Love at The Bluebird
“No,” I whisper, and instead, I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist tightly and locking my hands together, because I’m not letting him go. I can’t. “Gavin. Please… you have to trust me.” The thought of losing him breaks the dam of tears, my shoulders rocking hard as I bawl into his chest. Wetness soaks the front of his shirt, and we just stand there for a moment, the sounds of my anguish filling the air. Minutes pass, and I finally feel him touch me, his hands gently gripping my biceps as he tries to lean back.
“I need some time to think, Aly,” he says in a tone that has me lifting my head up to look at him. I know I probably look like a mess, but I don’t care. I blink to clear my vision and search his eyes, noticing his expression isn’t as hard as before but still missing that special look he has only for me. The one filled with warmth and love.
God, I’m such an idiot. But he’s being an idiot too! He should know what we have and trust me.
“I need to be alone to think. Let me go,” he says gently, reaching behind his back to pry my hands apart. Tears start to spring to my eyes again, and all I can do is shake my head at him. “I’ll call you later when I’m ready to talk.”
“Do you promise?” I croak out, my throat raw from crying. “You need to trust me,” I repeat again, looking him in the eye.
“I’ll call you.”
A lone tear falls down my cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. I exhale the breath I was holding and nod, releasing my hands and dropping my arms from around him, feeling defeated. I hate letting him go, but I know there’s nothing I can do but wait.
He walks around me, and I turn to watch him go, wanting so badly to yell and scream at him that he’s making the wrong choice. Another wave of tears starts to fall. He stops and takes one more look at me before closing the door behind him. I shuffle over to my window and watch him run a hand through his hair as he walks away. I stand there until I see his truck drive by, and it’s only then I run upstairs and throw myself onto my bed to cry.
I allow myself a few minutes to wallow in self-pity, and then I tell myself to stop crying. There’s no way I can go into work looking like this, so I text Shane, telling him I need to take the rest of the afternoon off. He doesn’t text back right away, so I call Valerie, but she doesn’t pick up. I then try calling Willow, but she doesn’t answer her cell phone either. I call Willow’s office, and the receptionist tells me she’s on her lunch break. Willow always goes home on her lunch break, so I quickly get dressed, text her that I’m coming to see her, and drive to her house.
She still hasn’t texted me back by the time I get to her house across town, but her car is in her driveway. I park behind another car in front of her house and walk up to the front porch. I start banging on her door, needing her to open it right away, as the tears start flowing and I’m about to lose it.
She finally pulls the door open, her face contorted into anger until she sees me in my crying state. “Oh my God, Aly, what’s wrong?” she asks in a panic, grabbing my wrist and hauling me inside. She closes the doors and pulls me in for a hug.
“It’s Gavin,” I cry into her neck, my sobs preventing me from speaking coherently. “He’s… going… to… break… up… with… me,” I stutter out, the weight of those words causing me to cry harder.
She holds me tighter and in a soothing voice tells me it’s going to be okay. I take a couple minutes to collect myself before pulling back out of her embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Willow, for snotting all over you. I—” My voice falters as I take in her appearance. She’s wearing only a baggy, navy-blue T-shirt, with the hem of the shirt stopping at the middle of her bare thighs.
I look her up and down in confusion, wondering why she’s dressed like this on her lunch break then bringing my gaze back to her face. “Are you sick?” I watch her gulp and her eyes focus behind me. I turn around, my eyes widening in shock to see Brodie Larsen, gloriously half-naked with disheveled hair and jeans hanging low on his hips, standing in her bedroom doorway.