Three days later and I hadn’t left the house.
Three days later and she still hadn’t called me back. Her voicemail was now full with thirty messages from me, begging her to call me back. That wasn’t even taking into account the numerous texts I had sent. I was turning into a stalker.
I went from the bed to the sofa and back to the bed. I looked like shit; I was in desperate need of a shave, and my eyes were glazed over from lack of sleep.
At least the reporters were starting to lose interest. I’d had calls from several major talk shows interested in my story, which I declined, and about ten magazines that wanted exclusive rights, which I also refused. The group who’d initially camped outside the apartment complex had seemingly given up too.
My story wasn’t for sale, not for any amount of money.
Friday afternoon, at 1:11p.m., there was a knock on my door. I knew this because for the whole hour beforehand, I’d been staring at the blank screen on my phone. I pulled myself off the sofa, which had begun to conform to the shape my body from being on it for so long. Shuffling to the door, I opened it, expecting Nic or Jake. Nobody else had the code to get past the foyer.
Except Mia.
My mouth dropped open and I shut it quickly, remembering how long it had been since I brushed my teeth.
“I did not expect to see you,” I mumbled.
“Can I come in?” she asked. She was guarded, her body tense.
I moved aside, holding the door open for her. “Come in.”
She followed me through to the living room, which was a mess—but then, so was the rest of the apartment.
“Uh, do you want a drink?”
She shook her head, sitting down in the armchair. “You said you wanted to talk.”
“So you got my forty messages?” I asked wryly.
She smiled slightly. “It was a bit hard to ignore them all. Believe me, I tried.” She dropped her head to her hands. “Really, Coop? An escort?” she cried out, her voice laced with anger.
I sat down on the sofa, my arms resting on my knees, staring at the floor. “I wanted to tell you. I should have told you.”
“You’re damn right you should have,” she retorted angrily. “God, I feel like such an idiot, falling in love with an escort.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s like something out of a freaking sitcom. My life is a joke.”
I raised my head, her words hitting me.
She loved me? She had fallen in love with me?
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t trust myself to string words together just then without confessing my love for her too.
She glanced at me.
“Do you want to know the worst thing? If you said to me right now that you’d give all that up, I’d forgive you in a heartbeat.” She laughed incredulously. “What the hell does that say about me?”
“Mia . . . “ My voice trailed off as I realized there was nothing I could say here. “Fuck, Mia, I can’t.”
She nodded, standing up. “Nic told me about your mom. For whatever it’s worth, I understand. The fact that you would do anything for your family is one of the reasons I was falling in love with you.” She paused, a sad smile on her lips. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Saturday morning, I went to see Mom again.
As soon as Mia had left the day before, I’d pulled myself together. I’d shaved, showered, cleaned the apartment—fuck, I’d even washed the dishes. I had to admit I felt better not living like a slob in a slum.
Reporters were still calling my number, and it was so bad that I’d invested in a second SIM card, sending it only to the people who I actually cared to hear from.
I walked up to the office to sign in, as per usual. Lucy greeted me, a big smile on her face. “Liam!” She smiled. “I was going to call you, actually.”