Page 141 of Reluctantly You

“Sure thing,” he says as he pours me a glass and hands it to me. “And honestly, Gideon, with what you did for Em, I’d tell you in a heartbeat where Mitch is. I promise. I really don’t know.”

I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Taking a long sip of my drink, I follow August out into the other room, watching as he pulls Emmy into his side and presses a kiss to his temple.

That could be me and Mitchell. It could be us, but it’s not.

We’re nothing.

He left because he didn’t believe in what we could be.

Or because I wasn’t honest with him. Fuck, I hate that I’ve fucked this up so badly.

I manage to make it through dinner, my stomach in knots as I force the food down my throat and into my stomach. It rolls and pitches as I drive home, my mind floundering, all of my perception gone.

I just want him.

I can’t think of anything but him.

I fall into bed and pull out my phone, sending him another long-winded message. He has to listen to these. He has to hear what I have to say.

I hang up and then send another, wanting it to be more concise.

“Mitchell, where the fuck are you?” I ask before clearing my throat. “I know you don’t want to answer, to speak to me, but just know that I miss you, I’m thinking of you. Please call me when you can. Fuck. Just call me, Mitchell. I want to hear your voice.”

I hang up and stare at the ceiling.

Minutes later, my phone buzzes and I see his name on the screen.

Mitchell

I’m okay.

I stare at the message and my heart thunders in my chest. I call him, but he doesn’t answer, so I quickly text him once more.

Me

I miss you. Please call me.

He doesn’t respond, for hours it seems, until my eyelids droop with weariness.

Mitchell

Miss you too. But I can’t.

It’s not a phone call, but it’s something. It’s enough. Those words, it renews something inside of me. Even if he can’t. I can.

I’m going to find him, going to tell him how much he’s wanted, how much I want him. If it’s the last fucking thing I do.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mitch

“Not sure what the fuck I’m doing,” I tell Little Pants as I sit in the camper van, the summer storm washing across my windshield.

I’m parked in a residential area, trying to gather the courage to do what I came here to do. I drove all the way to Northern California, my stomach in knots, trying to pull myself together enough to meet my bio dad.

To meet someone who may end up rejecting me as well.

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