Page 77 of Count On Me

I blow a breath out and try to slow the rapid beating in my chest, Jax-son, Jax-son, Jax-son it thuds out to me. I don’t think, I just let my fingers type on the screen.

Me

I miss you too.

I breathe out a huge sigh of relief and wait for his next message to come through. Please ask to come and see me, I beg in my mind, but instead I get:

Jaxson

Good. Have a lovely day, Eddie.

That’s it? I wanted more. So much more. But apparently it’s not time for more yet. Story of our lives.

Before I can question everything too much, Angie bursts into the door.

“Start packing, girl. We’re going home,” she squeals, and I stare at her, dumbfounded by the rapid changes that have taken place in the last ten minutes. “Did you hear me? I said we can go home. The press has moved on to some A-lister caught bonking their co-stars. Yep, you heard that right, co-stars PLURAL.” She wiggles her eyebrows and smirks, but I just stare at her.

“Come on. You’ve been moaning for the past two weeks about going home, and now we can finally get our arses back to normal and you’re sitting there staring at me like I’m speaking an alien language. ‘WE CAN GO HOME!’”

I flinch when she hollers at me, but then reality hits. I jump up and run to her, wrapping my arms around her and squealing in delight. As much as this hotel is the life of luxury, I miss my bed. My pillow. My teapot and mug. All things I didn’t want brought here because I wanted them to be clear from memories of this hotel room and the reason we were forced to be here.

In a way, I’ve felt like a prisoner for the past two weeks. Anywhere I’ve gone I’ve had my warden, Bruce, following me. I haven’t been to work—I needed the time away to heal both physically and emotionally—but I’ve been reading endlessly so at least my blog is up to date. And my TikTok followers have increased. They’re nowhere near five million like some people, but they’re a pretty decent number.

But now I feel ready. I feel like it’s time for me to head back into the big bad world and get back to doing what I enjoy. Designing, reading, writing. And Jaxson.

That little text exchange earlier made me realise just how much I’ve missed him. I can’t wait to see him, but I need more than a few texts from him now. I just hope he realises that without me telling him, or we’ll be stuck in this love limbo forever.

We walk through the doors to our flat and I beam from ear to ear. Bruce still trails behind me and, although he’s a big old brute of a man, I hardly notice him anymore. His years of experience working in the military seem to have paid off and he’s the master of making himself invisible when he wants to be. A little fact I learnt about him on one of our many chats into the early hours.

It’s funny how deceiving looks can be. I assumed he was a thug because of his tattoos and the sheer size of him, but he’s the sweetest man. I should know better about judging someone for their looks. I’ve been judged for my weight most of my life, but I still did it.

A quick glance at him brings a smile to my lips as he lugs our two suitcases into the flat for us. I lift to my tiptoes and place a kiss on his cheek and tell him thanks. A grin takes over my face when his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.

“You’re welcome,” he grumbles back and tips his head as he leaves us to get reacquainted to our home.

“Why does it smell like bleach?” I scrunch my nose up as the smell attacks me whilst Angie grins back.

“Because I swung by yesterday to spruce the place up a little. I didn't manage to get to the bedrooms though, so why don’t you go and check yours now and see if it’s all musty.”

“I will once I’ve made a cuppa. Want one?”

She brushes past me and into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact and acting odder than usual. Even her voice sounds higher pitched than normal when she tells me, “I’ll make you a cup of tea whilst you put your suitcase away. It’s making my hallway look untidy. Go on, scoot.” She grabs my shoulders andmanhandles me out of the kitchen and toward my bedroom door.

“Hang on, I need to get my case.”

She groans in frustration, lets go of my shoulders, and stomps over to the cases. Wheeling mine back to me, she grabs my shoulders again and pushes me.

“You’re acting like a weirdo, Angie. What's going on?” But I don’t need an answer as I open my door. What I find in front of me tells me everything.

A beautiful black dress with a lace, corset-style bodice and tulle sleeves that come off the shoulder lays across my bed, surrounded by my red shoes, a mask, a note and a photo. I turn to look at Angie, who’s smiling and making lots of eye contact now, then turn back to face my bed. I take a tentative step toward it and run my fingers over the fabric of the dress. Happy tears spring to my eyes as I pick up the photo. I don’t even remember it being taken.

“Jaxson does. He told me it was the first time he’d told anyone he was going to be arealfootballer rather than an American footballer. Your second trip to Syracuse.”

Angie’s words startle me. I didn’t even realise I’d said any of that aloud. I let the tears roll down my cheeks and nod my head. “I remember that only vaguely. I can’t believe he remembered.”

“Why wouldn’t he? He loves you, Edie.”

Her simple statement sends more tears streaming down my cheeks and I bite my bottom lip to try to stem the flow of salty droplets falling from my eyes.

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