Page 15 of Point of Contention
I felt judged.
Which was hilarious considering how harshly I’d been judging myself. I focused on this self-loathing and despair because it was easier than addressing the gaping hole in my chest, the shape of which was about six-feet, two-inches tall, with dark hair, devastatingly dark eyes, and a smirk that could melt the panties right off my body.
I’d picked up my phone a dozen times to call Cabot. I wanted to tell him I was wrong.
I’m sorry. Please don’t let me go.
Fight
For
Me
But every time, I talked myself out of making that call.
As much as I wanted him to show up here and demand I come home with him, I needed him to stay away.
Because loving Cabot Reed had been a whirlwind, a wonderful and exciting adventure.
And it had also completely derailed my life.
Stretching, I climbed off my bed and strode to the window, peeking out slowly in case someone stood on the curb, waiting for just this opportune moment to snap a picture of Cabot Reed’s dirty little secret. The press didn’t gather outside Professor Clements’ brownstone they way they’d converged on Reed Tower after the press conference from Hell, but they were there. Lurking in the shadows like rats.
If rats could carry cameras and knew exactly when to snap the shot that made me look my absolute worst.
Last night, for instance, when I dared step outside to collect my UberEATS delivery, they’d photographed me in my pajamas and a messy bun, then blasted the pictures all over the internet.
My finest moment thus far, for sure.
Celebrities, they can look like shit too!
Not that I was a celebrity, but you get the gist.
I’d learned the hard way that the paparazzi lurked in vans that dotted the street. They hid just a block or two away. Always waiting for the shot. Their presence was stifling, trapping me inside. Unable to leave even if I wanted to, I was forced to dwell in my heartache. Forced to look at my life, my recent decisions, with a fine-toothed comb.
Drawing the curtains closed again, I left my room in search of Professor Clements. I needed time to find my mom a suitable Option Two if he didn’t want her staying here with us. The only available place for her to sleep was the pull-out couch in his study, and for all I knew, he wouldn’t want anyone encroaching on his space. When I reached the main floor, I turned at the bottom of the stairs and found Greer in the study, bent over the pull-out bed as she pulled new sheets on the mattress.
Smiling, I asked, “You already asked him, didn’t you?”
Her eyes cut to me quickly but she continued her work, tucking the flat sheet into a corner. “You were scared.”
I shrugged. She wasn’t wrong. “He’s okay with it?”
“Of course he is; he loves you.”
My chest pinched. I knew my best friend’s grandfather cared for me, but he was a man of few words unless he was at the head of a classroom or behind the podium of a lecture hall. It wasn’t like he’d evertoldme he loved me. But, for that matter, I couldn’t recall ever hearing him tell Greer either.
I stepped to the opposite side of the bed and helped her finish making it into an acceptable sleeping space for my mom.
“You nervous?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“It’ll be fine, Ry. She’s your mom.”
“I know, I just…” I trailed off, trying to gather my thoughts. “Ilefther, you know? What if she hasn’t really forgiven me?”
Greer stood up and surveyed our work, then gave it a quick nod of approval and turned toward me with her hands on her hips. “She loves you. But even if she didn’t—which she does—you can’t beat yourself up for doing what was best for you.” She turned her back to me and scooped up a handful of fresh, folded bath towels, then placed them on the edge of the bed so they’d be ready for my mom. “You set boundaries, and boundaries are important.”
