I called my dad next, and he agreed to pay for the remaining credits I need to graduate. Then I scheduled a call for Monday with an advisor at NYU.
Finally, after dinner, I pack.
I’ve got an early morning, so at nine o’clock, I start to shut down. I send a quick text to Willow letting her know I’m good for tonight and to stop setting her alarm in the middle of the night just to check on me. After tomorrow, the two-hour time difference will never be an issue for us again.
I linger by the front door for a moment, turning the latch on one lock.
Goodenough.It’sgoodenough.
I lock one more, shut off the light, and go to bed.
Friday morning, I step back into the house just after eight. I wash the white paint off my hands and change out of my stained clothes.
Painting the cart back to white was painful, but no onearound here needs a reminder of the wild Rose and “the bullet the bossman dodged.”
OK, so maybe no one would say that last part, but the more I convince myself I’m not wanted here .?.?. the easier it will be to leave.
Fortunately, I was able to find a cheap last-minute flight to New York. Unfortunately, I can only afford to check one bag. So whatever is left of my supplies has to stay.
There’s a knock on my door as I spot-check the rooms. “Almost ready,” I call out, then grab my suitcase and open the door.
I frown. “Wesley.”
His eyes drop to my bag. “Where are you going? Your flight is tomorrow.”
I start to close the door on him.
“Wait.” He pushes against it and I don’t fight him. “Can we talk?”
I step back and start moving about the floor, looking for any contents I may have left behind.
He watches me for a moment. “Rose, slow down. Can we sit or something?”
“I don’t have time to sit or talk. But you’re free to.”
He rubs his forehead. “I guess it’s over with you and Wilder?”
“Yes. Is that all?” I peel my eyes off the trashcan near the kitchen, that manilla folder still peeking out.
Definitely not takingthose.
“No. That’s not all. Wilder says there’s something you need to tell me?”
I release a breath then shake my head.
“Come on, Rose. You can tell me anything.” He steps closer but a little awkwardly. There’s tenderness in his voice but I’m too hurt and angry to accept it.
I pause and lock eyes with him, “No. I really can’t.”
He blinks but doesn’t back down. After a beat, he chances another step closer. “I promise you, you can.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You know everything Wilder said about you is true. You’re smart, talented, maybe a little too open-minded sometimes, but that’s better than not at all, I suppose.”
I glare at him impatiently.
His shoulders sag. “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I messed up and I know it. I thought I was protecting you but all I did was hurt you. And I know I violated your privacy and I’m so sorry for that. It’s just that, Rose .?.?. Iknowhalf-truths when I hear them. And that’s all you ever give me.Something’sbeen going on with you and I hate not knowing what it is.” His eyes glisten as he glances at my packed bag. “Rose, please don’t go yet. I was blindsided and angry, I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. And I certainly shouldn’t have shown those photos to him. It was private, it was yours, and I was out of line.”
I stand still, my heart heavy because this changes nothing. This is guilt. A last-minute apology so I don’t hate him when I leave.
And this isn’t the therapist in me. This is the scorned sister in me.
