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I’m okay.
As soon as I hit send, I drop my phone to the kitchen counter like it’s too hot to be in my hands a second longer.
My reply was fine. Totally fine. If fine means awkward and underwhelming and wildly late considering I still haven’t replied to his message fromtwo nights ago.
Somewhere out there, women are breezing through conversations with ease. Effortless. Flirty. Meanwhile, I’m over here catastrophizing two words and flirting with a stress rash.
Of course, Gage being Gage, he calls.
My phone lights up with his name, and I stare at it like touching it might trigger a full-blown crisis. Who even calls anymore?
I just sent a two-word text and had to emotionally recover like I was sixteen again, stomach in knots, palms clammy, and one notification away from either euphoric bliss or emotional collapse. And now he wants to talk? This man is trying to kill me.
I take a breath and then do my best not to sound like the hot mess I am on the inside. “Hey.” My voice comes out smoother than I expected, which is both a win and a mystery, because nothing else in my body is operating like it should.
And then he speaks, and I find myself again. “Amelia.” Just his voice. That’s all it takes. Low, unwavering, and threaded with quiet concern. “Talk to me. Do you need anything?”
“I don’t know.” It slips out before I can stop it.
“Do you want to talk it out?”
A laugh escapes me. “God, we could be here forever if we do that.”
“It’s that rough, huh?”
Such a simple question, but it cracks me open because I’m tired, and confused, and worried. And somehow, he’s taken the pressure off. I’m no longer overthinking dating etiquette; I’m simply having a conversation with someone who cares how I am.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “It’s that rough.” Just saying it makes me feel a fraction lighter.
“I’m here if you need anything. Even if that’s just a shoulder to lean on.”
“Thank you. I truly appreciate that.”
He’s silent for a beat. When he speaks again, there’s an edge to his voice. “I mean it. You call if you need me. And we can push the meeting we’d planned for tomorrow. Or just cancel it altogether. I can take care of everything.”
Shit. The science fair. It completely slipped my mind today.
Gage and I had agreed to meet at his office at noon tomorrow. There’s a lot to cover, so I don’t want to let him down. I quickly do the mental math on my ability to make it to his office from the hotel by noon.
“No, I’ll be there.”
“Okay. But let me know if things change.”
“I will.” I pause, feeling the significance of this call. “This means a lot to me, Gage.”
“I’m here. You know where to find me.”
After his call, I sit in the stillness he left behind. My shoulders drop. My breath comes easier. Nothing is solved. Nothing iscertain. But my panic has softened. And I don’t feel quite as alone as I did.
11
Gage
Noon comes and goes on Tuesday, and Amelia doesn’t show for our meeting. I give her fifteen minutes before deciding something’s happened. I checked social media this morning, something I don’t do often, and saw the updates on her. A lot of nasty shit has been posted, but most concerning is the speculation over her contract forVelocity Reign.
I call her at 12:15 p.m.
She doesn’t answer, but within a minute, she calls me back.