Page 132 of Right Number, Wrong Man
The receptionist leans over me, panic deepening her wrinkles. She says something, but I don’t listen. I don’t care. My eyes close and I surrender to the cold exhaustion settling in my bones.
I hope the ambulance gets here too late so I can bleed out in peace.
What’s the point of being alive if Hailey hates me again?
50
HAILEY
The morning after the wedding,I drive home at first light. It feels like I’m floating through dense fog.
Like last night didn’t happen.
Like I didn’t get my heart broken.
Like Andrea didn’t stop me in the lobby, sobered up by the blood on my nightdress. She should’ve been mad at me for ruining her party, but of course, she understood when I blurted out what happened. Of course, she hugged me and told me to get some rest.
But I couldn’t sleep a wink in the cozy hotel bed. It felt too empty without Colt and every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was him bleeding out on a stretcher.
Not to say he didn’t deserve to get shot. He did.
It’s payback for the pain he put me through, because even though I didn’t take a bullet, my chest hurts like I did. Like he cut me open and ripped something from me, leaving me hollow.
Andrea texts me from the airport, but I tell her that I need some space and wish her a nice honeymoon.I hole up in my apartment with the curtains drawn, eat ice cream, and watch all the Wraithface movies in a row.
My phone lights up with calls from Colt until I turn it off. He doesn’t leave voicemails and I wouldn’t have listened to them, anyway, but a tiny part of me is glad to know that stupid liar didn’t bite the dust.
I just have to wait things out until he leaves me alone forever. That’s what I want, right? It’s what I told him.
I should let him disappear.
No more lies. No more fights.
But my chest tightens every time I think about Colt packing his stuff and I hate myself a little more for it. I hatehim, too. For making me believe in the once-in-a-lifetime love you see in the movies, just to take it from me again.
On the second day, my doorbell rings at noon.
I don’t open. I don’t even look through the peephole. Holding my breath, I stand by the door, listening as slow steps fade down the hallway.
When I peek outside, I find a bouquet of gorgeous pink peonies on my doormat. I snatch it up and rush back into the apartment.
There’s a white card in the middle and I recognize Colt’s handwriting from labeling on the film rolls. My brows draw together. Did the stubborn bastard discharge himself from hospital to buy flowers and deliver them to me?
My pulse stutters as I read the card.
One flower for each year I’ve loved you in secret. I wanted one for each day, but that came out to exactly 5512 peonies and the florist said they wouldn’t fit through the hallway.
I’m so sorry for everything. For the lies. For being a coward. For letting Mike have you. For the pain I caused.
But I’ll never be sorry for loving you.
I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know that everything I did—even my mistakes—was born of my affection for you.
I miss you. Gracie misses you, too.
There’s a tiny paw print next to his signature, and I don’t want to smile, but I do. Tears run down my cheeks as I put the flowers into a vase and center them on the kitchen table. I sit, turning the card over in my hands, staring at the pink petals until night falls.
On the third day, I distract myself by scrolling through movie news when I get an order confirmation email from a food delivery app. Green curry from my favorite Thai restaurant, an iced raspberry macchiato, muffins, and basic groceries. Meat, veggies, and snacks for at least a week.
