Page 138 of Catching Sparks

My vision blurs with exhaustion and the effects of my drinking as I read the boring bullet-point-listed updates. I almost skip right over the bolded text before straining my eyes to focus on it and reading the section.

Is it possible to expand into the second phase of hiring already? They need additional staff ASAP. I’ve been told the number of talent meetings requested has tripled over the past week alone. If you can plan a trip out in the next few days, it might be a good idea to get a look at what the situation is like. It could be time to focus on western Canada.

It’s good news. The new office has only been open for under two years. The only other location to move so swiftly was Los Angeles, but we were far more prepared for it than we were for Calgary. I spent six months there. I’ve yet to spend more than a week at a time in Calgary overseeing business.

My head spins so fast I turn off my computer and lean into my chair, gripping the arms. Calgary wasn’t a point of focus for me until Brody Steele happened and he demanded last year that he use its location for as much Swift Edge business as possible. A choice he made for Annalise. For their relationship.

I didn’t understand it at the time. In actuality, I fought him on it as much as possible before taking the loss. Watching him sacrifice his chance at recording in Nashville in order to be closer to a woman was absurd.

Now, I think I understand him far too well.

48

POPPY

I stink.

The mattress beneath me is no longer comfortable. The lingering scent of Garrison’s cologne has rubbed off the sheets with how long I’ve been lying beneath them. Yet, I still can’t bring myself to crawl out of bed and go back to the real world. I haven’t in five days.

If I looked in the mirror, my reflection would be something from a horror film. I’ve long since stopped crying, but not because I’m no longer sad. I think I’ve just run out of liquid in my body.

Never have I felt so . . . sad. The things that always mattered to me simply mean nothing.

Staring up at the ceiling, I curl my toes in the silk sheets and sigh. I never thought I’d be here, debating never leaving the house again because I’m too heartbroken over a man.

The uneaten piece of buttered toast on the nightstand has been there since I forced myself into the kitchen this morning. I’m not hungry. The thought of food turns my stomach.

My phone is dead, lost in the blankets. After Garrison’s two-word reply to me the day he left, I let it die and haven’t touched it since. Fuck, that’s so immature. In any other circumstance, I’d be embarrassed with myself. I’m sure once I climb out of this funk, I will be.

When I hear the front door slam shut, I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I don’t wish it was Garrison coming back for me. I pull the comforter up over my face and swallow the lump in my throat. There are two sets of footsteps thumping down the hallway, one for each of my best friends.

They took longer than I thought they would to come tell me off for throwing myself away. Maybe they hoped I would have been able to fix myself before they intervened. I wish I could have.

My nostrils flare as I sniffle, exhausted despite my time in bed. I want to sink into the mattress and have it swallow me up.

Pressure on the left side of the mattress has it sinking as one body joins mine before the same happens on my right. Anna peels back the comforter and curls into my side as Bryce moves to my other. Sandwiched between the two of them, I give in to the pain in my chest. I gasp, a catastrophic-level sob filling the room as I shake, soaking in the comfort they’re offering me.

Anna shushes me, squeezing me tight. Bryce sits against the headboard and pulls my head onto her lap, the fabric of her leggings soft against my cheek as I curl into a ball and cry. Hands rub my back, and fingers run through my knotted hair, their touches so gentle it only makes me cry harder. Every emotion I’ve dealt with on my own these five days hits me at full strength, as if I was only receiving a tease of it before.

“You’re okay, Poppy. You’re okay. Let it out, and then move forward. Feel it, accept it, and then let it go,” Bryce murmurs, her raspy voice sounding sweeter than it usually does.

“I miss him,” I whisper.

Anna hands me a tissue, and I use it to wipe my cheeks before my nose. “We know. You’re allowed to miss him.”

“It’s cruel.”

“It is,” Bryce agrees. “It really fucking is.”

“But you’re going to get through it. You’ve hidden away from the outside world for long enough. If you stay here any longer, you’re going to start to lose yourself. We’re not allowing that to happen.” Anna swaps the used tissue with a fresh one. “It’s time to move forward.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You owe it to yourself to nip this in the ass and continue on with your life. The studio needs you. All of the women who attend your classes are waiting for you to come back. You don’t have to be healed from this already—shit, you could take months to do that if you needed to—but you can’t keep yourself locked up in this house—in this room—forever,” Bryce says firmly.

“If you want to tell me that I stink, just do it,” I grumble.

Anna laughs lightly. “You reek, Pops. But that’s not why we’re here.”

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