Page 110 of I Just Want to be Yours

I stop with my hand on the door handle.

“If things were different, I’d kiss you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just want you to know that, okay?”

I swallow, my hands gripping the flowers a little tighter. “Okay.”

He gives me a tight-lipped smile before heading inside, and only then to do I feel like I can breathe again.

I should go into my apartment.

I should put these flowers in some water.

I should try to go to sleep.

But all I can do is stay here. My chest rises and falls with the realization of how fucked up this whole situation is. Jackson was supposed to be here. I was supposed to be with him tonight, not Braden. Braden is wonderful. He’s kind, and smart, and considerate, but for whatever reason, I can’t make myself feel anything for him.

Turning around, I let my head rest against the door and try to take a steadying breath, but it’s like the more air I take in, the more I feel. Sinking to the floor, I stare at the flowers before setting them down beside me.

What is wrong with me?

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My Uber dropsme off in front of Margot’s apartment, and I stare up at the building in the dark. She’s probably sleeping, and now her inconsiderate asshole of an ex, who didn’t even tell her he was coming, is going to wake her up by knocking on the door.

I can’t believe I missed my flight. We could have had all night to talk about everything. We could have smoothed things over by now. If anything, I could have found a different place to stay if she won’t see me.

Maybe Braden is still here. I could always knock on his door and see if I can crash on the couch for the night. I could even wait to see Margot first thing tomorrow morning. That’s probably the better decision.

But God do I want to see her.

I’ve waited so long to just be around her again. I probably should have thought about this while I was rebooking my flight for the next one out, but all I could think about was getting to Florida as fast as possible. I didn’t think about the fact that I’d get here after eleven and have to explain myself to her this late.

With my backpack slung over my shoulder and my guitarcase in hand, I head upstairs to the second floor. It feels good to be back here after jumping from city to city. I like that nothing has changed. Thanks to the maintenance company, I doubt this place ever looks different. The grass doesn’t even seem to grow.

As soon as I can see the landing of the second floor, my steps slow.

She isn’t sleeping.

She isn’t even in her apartment.

She’s here. She’s right here.

Margot sits in the hallway with her back against her door. She’s holding a single flower and picking the petals off, one by one. It doesn’t look like this one is her first victim either. There are petals and stems scattered around her like she’s been at this for a while. Her hair is shorter now. It doesn’t cascade down her arms and back the way it always has, but I like it. A few strands are tucked behind her ear, giving me a clear view of her face, and I drink her in. Her downcast eyes as she stares at the flower in her hands, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, the curve of her lips. It’s a face I could never forget, but one I’m never fully prepared for either.

Especially when she looks this . . . hopeless.

“Margot.” My voice comes out rough from lack of use.

Wide eyes snap to meet mine and she stops plucking the petals. Her lips part, her cheeks flush, and her shallow breaths make her chest rise and fall at a rapid pace.

She’s panicking.

The urge to try to comfort her pulls at me, but I stay where I am. “Why are you sitting out here alone?” My eyes jump to the tattered bouquet next to her and I add, “With flowers.” My chest tightens at the sight. When I didn’t show up here with flowers, I never thought someone else would have already given her some.

She glances down at the one in her hand. It has one petalstill attached, and she runs her thumb over the soft petal before pulling it off with a frown. She looks even more saddened by what she’s done to it. “Braden got them for me.” Those words knock the wind out of my chest. Is she dating Braden? My fist clenches around my guitar case, but before I can ask, she says, “But I can’t even enjoy them. I can’t even be happy about a perfectly nice guy giving me flowers.” Some of her sadness spikes to anger as she tosses the stem away and reaches for the next one in the bouquet.

My heart hammers as I take a hesitant step toward her. She’s still a couple of doors away from me, but it feels like she might bolt any moment. “Why can’t you be happy about Braden giving you flowers?”

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