Page 100 of It's Always Been You
“I’ll take you, baby. We can leave together.”
She shakes her head. “I really want to go with Emma, if that’s okay. I think I need to be with her for a while. Stay for a little longer; hang with the guys. Talk to Jordan’s brothers. They’re fun guys. Don’t worry about me.”
I smile a little. “I’ll always worry about you. I love you and that’s part of the deal. But whatever you need, Rory. I’ll see you at home.”
Molly doesn’t say anything, but she leans in, letting go of my hand and wrapping her arms around my waist. I hold her tightly,breathe her in, feel the slight shake of her body. The vibration of holding herself so tightly wound, for so many days. Eventually she’s going to break, and I make a silent promise to myself and to her that I’ll be there when she does.
When she pulls back, she looks at me for a long moment, then turns to meet Emma by the front door. I watch her leave, wondering why that felt like so much more than goodbye.
An hour later, I pull up to my house and I know immediately that something isn’t right. Every window is dark, and Molly’s car isn’t in its spot. Throwing my car in park, I’m inside the house before I even realize I’m moving.
The entry and living room are orderly and uncluttered, like they have been for the last four days, and I hate it so much my fingers itch to find some of Molly’s hair ties and scatter them on the furniture. To dump her nail polish on the coffee table next to an empty mug. To mix her things with mine again. Toss the evidence of her everywhere I can see it.
I jog up the stairs to look for Molly, but one glance into my bedroom confirms what I already know. She isn’t here. I consider that maybe she’s still with Emma, but Emma was dropping Molly off on the way home, which means she should be here. But she isn’t, so where the fuck is she?
I force the panic down, trying to think clearly. Molly wouldn’t just leave. I consider calling Emma to check if Molly is still with her, but I don’t want to worry her friends any more than they already are. The office would be the most logical place to look for her since that’s where she’s been spending the bulk of her time,but my instincts tell me that’s not where she went. She said she would come home. That she would meet me here. Or did she?
Think, Gabe.
I replay our conversation in my head. And no, that’s not what she said. She said Emma was going to drop her offat the house. Not at home. And when I saidI’ll see you at home, she said nothing.
Suddenly, and with absolute clarity, I know exactly where she is.
I grab my keys and take off at a run.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Molly
The smell of fresh paint assaults my senses as soon as I open the door to my house.
It’s sudden and startling and smells nothing like the home I’m used to.
I don’t even know what home means right now.
Every bone in my body aches as I climb the stairs. The last four days have been a hundred years. Today alone has felt like an eternity. Sitting through the funeral, watching Jordan fall apart over and over again, seeing his brothers and parents hold him up, sometimes literally. Trying to make conversation at the bar while my mind spun the night Allie died over and over again, the worst song ever stuck on repeat for all of time.
What if I hadn’t picked up my phone. What if I had told Harvey to fuck off. What if my office hadn’t been such a mess that I could have found what I was looking for and been on time to pick Allie up. I know intellectually it probably wouldn’t have mattered. Crazy men with guns kill people, and if it wasn’t that night, it would have been another, or he would have just killed someone else instead. But I can’t make my brain believe it because all it wants to think is that my friend is dead, and it’smy chaos that killed her. Everyone I know is grieving, and it’s because of me.
Every fear and insecurity I’ve harbored for my whole life is suddenly a blaring siren in my brain.Too much. Too loud. Too messy. Too extra. Too everything.
I’m afraid to tell anyone because I’m afraid they’ll tell me it’s true. I don’t think I could survive that. So, for the last four days, I’ve tried to make myself less of everything. When I’m less, my friends don’t die. When I’m less, assholes don’t steal clients from me. When I’m less, everyone will want to stay, and I’ll never have to be alone.
And yet here I am, all alone anyway, in a house I don’t even want anymore. A house that no longer feels like mine.
I came here tonight because every time I look into Gabe’s kind, understanding face, filled with love and concern for me, I come one inch closer to breaking. Every time he puts his hand on my cheek and tells me to lean on him, tears clog my throat, and all my insecurities come a little closer to spilling free. I know I’ll feel better if I let it out, but I’m afraid that once I start, I’ll never stop, and that kind of breakdown is the opposite of less.
I pause at the door to my bedroom, taking in the space. The holes in the ceiling have been repaired, and the entire room is clean and organized. The carpet and bedding are all new and it looks perfect. Like nothing ever happened.
But something did happen. So many somethings. I fell in love all over again and found all my lost pieces. I lost my friend, and now I feel like I lost myself.
Without even taking off my shoes or the stupid black dress I hate, I crawl onto the bed and hug my knees to my chest. I turn my face into pillows that don’t smell anything like pine and the sea. There are no strong arms that wrap around me, and no deeply settling voice telling me that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I’m exhausted, down to the very depths of my soul.
It settles over me like a weighted blanket, and my eyes refuse to stay open anymore. My body is heavy, pinned to the mattress by four sleepless nights and four days of trying to be someone other than who I am meant to be. Like I’ve been doing for days, I try and keep sleep at bay, afraid of what will come for me in the dark, but I know it’s a futile fight.
So, with nothing left to do and no one’s hand to hold tight, I finally let myself drift down into the black.
