Page 8 of All Tied Up
“Be smart,” Fender added.
Be smart? They could all go to hell.
Four
Noa
Three Days Since Ransom Left …
Folding another piece of clothing into my packing cube, I glanced over at my phone anxiously. I had the ringer on and the volume as high as it would go, so I knew I hadn’t missed a call or text, but still … it had been three days. And nothing. Not one text. Not one call. Not even a response to the three texts I had sent him.
The last text I’d sent was yesterday.
Me: Did you know only male turkeys gobble?
Not only did he not respond, but he also didn’t bother to read it. I had stopped after that one. There was a measure of pridethat wasn’t allowing me to send another. Either he’d turned the Send Read Receipt off in his Settings or he was ignoring my texts altogether.
Sure, we’d gone a week without texting in the past, but he never ignored my text. And that was before … things changed with us. Before we had something more than a back-and-forth on our phones. I had thought this week, he’d send me something. Maybe even a,What are your Thanksgiving Day plans?I didn’t know … anything.
My mother’s death wouldn’t affect my holiday. I’d not spent this week with her since I had gone to college. I always went to Jellie’s family gatherings. Although this year, I wasn’t looking forward to it. She’d see right through me.
Staring at my phone, I realized this was the loudest silence in the world. Every second that ticked by reminded me that he had walked out in the middle of the night, not even kissed me goodbye, and there had been no contact since.
Had he gotten what he wanted and was done? I felt sick at that thought.
Was I that naive? Had I truly read his intentions wrong? Or had he simply woken up the other night, looked at me, and decided he was already bored with me? That was the one thing that seemed to taunt me the most. He had warned me for years that men liked variety and grew bored with one cunt. His words, not mine. Why had I believed mine was any different than the last female he’d been with?
Because I wanted him to want me the way I did him. I wanted him to feel a fraction of what I felt for him. God, how stupid was I? Why couldn’t I feel this with a man who wanted one woman?
The house, two kids, a dog, and big back porch overlooking a lush backyard weren’t things Ransom Carver wanted in life. That was my ideal. My dream. The life I’d not had, growing up. The love and security of a home that I’d longed for as a child still heldpower over me.
Going and falling in love with a man who would never—
Wait.
I’d just saidlove.
The shirt in my hand fell from my fingertips, and I stared at the wall. The ache in my chest that had settled with the silence of Ransom cracked a little more. I sucked in a breath as tears stung my eyes.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
I shook my head. “No. No, I can’t love him. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want a house, kids, a big back porch. He’s also dangerous. He has guns.”
Turning, I sank down on the bed beside my open suitcase. Saying the words, pointing out the reasons why I couldn’t love him, wasn’t helping at all. It didn’t change anything. The agony expanding and slithering through every fiber of my body was more powerful than any other heartbreak I’d experienced.
“So, this is it,” I said to no one.
I’d never felt this. Which meant, until Ransom, I had never been in love. What I’d felt for Arden didn’t even scratch the surface of this. He’d been a disappointment, but my chest, my heart, it never suffered.
I placed a hand over the tortured organ and tried to take a deep breath. I had gone and fallen in love with a man who would never feel the same. It put a dark cloud over everything. Zapped my joy completely. Even in the little things, like Thanksgiving at the Wattses’ house in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The thought of waking up to a waffle bar, then watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in my pajamas with Jellie on the sofa while her father made comments about the performers from his recliner didn’t even lighten my mood. It would often snow that weekend—sometimes the first snow of the season. It always felt magical. Melinda would have Jellie play “Jingle Bells” on thepiano and have us all sing along. I’d learned from her that it had originally been written as a Thanksgiving song, but over time, it became a Christmas one. Even Jellie’s older brothers, Finton and Birch, would sing along. I normally looked forward to that day all month. I’d barely thought of it this month. All my brain had room for was Ransom, it seemed.
He would eventually text me back. I was almost a hundred percent sure of it. But he was making sure I understood that our having sex hadn’t changed the way he felt about me. I wasn’t going to become someone he needed to talk to daily. His work was first, and when he had time, he’d get back to me. Maybe he was reinforcing that by leaving my text unread. It was a shitty thing to do. He could have at least responded with a,Made it back. Busy with work. Which the week before Thanksgiving week was normally their slammed one. In the past, they’d always closed the offices for Thanksgiving week. Still, he could be tied up with holiday preparations. Maybe.
The sound of my phone ringing had me jumping up and rushing to grab it. Jellie’s name lit the screen. Feeling guilty from the crash of disappointment, I took a moment to take a deep breath. She’d pick up on something being wrong if I wasn’t careful. Then she’d start throwing more setups at me. More men I didn’t want to meet. Knowing her, I’d bet she’d have someone show up for Thanksgiving dinner.
“Good morning,” I said as cheerfully as I could. My acting skills weren’t the best, but it sounded believable.
“Don’tgood morningme!” she said into the phone excitedly. “Muscular, shirtless, and tattooed, wearing nothing but a towel, and I KNEW NOTHING about this! Spill. Right now!”
