I tossed the blankets back and stood, seeing her clothes were gone, her purse missing. She left. No note. No goodbye.
Maybe a less pathetic man, a less obsessed one, would have taken that as a hint. Not me. I’d already fallen for her, and I wasn’t letting her get away that easily.
I snatched up my cell phone and called her number, unsure exactly when she’d left, but it couldn’t have been too long ago. We’d been together for hours before falling asleep, making love—fucking—and still the sun hadn’t risen yet.
I could’ve just missed her.
Fuck, my heart was pounding as I listened to her phone ring before clicking over to voice mail. I didn’t know why I was so panicked, but it was like these claws stuck in my gut, shredding it, telling me if I didn’t go to her and make her see that we were meant to be together—that she was meant to be mine—I’d never be happy.
But the way she’d touched me, moaned for me, the way she’d writhed under me and called out my name in ecstasy told me that she had been in the moment with me, that there was no doubt she felt the same possessiveness for me that I did for her.
I know that in my heart. It has to be true. I can’t be the only one losing my mind to these feelings.
I tried calling her again, and once more. No answer. I sent off some texts, asking if she was okay, why she’d left, telling her I was coming over.
I tossed the cell on the bed and shoved my legs into a pair of jeans. The T-shirt was next, then socks before putting on my boots. I grabbed my phone and headed out the door with my car keys in hand. I didn’t care what time it was. If nothing else, I needed to know she’d gotten home okay.
Maybe this was crossing lines, just showing up unannounced at her house when she left, clearly not wanting me to know she was going.
Yeah, it is bordering on stalker-ish, but she needs to know I won’t let her go.
God, that pushed me even deeper into stalker territory.
But I was frantic with the need to go to her, to make her see there was nothing more perfect in this world than the two of us together.
15
Korrie
I had no more tears in me. The wetness had dried on my cheeks, tracks that had been a constant flow because I stopped worrying about brushing them away. I held my father’s hand tighter, thankful he was sleeping comfortably.
Although he would be fine, the fall had taken a lot out of him, and he’d broken his hip. Coupled with his autoimmune disease, he was in for a long recovery, but I was so very thankful the medical staff said they predicted he’d be okay and as healthy as he’d been before the fall. I had to imagine his stubborn, strong personality and attitude aided in that too.
Not much could bring my father down.
“You should go home.”
I snapped my head up at my father’s gravelly tone. He had his head turned toward me, his eyes heavy-lidded, wear and strain written across his face.
“Daddy,” I said, feeling like a lost little girl who was watching her father be taken down and there wasn’t anything I could do to help or stop it.
He gave me a tired smile. “You haven’t called me that since you were little.” I rested my forehead on our joined hands and exhaled. “You must be pretty scared to fall back on that old title.”
I smiled and lifted my head. “I’m trying to be strong, but I am scared.”
“Sweetheart, this is life,” he said and shifted on the bed but immediately winced.
“Don’t move around. You broke your hip and are covered in bruises. The drugs they gave you are probably dimming a lot of the pain.”
“Not enough of the pain,” he grumbled. Then he smirked. “Am I considered part of the geriatric club now, since I broke a hip?”
I rolled my eyes. “There he is, the teasing smartass I know and love.”
His expression turned serious. “I know you blame yourself for this because you weren’t home.” I opened my mouth, but he shook his head, stopping me. “This isn’t anything you could have stopped. Sometimes life just throws you curveballs, and you have to either try to catch it, or you get slugged with it.”
I exhaled, leaning back in the chair but keeping our hands twined together.
“You’ve always been there for me, and I know you always will be. The same as I’ll always be there for you. But we can’t beat ourselves up with the what-ifs, with the thought that we could have changed things. We can’t.” His tone was hard. “I couldn’t change the fact that your mother is gone, even though I wish I could.”