Evan was starting to hate himself because he was wracked with insecurities. He wasn’t a man who dealt well with failure, anxiety, indecision, or self-doubt.
“To hell with this,” he said aloud, talking to himself. He wished Lily were here. At least the canine would cock her head and pretend to be listening to him. She pretty much agreed with everything he said—that was the way he chose to interpret her actions, anyway. “I’ll keep writing to Randi until she listens.”
He’d had a brief conversation with Hope that morning to explain why he, Micah, and Julian had gone missing before the festivities had ended. He’d confessed that he hadn’t taken her advice. After a long lecture, she agreed that writing to Randi and giving her some space was the best option.
I’m writing, but I know it won’t be long before I show up on her doorstep. I can’t stay away.
Evan was wrestling with himself to not go directly to her house and demand that she belong to him forever.
“She’s mine. She was always meant to be mine. There’s never been anyone else for me,” he grumbled angrily, knowing he’d blown his one chance at real happiness. He knew what happy was now; it was Randi.
Maybe he’d known since the day he couldn’t resist replying to her smartass email over a year ago, but he just hadn’t been able to admit it. He hadn’t been lying when he told her that, maybe subconsciously, he’d always hoped she was his mystery woman. He’d blown off the idea months ago because of the way she signed her emails and the fact that he didn’t know Randi had a foster mother. They had never spoken to each other enough for him to know much about her life in person. But somewhere deep inside, Evan didn’t think the possibility had ever left his heart—even if it didn’t make sense to his conscious mind.
Evan was discovering that not everything was based in reality; some feelings just happened . . .
Dear M.,
Have you ever wanted something so badly that you did something stupid to get it?
“Please be home. Please read my email. Please understand me,” Evan whispered desperately before shooting the email into cyberspace, hoping she’d do all three of those things before he lost his mind.
I’m not checking my email. I’m not checking my email.
Randi patted Lily on the head, consuming a large sandwich as she chanted the mantra in her mind. She’d already done her run for the day, gone through her yoga routine, and then meditated.
It hadn’t helped.
She was still fighting the urge to check her email and see if Evan had written. It was late morning, so she had no doubt he was already gone. She’d nearly broken down in tears as she’d watched the two private jets climb in the sky early this morning during her run. It had been cold and clear when she’d woken up, so she’d decided to forgo the treadmill and do a cold-weather run instead. It had felt good to be outdoors, and she’d been exhilarated until she heard the roar of jet engines flying low overhead, meaning a private jet had taken off from the small airport outside of town. Actually, two planes had taken off within minutes, and Randi knew it was Evan and Micah because Julian didn’t have a jet, and none of the other Sinclairs had plans to go anywhere.
I knew he was leaving. It shouldn’t have hurt that badly. I wonder if he thought about me.
Most of her anger was gone, had disappeared as she thought about all of her conversations with both S. and Evan. The initial shock had worn off once she’d determined his actions had been more careless than intentional.
I’m not checking my email. I’m not checking my email.
Of course, she could get on the computer. She just didn’t have any reason to log in to her email for the Center.
Randi sighed as she dumped the rest of her sandwich in the garbage, suddenly not very hungry. She’d spent last night mostly awake and restless, trying to figure out who the real Evan Sinclair was. Granted, she’d been hurt initially, and it hurt even more that he was gone now. After almost an entire night of tossing and turning, reliving a lot of the things he’d said to her, she wondered if his motivation had really been to make her a fool. Everything they’d shared, online and offline, had felt so real.
She walked into her foster parents’ former bedroom slowly, finally sitting down after going back and forth for what seemed like a thousand times and then leaving without turning the computer on.
Oh, for God’s sake, just look. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone.
The desire to know if he had tried to contact her before he left was killing her. He hadn’t texted or called, so this was her one last hope.
If he didn’t write, I can start moving on, start trying to forget. If he didn’t at least try to explain himself, he’s not worth all of the moping I’m doing right now.
Randi flipped on the computer and proceeded to bring up her email for the Center, holding her breath.
She felt pathetic as she waited, pinning so much hope on some kind of explanation. Maybe she should have listened to him last night, but her immediate reaction had been one of betrayal. She’d been feeling vulnerable and wounded because she’d told him she loved him and then . . . bam! The news that he’d known for quite some time that she was his mystery friend had broadsided her.
Finally, the mailbox came up and she released a shaky breath as she saw that there was an email from him, and he was using the exact same email address that he’d always used to write to her.
Dear M.,
Have you ever wanted something so badly that you did something stupid to get it?
Randi stared at the one-liner for a moment, trying to figure out why he was still using the same style and her mystery name to ask her a question. Checking the date, she noticed it had been sent less than an hour earlier. Contemplating the question, she knew it was about the two of them. What stupid thing had he done?