Page 105 of Bad For A Weekend

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

“And we’ll talk or text every day. Promise me.” His blue eyes narrow.

“I promise.”

“Okay. I better go before I lose the nerve.” He rubs his hands down his jean-covered thighs.

We both stand and hug for a long time. Bees swarm in my belly, anxious and nervous and excited, all at once.

“Love you, Dad.”

“You too, kid. Text me later.” He kisses the top of my head and all but runs out of my room, as though he’s feeling the same things.

I stare at the open door, unsure of what to do now. I’m a little lost in my new reality.

“Knock, knock.” A tall form appears in my doorway, his face covered by the boxes in his arms. “I was told these go in here.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Set them wherever.”

He piles them on my dresser. “There are a bunch more. Is it okay if I’m in and out for a bit?”

“Of course. Thank you.”

I walk over and open the box on top, thankful to have some direction. Inside are all the things I keep in my nightstand, so I take the box over to my bed and begin to unload its contents.

I place the journal I never write in, the miscellaneous chargers I always lose, and my Kindle that I never read inside the top drawer. Remembering Dad’s words, I also place one of the stun guns inside. Surprisingly, it does make me feel better to have it there.

I reach into the box, and my chest constricts painfully when my hand settles on a velvet case. Pulling it out, I open it and see the bracelet Owen gave me when we got off the plane from Tulum.

I wore it up until I was shot. The hospital took it off when I went in for surgery and delivered it back when I was discharged. It was caked in blood, and since Owen had said goodbye, I didn’t feel right putting it back on.

I should toss it, but I don’t. My finger gently rubs over the clasp. All it would take is pressing it for ten seconds and he’d be here. Or would he? Maybe it’s been deactivated or something. Intrusive thoughts tell me I should test it out, see what happens, while sane thoughts tell me to set it down.

I press and hold it down, counting the seconds before releasing it. Realizing what I’ve done, I toss it across the room as if that will help.

“Shit.” Panic floods me, and I freeze, waiting for my phone to ring or for Owen to come barreling through the door. Which is ridiculous because I don’t know where he is, but there’s no way he could get here that fast.

Why did I do that? I’m so stupid. Running my hands through my hair, I rush to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water.

For the next half hour, I beat myself up. But Owen doesn’t show, the cops don’t barge in, and everything goes on normally. The anxiety leaves, and disappointment and anger fill its place. I can’t believe he canceled our connection. What if there was an emergency, and this was my only tie to help? You’d think he’d have the decency to at least tell me he turned it off.

What an asshole.

I toss the bracelet back in its box and take it to the trash can. I’m furious but find myself holding it over the bin, unable to pry my own fingers open and drop it in.

“Just throw it away,” I say aloud. “Do it, Baylor. Clearly, he means more to you than you do to him, and you don’t need that in your life.”

Yet, my fingers stay glued to the velvet.

Maybe I’ll keep it. It’s sentimental, after all. Yes. I’ll keep it for sentimentality.

That’s all Owen is anyway. Just a memory.

Owen

The contractor stands over me, watching my every move as I hardwire the alarm to the electrical of a new build in West Hollywood.

“You want to come sit in my lap? You’d have a better view,” I mutter.

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