Page 212 of Finding Hope

I didn’t find my bracelet. I haven’t stopped looking. I’llneverstop. I went back to Steph the day after my almost Jack-fumble, but it was nowhere to be found.

I don’t know where it is, and now I’m desperate foranything. Even the red roses that Jack brought that time, the status symbol that I so loathed.They were so cold and fancy, when all I wanted was daisies and hotdogs and dancing.

I’d give anything for those roses now. But just likeus, like our relationship, they died and shriveled up.

Gone.

They can’t be revived, they can’t come back to me.

I made so many mistakes, took so many missteps. He was right there, right in front of me. He begged me to talk to him, to open up, but I was so hurt and stubborn, I bottled my shit up until it exploded.

Sitting back lazily, I rest my head against the seat and sing along toPinkon the radio.My eyes are only open halfway, but it’s enough. Uncharacteristically relaxed, I listen to the soft music and watch the sun lower on the horizon.

I can’t be with Jack, but I can see his estate.

That’ll do for now.

I’ve spent equal amounts of time the last few days both congratulating and hating myself for my superhuman willpower.

I walked away. I didn’t stay and listen to his conversation with Steph. I couldn’t do it. Anything I heard would just haunt me. I don’t need more bad memories or dreams.

I want Jack to talk tome.

I want him to come to me, and I want him towantto speak with me. But nothing.

It’s as if he doesn’t exist.

It’s as if my phone doesn’t exist.

At the sound of tires on gravel, I roll my head lazily the way I did so long ago on Kit and Bobby’s couch. But at the sight of a dark Mustang, my lazy heart speeds, booming in my chest.

He rolls toward my car, so fucking slow, it’s almost like he didn’t realize I’d be here, and now that he knows, he’s thinking of making a run for it.

A single tear rushes to the surface and spills over my cheek.

What’s worse than not seeing Jack at all?

Being rejected by Jack.

Hurriedly swiping my good arm across my eye, I sit up in my seat and fuss with my top in a nervous reaction I’ve never had around him before.

Laziness and relaxation forgotten, my stomach rolls and my heart pounds as he parks the Mustang and climbs out.

All six and half beautiful feet of him unfold from the low car, then his shoes crunch along the gravel toward me.

I think I might actually die from nerves.

He stops only a foot away from my door, then squatting low like I’m a little kid, he taps the glass that separates us.

Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

Please don’t call me a whore again.

Taking a deep breath, I hit the button on my door and listen to the mechanical whirring of the window lowering.

I can’t look into his eyes.

I just can’t do it.

---