But accidentally calling my ex-boyfriend, ex-fiancé, and current love of my life who I had chosen to break up with in order to find myself again deserved a panicked dive. And because my brain, which had made the split-second decision, had clearly forgotten that I was about as graceful as a newborn elephant, the phone went flying across the counter, dropped to the floor, and then continued to skid across the hardwood.
I’d spent an embarrassing portion of my life picking my phone up after I’d dropped it. Over the years, I’d paid a small fortune for phone cases, screen protectors, and once a wrist strap to keep from damaging it. However, as I raced to grab my phone off the floor, I prayed it had shattered into a million pieces, rendering it completely useless at completing any calls. Especially those to Bowen “Answers on the Second Ring” Michaels.
In one swoop, I grabbed the phone and hit the end button. I stared at the words Call Ended for so long that it was as if I were trying to harness the power of time travel to change them.
Okay. Okay. Just breathe.
It wasn’t that big of a deal.
It was just Bowen.
I hadn’t called the Pope in the middle of Christmas service or anything.
This almost felt worse though. I could have wished the Pope a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year in front of the entire world and it would have been a hell of a lot easier than uttering one single word to Bowen. Mainly because I didn’t want it to be only one word.
I wanted to tell him about my new apartment and how the water heater was even slower than his. It was probably for the best there was no shower sex to be had at my place in the very near—or very distant, for that matter—future.
I wanted to tell him about the gardens they had here and how I had been invited to join an amateur botanists club, which I still hadn’t committed to yet.
I wanted to fill his ears with stories of my new friends and adventures.
And more, I wanted to hear all about how his life was going. Was Oscar still driving him crazy at the office? How was Clyde adjusting to life without Sugar? Did he miss me as much as I missed him?
No, strike that. I did not want to know any of it.
It wouldn’t matter anyway.
I’d made this decision, and I was going to see it through. He’d spent months lying directly to my face. Fine, he had his reasons. I could maybe, possibly, understand that. But now I had my reasons too.
No phone call, accidental or on purpose, would change that. Period. End of sentence. I was a steel rod, rigid and unbending, even to my own curiosities.
Hell, maybe the call hadn’t connected on his end and I was freaking out about absolutely nothing.
Oh, wouldn’t that have been nice.
I squeaked when my phone began vibrating in my hand. Not just his name flashed on the screen, but a whole-ass picture of his handsome, smiling face that felt like running into a clear wall of glass I should have seen coming.
Dear God, why hadn’t I deleted his number or at the very least his contact photo? I could have blocked him for crying out loud. Now look at the mess I’d made.
I quickly pressed end, not having the emotional bandwidth to answer.
Bowen had never been one to give up so easily though. It immediately started ringing again.
“Oh shitty, shit, shit, shit,” I mumbled, spinning in a circle, searching for somewhere to hide my cell. Because yeah, that was rational.
Out of sight. Out of mind. Out of my heart and into a flowerpot.
When it finally went to voicemail, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was absolutely premature. For fuck’s sake, the man had spent nearly two years of his life quite literally begging, bartering, and stealing to keep us together. It was ludicrous to believe that an unanswered phone would suddenly deter him.
I closed my eyes and sighed when a text notification popped up next.
Bowen: What’s going on? Is everything okay? I missed a call from you.
“Fuck,” I groused, walking over to my sofa and sinking into the corner.
What the hell was I supposed to say? I hadn’t spoken to the man in four freaking months. Would a simple “I’m fine” with no explanation suffice? I could probably manage two words. The bright side was I wouldn’t have to force the lie out of my throat.
I’m fine, I typed. But as I stared at it, it felt wrong.
It was Bowen. Sure, a part of me was still angry by his deception. But he was clearly worried about why I’d called. After everything we’d been through, he deserved more than a vague two-syllable answer. I couldn’t be with him, but I couldn’t leave him hanging like that, either. I mulled it over for several minutes, typing and deleting until I came up with just the right message.
