“What?” Her eyes widened when she got what I was asking. “No! Oh my God, no, nothing has happened to me. You would’ve known; Jagger would’ve been the first person I called if something like that ever happened.”
The panic and fear eased up, but I still didn’t understand how she could look like someone had broken her. “Then why—”
“It’s like you said,” she said loud enough to cut me off again, “the books I read are ruining me for real men. I know I’ll never find someone like the guys I read about, and it’s kind of depressing.” Charlie tried to laugh it off, but I knew that wasn’t it.
I stifled a gasp when it hit me, and leaned closer to her. “Charlie, no one will think differently of you if you’re g*y.”
“Whoa, what? Grey, I’m not . . . I’m not into that. No. Really, you’re looking into this too hard. There’s nothing. No guys, no girls, nothing. Just me and my books and a depressing world of guys who will never be enough.”
I sat back and blew out a deep breath. “Sorry, I was just trying to understand where you’re coming from.”
She shook her head, a smile crossing her face. “Really, it’s fine. And I’m fine.”
I would’ve tried harder to believe her if her voice hadn’t cracked at the end, and if she didn’t look like she was seconds away from breaking down. I couldn’t think of anything to explain her sadness and knew she probably wouldn’t admit to it even if I had guessed correctly. But seeing her pain, I knew I would keep trying to figure out what had happened to her to make her so unhappy.
Chapter 9
Grey
July 31, 2014
MY FOOTSTEPS FALTERED as I walked out of The Brew a few days later, and my spine straightened as a chill ran through my entire body. Looking around to see if anyone was watching me, I glanced back at the piece of paper that was tucked in between the windshield and wiper and slowly closed the distance to my car, my eyes never leaving the seemingly harmless sheet. After unlocking the car and putting the coffee inside, I climbed back out and looked around one more time before reaching for the paper, ice sliding through my veins as I did so. There were people I knew all around, but none that looked like they were waiting for this . . . for me to find whatever had been left for me.
I could have easily walked around my car, inspecting it to see if someone had hit it and left their information, but I didn’t. And I didn’t let my mind even think of Jagger leaving me a letter . . . because not only was he at his place waiting for this coffee, but he wouldn’t do something like this to me. Because he knew. Everyone who knew us knew. Ben had left notes on my car every day. No matter what. It could’ve been something as simple as a smiley face or an I love you, or it could have been something long that had my heart melting. But every day after I got my first car, there had been a note. Notes that stopped abruptly with his death.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the paper with shaky hands. A cry burst from my chest as my eyes ran over the page, and I stumbled back. I looked around furiously for someone, anyone. There were people giving me worried looks, but none who looked like they knew exactly what I’d just seen. None who looked like they’d put Ben’s wedding vows on my windshield. His handwriting, words and lines crossed out as he’d tried to perfect the vows.
“Grey, darling?”
“What?” I cried as I whirled around, startling one of my old teachers from high school.
“Are you okay? You don’t look so well.”
“I—I, I don’t . . . I don’t know. I have to go!”
She reached out for me, but I quickly backed up into my car. “Really, darling, you don’t look well. Should we call someone for you?”
“N-n-n-no. I’m fine!”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should—”
I swung open the door to my car and slid in as I nearly shouted, “I’m sorry, but I have to leave!”
I tossed the paper onto the passenger seat, and fumbled through my purse with shaking hands, looking for my phone so I could call Jagger. This was a dream, this was a joke, I was going—I was going . . .
My blood ran cold and the world seemed to tilt as a high-pitched ringing started in my head. Blocking out my old teacher knocking on the window, blocking out the sound of other cars and people outside, blocking out everything other than that f**king deafening ringing.
My jaw trembled as I tried to open my mouth to deny out loud what I was seeing.
There, on the lock screen of my phone, was a Facebook message notification.
Ben Craft: Forever, Grey.
The phone slipped from my trembling fingers, and I pressed my hands to my head as the sound grew louder. It wasn’t until my door was wrenched open and I was being pulled out of the car that I realized the deafening noise was my screaming.
Someone was shaking me, someone was gripping my face and forcing me to look at them, someone was shouting—but I couldn’t hear the words, I couldn’t focus on the face, I couldn’t feel the jarring effect the shaking should’ve been having on my body. All I knew in that moment was the paper filled with vows, and the message waiting for me to view.
Impossible. I was going insane. This is what it felt like to truly lose yourself, and for a second, I wondered why it had taken so long for it to happen, or if it had been happening all along. I wondered if I was going to come back to reality and find myself in a bland, white room where a nurse would come medicate me. Because this—this couldn’t be real, and I wasn’t dreaming, because if this had been a dream, I would’ve woken up by now.