She studied me for a few moments, obviously weighing the truth of my words. Finally, she said, “Okay. I’ll only be gone a few hours. You’re free to steal any clothes you want to. Shoes, too—we’re the same size. But you’repositiveyou’ll be good?”
“Lesley, go. You’ll make me feel worse if you’re late for your appointment. Go.” I started nudging her toward the door.
“All right.” She grabbed her stuff and headed toward the door. “Do what I said. Get some fresh air or something, and have a good long think about what andwhoyou want in your future. Got it?”
“Got it, boss lady.”
“Smartass,” she said with a grin, then closed the door behind her.
I forced myself to eat. My appetite had vanished, but if I didn’t eat something, I’d end up with an awful headache. Worse than the one already thudding in my skull. The constant nausea had caused me to lose a few pounds the last week. Assuming Nate was right about the test, hopefully those symptoms would vanish when whatever was happening to me was over.
After eating, I did all the dishes—a small thank you to Lesley—and sat on her couch with a second cup of coffee that I doused with cream and sugar. My phone, discarded in the night when I arrived at Lesley’s, sat on the end table. She’d even plugged it in for me.
“I guess I should see what I missed,” I muttered to myself.
I’d missed alot. Twenty unread texts and thirteen missed calls. All from Rick’s number. Groaning inwardly, I opened the texts.
Rick:Cameron, talk to me. Please. I can explain.
Rick:Are you going to answer me???
Rick:I’m so sorry. I should have told you. Please text back.
Rick:Why aren’t you answering your phone? I tried calling. Are you hurt?
The messages became steadily more angry and aggressive.
Rick:Enough. Call me. NOW!!!
Rick:Dammit, Cam. I’m tired of this. I’ve said I’m sorry. Until you talk to me, I can’t apologize anymore. I checked all the hospitals and you weren’t there. At least you aren’t hurt. I’m calling your mom next. I don’t care how late it is.
Rick:Your mom said she hasn’t seen you. Where are you? I’m getting upset now.
Hewas getting upset? How dare he? He’s the one who lied to me for months. He didn’t even care about my mental well-being. The only concern he showed was for my bodily health. That was the least of my trouble. I’d rather break every bone in my body than go through what I did the night before.
There was one last text.
Mom:Your pendejo ex-boyfriend woke me up last night looking for you. Is this rich asshole not taking the hint?
I could leave Rick hanging, but Mom was different. I didn’t want her to be scared. I shot her a quick message to make sure she didn’t freak out.
Me:I spent the night at Lesley’s. Rick and I had a fight. We’re still broken up. See you guys later. Love you.
I didn’t even bother listening to the voicemails. Hearing Rick’s voice would only increase the rage bubbling through me.
My body was achy and tight, but in a good way. Like after a workout. It took a second for me to realize it was from the run the night before. Sprinting barefoot down the street for half a mile after discovering my boyfriend was a shifter had been the firstrealexercise I’d had since the night Lesley and I did yoga. The last hour before my life turned completely upside down.
With all the chaos and stress of the last week, a workout was exactly what I needed. The depression that threatened to overwhelm me screamed for me to lie down, take a nap, binge some TV. The driven side of my mind told me to get up and move. It would make me feel better.
Screw Nate’s warning, too. I’d stay out in the open, around other people. No garages or alleyways. Just me, the sun, and the pavement. I couldn’t outrun my problems, but I could clear my mind.
Rummaging around in Lesley’s closet, I found a pair of workout leggings, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. The shirt was a little big, but everything else fit fine. While tying the shoes, I decided against borrowing Lesley’s earbuds for music. I was tempting fate enough by going for a run; no reason to muffle one of my senses, too. I’d need to hear someone coming at me. Which, I assured myself, wasn’t going to happen.
I locked the apartment and walked to the elevator, slipping the spare key and my phone into the zippered pocket of the leggings. Once downstairs, I looked through the glass doors on a sunny Saturday morning outside. Nice.
With an excited surge of adrenaline, I pushed the doors open and promptly tripped over a pair of outstretched legs on the stoop.
“I got you,” a voice said, grabbing the back of my shirt and keeping me upright.
