Page 29 of Room 1212

His scoff grated on my last nerve. “If I wanted reality, I would look out the fucking window,” he snapped. “People read to escape! This isn’t an escape, Jordan, this is…” When he couldn’t come up with an adjective, he made a sound like he was gagging.

“Did you just pretend to barf at my book?” I seethed.

“You’re lucky I didn’t barf for real,” he retorted. “It’s a good thing you’re one of my favorite clients.”

“This is how you treat your favorite clients? I’d hate to see what everyone else puts up with.”

I swore I could hear him gritting his teeth over the line. I knew the exact face he was making, the way his mouth puckered, his eyes flashing as he stopped himself from saying what he was really thinking. Finally, he took a long breath. “It’s okay, it’s fine. We still have time to fix this. I’ll talk to the publisher and convince them to hold off for a little while longer, and then you can rewrite—”

“No.”

A pause, then he whispered, “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” I repeated, then gave him a dose of his own medicine as I said, “I. Will. Not. Rewrite. My. Book.” While a part of me wondered if I was being a diva, the louder part of me said I was tired of being stepped on, walked all over, told how to write my own damn books. This was my art, and I would write however I damn well pleased.

Just because I’d been too meek to speak up sooner, that didn’t mean it was too late to do it now.

I tapped into my rage and used it to fuel my determination. Even though he couldn’t see me through the phone, I tilted my chin up, proud of everything I had achieved. Me. I did this. “Like you said, Sean, I’m Jordan Kepler. And if you don’t want my book, I’ll find someone else who will.”

And before he could finish a spluttered reply, I hung up the phone.

Holding my breath, I waited for reality to hit. Did I just fire my agent? I felt… free, lighter than I had in years.

Most authors would kill their competition to sign with an agent, and they’d killthemselvesif it meant getting someone as well-connected as Sean.

And I just threw it all away.

Because he didn’t like my book.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” I said out loud, before promptly falling apart.

Aftercryinginmyliving room for an hour, I moved to the shower and cried some more. Then I decided I needed a change of scenery, so I cried in the car while I drove around for a while. I never intended to show up at Golden Years. I mean, I could barely see through the tears as it was, so it couldn’t have been a conscious decision. And yet, here I was.

My heart called out for Drew.

Through all my grief and anxiety, the only thing I wanted was Drew. Nothing else would make me feel better. I wanted to feel his arms around me, find comfort in his presence. I wanted him to tell me everything would be okay because I trusted that he would tell me the truth. Being with him helped me put everything into perspective.

But as much as I wanted him for myself, I knew it wouldn’t be fair to him. He wanted more from me than I was willing to give. He told me it was fine, that I didn’t need to worry about that, but I did. I would always worry about him. He was important to me. His feelings mattered.

And I couldn’t just show up like this whenever I needed a hug.

I used my sleeve to dry my tears, then put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. I was just about to drive away when I saw someone walk out the front door.

“Shit,” I gasped.

It was Drew. He must’ve seen me from the window. He waved his arm and jogged out into the parking lot, making it impossible for me to drive away.

I jerked the gearshift into park and rolled my window down. “Hey,” I began as he stepped up to my window. “Sorry, this was a mistake, I shouldn’t be here.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, leaning into the window and hooking a finger under my chin to angle my face toward him. “You’ve been crying. What happened?”

I couldn’t say anything. I knew if I tried to form the words that I would break down all over again, but the pressure was building up inside me. First my lip quivered, then my vision blurred. There was no stopping it. I let out an ugly hiccupping sob, my face crumpling.

“Hey, hey, come here,” Drew said, reaching through the window to unlock the door.

He opened the door and leaned in to unbuckle my seatbelt, then I let him pull me out of the car and straight into his arms. I clung to him, tears streaming down my cheeks. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he whispered in my ear in that deep rumble I loved so much. He rubbed circles over my back, just holding me while I got it all out of my system.

After a whole morning of sobbing my heart out, I was finally all cried out. Maybe it was Drew’s steady patience or maybe I was just dehydrated. Either way, I felt my heartrate slowing, my heaving breath evening out. For the first time today, I was able to think clearly.

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