CHAPTER 1
Nate stops talking. It’s like he’s overloaded and ready to blow. “I’m sorry, Kerry," he says, already heading out of the house. "I need some air.” He grabs a sweatshirt and tugs it over his head as he exits, slamming the front door behind him before I can reply.
Which leaves me standing in his home, alone. What kind of fucktard would swoop in and steal his house? Right after his father dies? I frown and consider doing something bad. Well, it’d be good for Nate, but a horrible invasion of his privacy. Since he’s walked out on me twice now, I’m in a bit of a pissy mood myself. So what the hell, right?
I wander into the kitchen where he had those papers. I know exactly what I’m going to do, assuming I can find them. The kitchen is just as we left it, with my little Victoria’s Secret bag still under the table. The streetlamp switches on outside the window, its light spilling over the floor and painting the grayish tiles a pukey puce.
Where did he put them? I walk by the counters, dragging my fingers along the tiled top. Nate isn’t a pack rat. There’s hardly anything out of place. No pile of papers, no car keys. There's no sign of the satchel I’ve seen him carry into work. It’s just lots of white tiles, a Keurig, and a microwave. Nate’s neat. That’s interesting. His paintings don’t seem to be created by someone who owns a label maker. I step into the hallway and study a canvas. Nate's art is wild, capturing a longing for freedom that inspires me to run down the street barefoot, arms spread wide, feeling the sun on my face, laughing while the wind tugs my hair. It’s a compelling piece. It evokes the same feelings that swirl inside my chest late at night when I’m lying in bed alone—a longing to be free, to let life take me wherever it wants.
That’s the catch 22. I did that. I spread my arms wide and, smiling like a dope, I leaned back, trusting life to find me and whisk me away to a cooler existence. Instead, I got dropped on my ass. Hard. Life’s a bitch. I’m starting to think that if you want something to go a certain way, well then, you better be ready to do whatever it takes to get what you want. Blowing around with the breeze left me naked and alone. It’s not a good place to be. It’s not the adventure I expected when I left home.
Things with Nate have been intense. From square one, the guy called me to him like a siren. I have a feeling—no, I'm damned certain—that hanging around Nate will burn me up. He’s too distant, too closed off. Not to mention he’s the forbidden, high-hanging fruit only crazy girls would jump for. Am I that girl? I don’t know anymore.
Once I’d thought I was a sweet girl—the girl next door—the one you could rely on. I was prudent and even-tempered. I was quick to smile and quick to forgive. I didn’t want to fight. Arguments were unpredictable. They could skitter out of control for weeks on end, minor battles becoming full-fledged, friendship decimating wars. Maybe I was a coward. I don’t know. I didn’t believe I had to fight so hard every day to have a life that didn’t suck. Apparently, blowing with the breeze is for pussies. I’m done letting the pieces fall where they may. I’m getting a bigass machete and whacking the pieces I want. If they don’t hit the mark, I’ll kick them into place.
It’s a little unnerving. I've changed over the past few weeks. My mind was a bag of cats, chaos and kitty litter flying all over the place. Now it’s sharp, focused, and pissed. I want to win every battle and crush every uprising. There is no war. Not anymore.
I suck in a deep breath and march my newly found backbone into Nate’s bedroom. This is his fault. He left a crazy chick in his house. Alone. What did he think I would do? Go home? Psh. I laugh to myself.
“Yeah, right.”
The old me would have moped away feeling rejected.
The new me won't take this shit and sure as hell won't watch Nate get sucker-punched by life again. Kerry is going to fix it. Wahoo! I’m talking about myself in the third person. I’m either insanely confident or about to do something really dumb. Maybe I'll do both.
I open his top dresser drawer and, stuffed on the side against the wood, is the letter. I pull the envelope from its hiding spot and draw the paper out, scanning it for the information I hoped would be printed there.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I smack the letter against my palm and say to myself, “Bingo. Kerry’s got this.”
CHAPTER 2
After using my phone to take a photo of the address and phone number, I grab my extravagant mall purchase and make a plan. I can’t meet with anyone important wearing sweats, but my other clothing option is even less appropriate than gym clothes. I have half a mind to wear the lingerie anyway—I really don’t want to return the thing—but I need clothes. Real ones.
Cash in hand, I'm heading through the mall toward an actual clothing store when I see Carter standing in the doorway of Best Buy. I saunter over with a grin on my face and say, “Hey. What are you doing?”
Carter startles and then looks over at me. “Trying to pick one of these fitness trackers. How about you?” He’s got a Fitbit in his hand, turning it over to look at the back and examine the band.
“Shopping," I motion to my outfit. "A girl needs more than sweats.”
Carter nods absentmindedly and tips the thing forward, causing the watch face to light up. “Clock.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I need to get one of those. I miss having a watch. I know I have a phone, but it’s not the same thing. I thought about getting a $5 Scooby Doo watch until I could afford one I want, but didn’t want to waste money, you know?”
He nods slowly, his eyes still glued to the Fitbit’s big glass face. “Yeah, I totally understand.”
“Well, I need to run. I have a few more stores to hit. I’ll see you later.”
Carter places his hand on my wrist as I turn away, stopping me. “Meet me in the food court in an hour.”