Page 187 of Heart So Hollow

Without a word, I begin to turn over, pushing through the blankets until I feel Bowen’s torso. He raises his arm and lets me roll into the warmth of his chest, pulling me against him as I wrap my arms and legs around his body. Feeling his skin against mine and concentrating on his steady breathing has always made me feel safe, but tonight he can hear my agitated, erratic breaths as I cling tightly to him, and there’s no end in sight.

Bowen curls his arm around my head, gently stroking my hair away from my ear, “I know you, Brett,” he whispers against my forehead, “and I won’t make you talk about it if you don’t want to.”

It’s the most relief I’ve had all night, enough that I’m finally able to fall asleep and escape to an imaginary place that doesn’t so closely resemble hell.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Brett

One Year Ago

There’s no such thing as a good night’s sleep when you wake up each morning remembering an integral part of your life…isn’t anymore. And when the realization sets in, sound is muted, colors are dull, and I feel like I’m watching my life from outside my body, wondering how it got to be this way. I should be happy; I have everything I need—everything I want, right?

But my best friend is gone, I feel like I’m losing touch with reality, there’s a phantom lurking somewhere in the background watching my every move, and for some reason I can’t stop thinking about said phantom.

I can’t even drag my ass out of bed to get to work at my usual time, which makes me even more depressed because then I have to shift my entire schedule. And even though I’ve been plugged into my playlists and kept my office door shut all day, I can barely concentrate. And by the time 5:00 rolls around, I feel like I’ve been trying to kill time for 10 years.

I start shutting down my computer and pull out my phone to bring up my personal email. Swiping absently, I delete a few ads and almost delete another before realizing there’s a real name attached to it—one that I recognize.

To: Brett Sorensen · [email protected]

From: Jada Marquette · [email protected]

Subj: Representation

Hi Brett!

I had a chance to read the first couple chapters you sent and I’d like to discuss representation. When would be a good time to call? In the meantime, can you please send me the rest of your manuscript?

I look forward to hearing from you!

Jada

I’m in so much shock, I don’t know what to do. I’m just staring at my phone, my eyes burning from holding them open so wide and not blinking. I spend the next couple of minutes trying to remember what I’m supposed to do next.

It’s happening.

I have to tell someone. I have to tell Bowen. And it’s not five minutes after I forward the email to him that he texts me back.

BOWEN (5:09PM): Did you send the rest of it?

ME (5:10PM): Not yet.

BOWEN (5:10PM): What are you waiting for??

I could send it, it’s in the cloud. I could send it right now, but I feel the need to read through it one last time. After spending so much time making sure the first two chapters were perfect, I was too exhausted to continue when I didn’t even know if anyone would want to read it.

ME (5:12PM): I should read it one more time. I’ll do it tonight and send it tomorrow!

While packing up my tote, part of me wishes Colson would walk by. I don’t want to go find him. I don’t even want to IM or text him because I also can’t even bring myself to think about him right now. But I wish he just stopped at my door so I could tell him that Jada wants to read my book—and represent me.

But, it’s too much.

It’s probably best I kept my door shut all day.

As I’m walking through the parking lot, my phone starts vibrating and Bowen’s name flashes across my screen.

When I answer it, I don’t even say hello first, “I swear, I’m going to send it tomorrow. It has to be the final-final draft.”

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