I sink back into bed, eyes closing even though I know it’s pointless. There won’t be any more sleep for me. Not until I’ve called up Harley and told her.
I sit up and stare into the mirror. Told her what, exactly? That I was an idiot to break up with her in the first place? That, screw the consequences, we should be together?
She’s probably already past that. I’ve let her down too many times already. Why the hell should she trust me again?
Halfway to reaching for my phone, I pause.
I’m not exactly in great shape to call her right now. This pounding headache isn’t showing any signs of going away anytime soon. Maybe popping a couple Advils and getting some work done in the office will put me in a better mood.
A few hours and Advils later, I’m at the office. The headache is gone, my mood is still shit. Not that I really expected it to be any different, with what happened last night. Clearly, the ball of tension in my upper back isn’t going to go away until I get it over with. Call her up. Tell her what I have to. Whatever that is.
But it’s break time, and part of me is still certain I’ll find the right words if I wait a bit longer.
So, I prowl the office, scrutinizing all the productive workers, the small cogs that make up Storm Inc. I eye the employees, the best of the best my dad narrowed down to work for him. I catch a glimpse of Landon, excited with the new project he’s working on.
I glare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I can’t figure it out. Whether I would really risk all this just to be with her. Whether it could still be the right thing to do even if it ruined her dream career and reputation too.
“Look at this.” Landon saunters into my office a few minutes later, waving several newspapers triumphantly. “What do you see?”
I peer at the headlines. “Economy’s not doing as well as expected?”
“No.” He eyes the heavens like I’ve just called a dog a cat, then gives the papers another shake. “No scandals about Storm Inc. or you. Even the Star has moved onto an alien sighting in Mississauga. You know what that means?”
“What?”
“We’re scot-free.”
“Scot-free,” I repeat numbly.
“Yeah, no big deal,” he quips. “It’s not like our entire company was in peril.”
“I… think I’m just beat.”
“Right.” Landon heads for the door, still grinning ear to ear. “Anyway, just thought I’d share the good news. Nolan is happy enough to go camping.”
“You say it like that’s a good thing.”
“To be fair, no one could’ve foreseen that leaving the marshmallows out would attract so many bears last time.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Landon gives me a final wave. “Keep at it, President.”
“Thanks,” I say.
And then I sit there. It occurs to me that I can’t put this off any longer. I have to talk to her. Even if I don’t have the slightest idea what I’ll say.
One call, three rings. No answer.
I call again. And again.
“C’mon,” I mutter, clenching the phone. “Not this again.”
But my next call goes unanswered, and so does the next.
“What the hell,” I snap to myself.
What the fucking hell does Harley think she’s playing at? She blindsides me last night, gives me no time to do anything other than be fucking shocked, then won’t answer my calls?
At the next call, I leave a message: “Hi Harley, it’s Greyson. I want to talk to you. Pick up.”
The next call is answered.
“Hello?” an unfamiliar voice says.
What in the hell?
“Is Harley there?”
Silence.
“Well?”
“She’s sleeping.”
I look at the clock. It’s 2:30 PM.
“No, she’s not. Put her on.”
“Yes, she is,” the phone woman snaps back. Probably the cousin who was such a bitch to me last time. “And you’re in no position to be making demands.”
“I’m the father of her child,” I snarl. “I have every right.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
For a second I’m sure the bitch is going to hang up the phone, but then she sighs. “She said you were a piece of work.”
“Oh?”
“Affectionately, though.” Another sigh. “I’m Hannah, Harley’s cousin.”
“Hello again.”
“Hello again. But I’m telling you, she doesn’t want to talk to you. I just picked up to ask you to stop calling.”
“How do you know she doesn’t want to talk to me if she’s asleep?”
“Because she seriously considered putting her phone in a blender this morning before I talked her out of it.”
“Oh. Still.”
“Now’s not a great time, anyway.”
“So she’s not going to even give me a chance to respond?”
“From what I heard, you had your chance. Unless you’re calling because you know what you want?”
“If I could just talk to her—”
“Let me rephrase: Now’s a bad time. It’s almost time for us to board. The last thing she needs is you showing up and making everything more complicated.”
“Board.” I rack my mind stupidly for what she’s talking about. Not board a plane, can’t be. “Board what?”