Page 100 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

RACHEL

The light drizzle that’s steadily fallen all day has become a deluge. Yet, even through the driving rain, I can still see the front door of Flynn’s house open.

My breath catches in my chest.

I should move away from the window. If he caught me standing here, staring at his house like a stalker, I’d feel like an idiot. Even more so than I already do over all of this.

Only the figure who emerges isn’t Flynn. Even through the rain, I recognize Cade before he darts across the street toward his house. I should’ve known he would go over as soon as Alicia went home, and it probably means Flynn hasn’t seen my message yet.

He might never see it.

What if he never logs back on to the HRD4U site?

I bite my nail and continue to watch Flynn’s house like a lovesick puppy, waiting for its owner to return home, only what I’m waiting for is a sign.

Sending a message was probably the coward’s way out rather than crossing the lawn, climbing over the low hedge, and talking to him in person, but I couldn’t face him. Not when I still don’t know how I feel about the whole situation. Not when my heart is being pulled in two directions—one toward hurt and resentment that he kept so much from me; the other toward the only man I can say I’ve ever really loved, regardless of what’s happened the last few weeks.

I had to tell him how much I hate the situation, how much I hate any tension between us, even if I am still hurt and angry.

We’re in the unknown now. We’ve never had a fight of this magnitude. When we had our little disagreement the other week, I knew it wouldn’t last long. I knew Flynn would come to his senses, eventually. But our entire relationship changed so fast, and now, I’m not sure about how any of this plays out.

I thought I felt alone before. Losing Mom and then Dad left me lost and out of sorts, but what I was feeling then is nothing compared to now, staring at his house, willing him to open that front door, step out into the rain, and meet me at that damn hedge.

But wishing something to come true doesn’t make it happen. That’s another falsehood created by the fairy tales we grew up with. The ones like I read to the kids that promise happily ever afters and nothing but hearts and flowers even if you come from two different worlds.

The blinds on his living room window facing my house shift and part.

My heart stalls, and I hold my breath.

He stands there, staring back at me, nothing more than thirty yards separating us, yet it feels like an entire ocean filled with deadly waves threatening to drag me under to fierce predators waiting to strike. And even worse, I can’t fucking swim. I’m drowning. There’s no way to keep my head above the water.

I’m going down.

Fast.

My tears, combined with the torrent outside, warp Flynn until I can’t even see him anymore. I swipe them away and lean closer to the glass. He hasn’t moved.

Several long minutes pass.

It could be hours.

I don’t have any sense of time anymore while we stare at each other. Then finally, his hand drops, and the blinds close.

There’s no point in my standing here, hoping he’s going to return. I let the blinds close and wander back to the bedroom to my computer where the message I sent HRD4U still sits open on the screen.

INEEDSOMED

I hate fighting with you.

So damn lame. Lame. Lame. Lame.

But it’s all I could think to say without getting into the reasons why we are fighting in the first place. The reasons that seem so stupid now.

I was the one who pushed Bash and Jameson so hard to forgive Dad and to make peace with him before he died. Forgiving that man for what he did to us, for what he did to Mom, so he wouldn’t have to die alone was far easier than I even thought it could be. Because I saw the end coming. He was going to die. And what would my hostility and anger do for me then? Nothing.

This thing with Flynn has no end in sight, no logical conclusion. I don’t know how this is supposed to end or what I need to do to work toward it. We didn’t make any decisions. He just walked away.

The stupid message was an olive branch of sorts, I guess. My super lame attempt at telling him I still care and hate where we are. But I don’t even know if he read it.

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