Chapter 21
Chapter 21
I don’t think I’ve ever fucked up this badly. Or, at least, felt this badly about something I’ve fucked up.
I stare down at my phone in my hands. When Nora had run out last night, I’d hesitated only a second before rushing after her. But she’d made it down to the lobby and was already hailing a cab by the time I managed to catch up to her.
I’d called her over and over again, but she didn’t pick up. I’d gone to bed feeling sick.
I’ve spent all day calling and texting her. I just need a chance to explain myself. To explain how much of an asshole I was for sending that text. Because, honestly, that’s the only excuse I have.
I shake my head, a fresh round of self-loathing washing over me. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I send that text to Callum all those weeks ago? What the hell was I thinking?
And why was I even thinking it in the first place? Obviously Nora is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and obviously I wanted to sleep with her. But why the hell did I have to act like such a prick and pretend that that’s the only thing about her that mattered? Because if I’m honest with myself, it was the only thing I cared about at the time. All I wanted was to get in her pants. And that’s what makes this so hard.
Nora wasn’t wrong about me.
It’s just that I’ve changed. The more time I spent with her, the more I realized that I cared about her. Liked her. Enjoyed her company. Even … more?
But does it even matter now? Will she give me the chance to apologize?
I decide to take the weekend to let her cool down. Give her the time and space she obviously wants.
When Monday rolls around, I practically storm the Elena Mercer Foundation in search of Nora. She isn’t there when I arrive, so I wait impatiently in my office, looking up every few seconds to see if she’s settled in at her desk across the hall.
But she never comes.
I send her another text, asking her—pleading her—to talk with me, but she doesn’t respond.
Tuesday is the same. I show up at work hoping to see her, and she never arrives.
Wednesday.
Thursday.
Friday, I ask the receptionist, Jenna, if she’s heard from Nora.
“She’s working from home this week, didn’t she tell you?” Jenna replies. “Says she has a cold or something.”
I send a few more futile texts to Nora, knowing she won’t respond. And as much as I want to drive over to her apartment, bang on the door, and demand that she listen to me, I stop myself.
It isn’t fair of me. Because, deep down, I know she’s in the right. Whether or not I’ve grown doesn’t change the fact that I started this relationship with bad intentions. And I need to respect what Nora wants.
And at least for now, what she wants is seemingly not to see me.
I head home to my empty apartment for the weekend, thinking of the nights Nora spent here. The left side of my bed feels cold and lonely. I’ve never felt that way after losing a girl. I was always ready to move on to the next.
But not now.
I make myself a strong drink, staring at my phone, hoping against hope that Nora will text me back.