Page 115 of Loud Unspoken Memories

When he’s done being amused at my expense, he invites me inside. “You might as well have a drink and settle in. You’ll never get a flight back on this short notice.”

I come in, but before I talk to them or do anything else, I pull out my phone and place my second call today to Quinn Thompson. “Quinn, I’m gonna need another favor.”

Chapter Forty-four

Martina

“Mommy, how much longer?” Charlie whines.

After two flights, including a three-hour layover, a thirty-minute train ride, and waiting another half hour for an Uber, my son is exhausted.

“We’re almost there, buddy.”

“I can ride the elvator?”

I snicker. “Yes, Charlie, you can ride the elevator.”

I hope.

The streets are near empty. Donovan’s Pub is dark despite the fact that it’s only 7:00 pm. This is nothing like what we saw in New York City an hour ago, where no matter the day, people are out and about. But this town is different. Everyone is home spending time with family. I sigh and wonder—not for the first time today—if this is a good idea. It’s been weeks and he hasn’t reached out. If he wanted me—really wanted me—he’d have given me some kind of indication.

Am I the most pathetic woman on the face of the earth showing up unannounced on a man’s doorstep on Christmas Eve of all days? I close my eyes and breathe, feeling anxiety take hold.

I could have called him. Or emailed. Or even sent a letter. Why did I have to take my son away from his family and drain my bank account on a whim?

Because you love him.

And you have to know.

Not for the first time today, or even over the past three weeks, I gaze down at the picture on my phone. The only photo I have of Dallas. The one with the snowman between us. The wayhe’s looking over at me—I hold onto that. The eyes don’t lie even when the lips do.

It crosses my mind that I’ve been reading far too much into this photo and I just happened to snap it at the precise moment that made it look like he was looking at… I don’t know, an angel. Am I completely off base here?

“Ma’am?” I look up at the driver, who’s staring at me in the rearview. “We’re here.”

My chest tightens. It’s hard to take a deep breath. My hands shake. Is this what a panic attack feels like?

“Right. Thank you.”

I quickly swipe away the photo and pull up the app to give the driver a larger-than-normal tip.

He gets our single suitcase from the trunk, and I slip Charlie’s small backpack onto his shoulders.

“Merry Christmas,” the driver says, resuming his place behind the wheel.

For a moment, I contemplate asking him to wait. Because the only thing more pathetic than me showing up here would be Dallas rejecting me and then having to wait on the curb with Charlie for another half-hour for another Uber—which might even be the same guy. I can’t imagine there are many people who require an Uber on Christmas Eve. Not here.

Instead, I pull my big-girl panties on, and hope for the best. “Merry Christmas.”

Charlie beats me to the front door by a mile. He’s talked about this place for weeks. As I approach, I look up at the massive house with its extensive outdoor balconies lining the entire second floor, the gorgeous colonial architecture, the eight garages.

And the cars. My heart seizes for a second. There are plenty of extra cars in the driveway. An indication there are more people inside than just the few I was hoping for. I think aboutthose people. How inviting they were. How down to earth and hospitable for a bunch of billionaires.The people inside. My heart stutters at the thought that Dallas might not even be one of them. He’s almost twenty-nine years old. Would he even be living here? It’s been weeks. Maybe he’s gotten his own place.

I swallow. Or maybe… he’s back at the cabin, having decided this wasn’t what he wanted after all.

I scan all the cars in the driveway, noting his truck is not among them. Then again, there are eight garages. If he’s living here, he could be parked in one.

My mouth goes dry.

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