"You have eight new messages," the automated voice tells me.
"Hey, Lils," Garrett's message begins. He sounds perfectly calm. "Just wanted to check in, since you haven’t returned my last couple of calls. I talked to your dad, and he says you’re stuck in Barberville because of the weather. I'm worried about you. Give me a call, okay?"
In the next one he's starting to sound a little agitated.
"Hey, Lils, it's me. I haven't heard from you. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Will you call me and let me know where you are? I have the Jeep, remember? I can probably manage the roads. But I need to know where you are. Now's not the time to be stubborn. You asked for my help with the Center. I'm not going to let you shut me out again. Call me back."
With each subsequent message I can tell he's getting progressively more frustrated, and by the sixth he's starting to sound livid.
“Dammit, Lils, don’t leave me hanging,” he says. “I know you’re up to something. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but this is ridiculous. Where the hell are you?”
But it’s the next one that really ticks me off.
"What the fuck is going on? Fuck this! I'm not your fucking puppet! You can't just expect me to do you favors and then fucking blow me off. I deserve some basic fucking respect. Excuse me for giving a fuck."
It makes me so angry that I almost don't listen to the final message, but it starts before I can hang up.
"Look, Lils, I'm sorry," Garrett says. He sounds defeated. "You just drive me crazy, you know that? Call me, please. Please. I promise I'll do what I can for the Center. Just call me and tell me what you're doing. I know you, Lils. You get these crazy ideas in your head sometimes. I just want to make sure you're safe." There's a long pause, and then he sighs deeply. "Please, Lils. I miss you. I still—"
I hang up before I can hear the rest and throw the phone down on the carpet. I'm so upset that I'm shaking. What the hell does he think he’s doing, blowing up my phone like that? We’re not together anymore. I’m not obligated to answer his calls, and I’m certainly not obligated to tell him where I am at any given minute.
I've seen Garrett's temper before. It never reached the point of physical violence, thank God, but there was plenty of abuse on the verbal end. There's no talking to him when he gets worked up. It's like he morphs into a completely different person—one that completely terrifies me.
I knew it was a bad idea to ask him. Fuck me and my stupid, desperate decision making.
I'm having trouble standing still, so I grab Calder's shirt from the ground and slip it on. I march over to the table, grab our half-finished bottle of wine from dinner, and head over to the double French doors at the far side of the room. I don't care that it's raining. I pull open the doors and step out onto the balcony.
The cold, wet air is a welcome slap in the face. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and I wonder if that means I'll be able to go home tomorrow. I lean against the railing and take a swig of wine right from the bottle.
This whole thing is a mess, and I'm not sure there's any way out at this point. The Center isn't any closer to getting help. Garrett is back in my life—and worse than ever. And on top of it all, Calder has turned my insides into a big confused pile of mush.
I take another swig and stare out across the land behind the house. If there are any lights out in the garden, they've already been shut off for the night, but I can just make out a great dark section that I suspect is the hedge maze Calder boasted about. If I'd come here under different circumstances, I have no doubt I'd be delighted by the romance of it all, but I'm not sure what I feel anymore.
My body has never responded to anyone as it does to Calder. And it's not just the way my flesh prickles when he's near, or the way my breath seems to stop when he kisses me. There's something that coils in my belly when we're close to each other, something more than just physical attraction. Every time I see a glimpse of pain in his eyes, or the darkness of a suppressed memory dance across his features, the coil tightens. There's the potential for something else here, something deeper, but I know it's stupid to indulge those feelings. That course can only end in heartbreak.
The situation with Garrett only emphasizes that case. I knew it was stupid to call him again, even with completely innocent intentions, and it still blew up in my face. I need to start listening to my gut and stop allowing myself to be swayed by desperation or attraction or whatever it is that keeps getting me into trouble.
I take another swig of wine and close my eyes. I force myself to focus on the feeling of the cool rain hitting my skin, of the drops sliding down my face and neck. Not for the first time this weekend, I'm struck by the sensation that this is all just some odd, vivid dream, and that any moment I'll wake and go off to work at the Center and all of these emotions rushing through me will be forgotten by the time I've finished my first cup of coffee.
"Drinking without me?"
Calder's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. When I turn, he's standing in the doorway, heavy-lidded and looking absolutely delectable, for all that he’s unfortunately decided to pull on a pair of pants before joining me in the rain. I turn back toward the rail and take another gulp of wine, fighting down the surge that rises in my belly at the sight of him.
"I didn't want to wake you up," I say without looking at him.
He joins me at the railing. "Aren't you cold out here?"
I shake my head. "It feels nice."
He holds out his hand for the wine bottle, and I pass it over. He takes a drink and hands it back.
"It's not often that I fall asleep with a woman in my arms and wake up to an empty bed.”
"No?" I ask. "Is it usually the other way around?"
I stare down at the wine bottle, but I can feel Calder's gaze on me, and I know he's trying to read me in the darkness.
"That's not what I meant," he says finally. "I'll admit, men have a reputation for preferring sex to the intimacy that might come after, but it's rare to meet a woman with such sentiments."
"I'm not sure what you're suggesting. I couldn't sleep. That's all."
He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and I can't help myself.
"And even if I am 'avoiding intimacy' or whatever it is you're accusing me of, why does it matter?" I say. "I have no misconceptions about what's going on here. Why should I act like I have feelings for you when we're just fucking?"
"Is that what you think? That we're just fucking?"