Page 95 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

He poured us both a fresh cup of tea, then sat back, folding his hands over his stomach. “To start, whatever it is you don’t want to tell me about your mother.”

31

Alice

It was well past midnight, and I was still awake, blankly staring at the flat, white ceiling of my bedroom.

“It’s his turn.”

My phone was resting beside me on the bed, fully charged, ringer on. The mini spa day had worked wonders on getting my mind off things for a bit (even though Gampy had ditched us midway through the manicures with a grumbled, inaudible excuse), but then I’d come home. And I didn’t have the constant chattering of Jamie and Ria to keep me distracted anymore. And it was torture.

This room would forever be tainted by what Dominic and I had done last night. I was fooling myself if I thought I could ever sleep in this bed again, or even look at it, without reliving every excruciating moment. And every time Ididthink about it, I started to spiral.

Massaging my eyes with the base of my palms, I let out a resigned sigh, grabbed my pillow, and decided I’d try the guest bedroom. He clearly wasn’t going to text me tonight, because heclearly wasn’t obsessing over this whole thing like I was. So what was the point of lying here, longing for a morsel of his attention like some sad, lovesick fool?

How much more pathetic was I going to allow him to make me feel?

CRRRRK.

My train of thought abruptly cut off. I stopped in my tracks, half turning back to face my open bedroom door, pillow clutched to my hip.

CRRRRK.

That time, I hadn’t imagined it. The static-fused crackle was followed by a short, deep rumble that made me scurry back into the room and stop short in front of my closet.

CRRRRKKK.

What the hell?

I tossed the door open, my heart racing. There was something incredibly familiar and nostalgic about the sound. It almost reminded me of the?—

CRRRRK. “…ome in…”

No way.

I dropped my pillow, flicked on the lights, and stepped into the depths of the clothing-lined tunnel. Shoving aside a small lineup of unpacked boxes filled with garments and shoes I couldn’t recall purchasing, I crouched over a small, forgotten one tucked in the very back corner.CRRRK. “…ou ’opy?”

I lifted the lid with trembling fingers, my heart hammering against my ribs. Lying underneath an assortment of Christmas, birthday, and Valentine’s Day cards and undelivered letters was a small, yellow walkie-talkie.

CRRRK. “Sad Clown to Loch Ness, do you copy? Over.”

My heart dropped, then swooped and soared. I let out a long, unsteady breath as a razor-sharp pang tore through my heart.

Two hundred and fourteen.

That’s how many nights I’d slept with this thing clutched to my chest, hoping to hear those exact words.

CRRRK. “Loch Ness, are you there? Over.”

Clearing the loose, wobbly marble in my throat, I pressed the button. “Dom?”

CRRRK. “Oh, good, you’re awake.”

“It’s… isn’t it, like, almost one in the morning?”

CRRRK. “Yeah, I can’t sleep either.”

“Why are you contacting me on here?”