Page 81 of The One I Hate
“Go to her,” Wes says. “Tell her everything you just told us.”
“Really?”
Oliver pats my leg. “Yes, really. You said once you got your answer, you could move on. Now you have your answer. Now you can move on, with each other. Or at least you can give it an honest try.”
I think about that for a second. I don’t know why that never occurred to me. I figured once I knew what happened, I’d want nothing to do with her. That anything I felt would be washed away.
I was wrong. So wrong.
“You like her, that much is clear,” Shane says.
“How do you know?”
“I knew that day when Mona introduced her to the town. Because Simon Banks doesn’t stare. He doesn’t step out of the spotlight for a person. Not unless he cares for them.”
Damn, he’s right…
“You wondered what happened all those years ago. Don’t spend the next fifteen wondering what could have been.”
Chapter 19
Charlie
“Charlie? Sweetie? You okay?”
I slowly blink open my eyes to see Mellie staring down at me, brushing my hair off my forehead.
“Mellie? What are you doing here? Why are you in my apartment?”
“Well, you asked me to the diner today so we could start organizing the kitchen, but the doors were locked and you weren’t answering your phone. Luckily, the property manager happened to be here and let me in. He’s a really nice guy. Cute, too. And when he called me ‘darlin’’ I about lost it. Do you think?—”
I don’t hear another word as a wave of nausea overtakes me. I throw the covers off me, possibly slapping Mellie in the process, race down the hall, barely making it to my bathroom.
And then, I throw up.
I throw up so much.
This is the worst. The actual worst.
I’ve been sick at least once a day for weeks now. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve thrown up. And no matter what I do, eat, or take, it isn’t going away.
“Girl, did you get drunk last night without me?” Mellie asks as I rest my head on my arm, which is currently draped across the toilet—also known as my new best friend.
“I wish. At least this would have a reason,” I say. “I haven’t drank in months. Too much going on.”
I hear the sound of water running before feeling a cool compress on the back of my neck. “Did you eat something weird?”
“No. Hell, I can barely eat anything these days.”
“Wait. How long have you been sick?”
I sit up, keeping the wash cloth on my neck. “I don’t know? Few weeks?”
“And haven’t you told me you’ve been overly tired?”
“Yeah, but that’s because of the long hours and the double duty. And the manual labor is more than what I’m used to.”
“And you haven’t seen a doctor?”
