Page 63 of P.S. I Miss You

“What’s up?” I sign to him when I get to the living room.

He glances up from the new phone I got him—Dad apparently had his old one shut off. That or he failed to pay the bill. But it’s okay. This one is newer and better, with tracking and locating features, and all the kinds of things parental figures need in this day and age.

It’s so weird thinking of myself as a parent to my brother, despite the fact that I sort of have been his whole life. I still remember changing his diapers. Teaching him ASL. I remember him climbing into bed with me in the middle of the night when he’d have nightmares. I remember the tears streaming down his face when I moved out at eighteen and he was too young to understand why it had to be that way.

I never got over that guilt. And it only fueled my anger toward my mother. He wasn’t even my kid and walking away from him almost fucking killed me.

But now I get a chance to make it up to him. He’s young still. The rest of his life doesn’t have to be as shit-tastic as his first fourteen years have been, and I’m going to make damn sure of that.

“Not much,” he signs before returning to his game.

I sink into one of the leather chairs, releasing a breath, running my hand through my hair and staring ahead at a black TV screen.

The house is too quiet.

What I wouldn’t give to hear the sound of one of those obnoxious reality shows she was always watching.

I lose myself in thought for a while, unsure of how much time has passed by the time my brother sits his phone aside.

“You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?” he signs, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Random,” I sign. “And yes. Someday. If I’m lucky.”

I CHECK THE TIME on the hotel clock on the nightstand, the red neon numbers glowing 9:45pm. It’s not quite eight o’clock back in LA, and Sutter knew I’d be Face Timing him around this time, so the fact that he isn’t answering is cause for concern.

I’ve been filming in the Bayou for three weeks now, which means it’s been three weeks since I kissed him goodbye, three weeks since I felt the heat of his mouth and the flutter in my chest when he looked at me.

Seeing him on a five-inch phone screen isn’t the same.

My thumb hovers over the green button. I don’t want to keep calling. Our relationship is still so new and I don’t want to come across as some psychotic girlfriend who blows up his phone because she thinks she should be his number one priority.

He has his brother to look after. I wouldn’t dare demand sweet Tucker slides into second place for my sake. Never in a million years.

I sit my phone down and shuffle to the hotel bathroom, washing my makeup-caked face and brushing up for bed. The days are a little slower out here, but the five AM call time comes early.

When I’m done, I crawl into bed beside Murphy, situating us between the cool hotel sheets, and then I check my phone, hoping for a moment that I maybe missed a call …

But nothing.

Reaching across the nightstand, I click the button on the side of the lamp and the room goes dark.

It isn’t until my eyes are closed and I’m halfway to dreamland when I hear a knock at my door. I roll to my side. No one would have a reason—or at least a good reason—to bother me this time of night. We’re all exhausted, we’re all supposed to be resting up for the big scene tomorrow.

Sliding my hand under the pillow, I squeeze my eyes tight. Whoever’s at the door must have the wrong room number. They’ll figure it out and leave in a minute.

But the errant visitor knocks again.

And again.

The AC unit kicks on, filling the room with something that can only be described as a hybrid buzz and hum noise, the second-best sound to fall asleep to (second only to the thunderstorm app on my phone).

Exhaling, I fling the covers off, I make my way to the door, rising on my toes to glance through the peephole. The tiny blast of light stings my vision at first, and I step back to rub my eyes. When I take another look, I almost swear I’m dreaming.

This can’t be real.

“Sutter?” I say his name as I fumble with the deadbolt and chain lock in the dark. I yank the door open a second later and jump into his arms, nearly toppling him over.

He catches me, greeting me with a dimpled grin and my favorite sparkling hazel eyes.

The hotel room door slams behind us.

Shit.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, cupping his handsome face in my hand, almost as if to make sure he’s real. “This is insane. I thought you had court this morning?”

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