m on my way to the airport to fly to Burlington. Will keep you posted.

Several messages follow his timestamps as he flew cross country from late Saturday to this morning.

Please call back asap? I want to meet up and go to the farm with you. Not up for it solo.

Where are you, sis?

I’m getting worried. Brenda can’t get hold of you either. Shit Beth, it’s been more than a day.

I got hold of Jana and she says Hunter Logan has been in San Francisco? Why didn’t you tell me?

Are you with him?

Landing at noon and then driving through from Burlington.

Oh fuck. Kyle’s probably already here. Oh Jana. Our dirty little weekend has been cut brutally short, and now Kyle is about to storm the castle. My stomach churns and I feel sick.

With trembling fingers I call him back, and he answers after the second ring.

“Jesus Christ, Beth. Thank God,” he groans into the phone. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“I’m good. I’m sorry—”

“I even had Brenda asking around town to try find you. You gave me the fright of my life. What with your rental standing at the Brodie’s house and someone’s standup paddleboard floating up on the opposite side of the lake!” His voice breaks, and in that moment I realize how deeply Kyle cares for me. We don’t see each other much and don’t talk often lately, but for Kyle I’ve always been good enough. “I was going to ask them to drag the lake for your body!”

Drag the lake for me? I inhale and exhale slowly, trying to calm down. “I’m sorry, Kyle. We were here—”

“We?”

Where do I even begin? He wouldn’t have thought about checking in with Hunter. I’m not even sure I should mention that Hunter and I just had a sex-fest weekend and reconnected more intimately that I thought two people ever could. Something blocks me from sharing this, because for all I know, Hunter doesn’t see things the same way I do.

I check the time. “Where are you?”

He’s quiet for a second. “I’m coming from Collingwood farm. I drove past there from Burlington. Fuck it, Beth—” He breaks off and it’s as if he’s suppressing a sob.

Oh Kyle. I bury my face in my hand, clutching my phone tight to my ear, waiting as my own throat tightens again.

He sniffs and I can hear him swallow his emotions down. “I’ve got about twenty minutes to go,” he says. “Brenda says you’re in a cottage on the lake outside of town? She sent me the GPS location.”

“Yes.” The world is closing in on me, and suddenly I feel as if someone is pushing a foot down on my breastbone with slowly increasing pressure. “I’ll be right here. Not going anywhere.”

“Please don’t. I almost lost my shit completely.” With that, he hangs up and I drop back onto the bed, a fresh headache drilling into my temple.

By the time Kyle’s car drones down my driveway, I’ve closed the floodgates and washed my face. A quick glance in the mirror tells me that the dark circles under my eyes have popped back as if they were just playing peekaboo for a few days. With my brown eyes, I look positively wretched. My emotional exhaustion is back at the same level it was weeks ago.

I open the door and lean against the doorjamb as I wait for my brother to climb out and notice me.

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