Page 121 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

The hard part was forcing myself to leave after.

She looked like she wanted to die watching me walk out of her room. It took everything in me not to wrap my arms around her and hold her until she fell asleep. But I had to go, for my own sake. For my own fucking sanity.

I haven’t dwelled on her much since then. I think—Ithink—I’m finally getting over it. Over her.

My chest feels lighter than it has in months. I’m focused on the shit that matters. Work, back at it in the gym, the project. Me and Mama are all set to go to the White House. I actually heard real excitement in her voice when I invited her.

My doorbell rings again. I hit pause on the remote and jump up, ready to deal more sugar to children. I feel a twinge of loneliness, maybe even some regret, but I push it out of my mind.

Better to be alone than stuck with crazy.

I’m just sliding under the covers when my phone vibrates. I expect it to be the group chat again, but when I glance at the screen, my stomach drops.

I’m at the bridge

The fuck does that mean? Why would she be at the bridge? And at this time of night?

I stare at the message, willing it to make sense of itself for me. It’s been two weeks of complete silence, and now, out of nowhere, this.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. A dozen different responses form and dissolve in my head before I finally type back.

Why

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then, nothing.

I blow out a breath, gripping my phone tighter. My head is telling me to leave it alone. To not let myself get caught up in whatever game she’s playing.

But I already know that’s not gonna happen.

I throw some clothes on and rush out, having no idea what the hell I’m walking into.

I make the short drive in silence. There isn’t really any music that could properly accompany my growing sense of dread.

The bridge looms in the distance as I pull up to the site, its skeletal frame stretching across the water, bathed in the eerie glow of the streetlights. The river below is black, just barely reflecting the moon.

I pass her car on the way in. That shit is a fucking beater. I’ve seen it before, of course, but I didn’t notice how bad it looked. How the hell did I let her drive around in that?

My headlights sweep over the gravel lot as I pull in next to it.

I kill the engine and sit for a second, gripping the wheel, trying to talk myself out of this. But there’s no alternative. I can’t leave her out there alone like this.

I get out, closing my door quietly behind me. Wind rushes through the trees, cutting through my sweatshirt, making me wish I’d worn something thicker. It smells like damp earth out here, and the dying embers of a distant bonfire—somebody’s Halloween night celebration on its last legs.

I step onto the dirt path, making my way to the site. The incline is steep and uneven under my Jordans. I wish I’d worn my boots. I move slow, careful, my eyes locked on the figure at the top of the hill.

She’s right at the edge, her legs pulled up, her arms wrapped around them. Her hair is loose and blowing in her face, but she’s not moving. She stares straight ahead at the unfinished structure, laser focused.

I stop a few feet away and watch her. I don’t know how long I stand there, but she never looks over at me.

Finally, I clear my throat, closing the distance between us.

“What are you doing out here?”

She exhales slowly, still not looking at me. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Worried?” She smiles like she pities me. “You thought I’d do something stupid?”

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