“I’m sorry, Jersey.” Dallas’s voice reaches me from the doorway. The nick name is salt on an open wound. It stings like a bitch.
“Do you have any idea where he could have gone?” My voice sounds disembodied. I barely recognize it.
He shakes his head and tips his chin at the envelope on the nightstand. Rushing over, I tear it open and pull the yellow legal paper out.
alice.
i’m sorry. i just can’t do this anymore. the jeep is yours. i bought it myself so don’t worry about my parents.
don’t wait for me.
love, r
That’s it? That’s how he leaves it? I don’t even warrant an explanation other than don’t wait for me?
A bout of rage surfaces with enough force to shove all the hurt I’m feeling out of the way. Then I recall the look on his face while we were on the dance floor, the utter anguish in his eyes that he couldn’t keep hidden from me as hard as he tried, and the anger quells instantly. Behind, it leaves a sickly, weak-kneed tremble.
I pull my iPhone out of my back pocket and type.
Me: Wherever you go. Whatever you’re feeling. Whenever you’re lost. Know this. Feel this. My arms are around you, holding you. I love you.
The text goes unanswered. The kernel of hope I’m hanging on to vanishes. My heart gets shattered.
Chapter 30
Four months later
Alice
What is he doing? Oh dear God. Dallas is on the dance floor and I’m pretty sure he’s attempting to recreate the Jennifer Grey/Patrick Swayze lift from Dirty Dancing with Brock––and Brock is not having it. A burst of laughter crawls up my throat when Brock stops him with a straight-arm block.
The music turned nerve-shredding half an hour ago. It’s 11 p.m. already, the graduation party well underway. I don’t even mind being the only person still at our table. I prefer it actually, less chance for small talk and forced smiles.
Crossing my legs, I adjust the short flared skirt of the white Herve Leger dress Zoe forced me to wear. Its square neckline and cap sleeves flatters my less than generous breasts and skinny arms. I’m pretty sure it was wishful thinking on Zoe’s part that Reagan would show up and we’d have some ridiculous OTT Hollywood ending. Which is not happening.
I haven’t seen or heard from him in four months, since he left, and that is not changing tonight.
On the dance floor, the guys are making asses of themselves. They are so wasted. They look like they’re having a blast, though. The shenanigans draw a reluctant smile out of me. Some of them will be leaving in the next few weeks for a new start. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
As for me, I have another internship lined up for the summer. No, it’s not with James Cameron’s production company. I never did make it to the interview all those months ago. And in the end, it all worked out for the best.
Morgan got James Cameron, and I got a small production company run by a couple of scrappy female filmmakers. Unbeknownst to me, Marshall recommended me. Apparently she liked my reel more than she let on.
They just won the option for a huge YA bestseller. And I’ve been told there will be plenty for me to do that actually involves the process of making films. No fetching dry cleaning and picking up dog food for me.
My dream turned out to not look anything like I wanted it to look. It’s even better than I could’ve imagined.
Blake walks over and plops down into the seat Dora vacated only a few minutes ago. “Hey. You haven’t moved from this table once.”
She’s wearing a hot pink silk dress. Off the shoulder and short. Minimalist cool. The color complements her brown skin beautifully. “Love this dress on you.”
She gives me a look. “Calvin Klein and don’t try to change the subject.”
“I’m leaving. I’m being a total downer and I hate that.”
I don’t think I can bear to be here for another minute. Among all the joy. All the love. My friends are happy and I’m happy for them. I just don’t know how to stop feeling like a walking gunshot victim, with a smoking hole where my heart used to be.
“Give it a little more time. What if he shows up?”
Head shaking, I repeat myself for the umpteenth time this evening. “He’s not coming. Everyone needs to get over it.”
Grabbing my purse, I stand and Blake follows suit. We hug tightly. “Say goodbye to the other two bitches for me, okay? I don’t feel like making the rounds.”
Blake knows how much I hate being under the microscope. Almost as much as she does.
“Zoe and I each got rooms here. Why don’t you stay here the night? Order room service, watch porn.”
I chuckle. “That sounds like a single girl’s dream, but I’m heading back to the dorm. I just…need to be alone.”