Kristy let out an annoyed groan. “Ugh. Fine. Just another Saturday with Cammie. Can we at least move from the bedroom into the living room? I can’t stay in bed all day.” She gave me a wry look. “At least, not with you.”
“I don’t want to stay in bed with you either.” I stuck out my tongue before tossing back the covers and hopping out.
“Good. We’re out of wine, so I’ll go to the store. And I’ll grab some pizza. You might not be able to stomach eating, but I’m starving.” She stretched her arms above her head before lowering to the floor for some yoga poses.
“I’ll take a shower and pick the movies,” I offered.
“Perfect.”
I heard the front door shut as I turned on the water for my shower. For the first time since Dalton had disappeared, I was alone. Reaching for my cell, I dialed his number again. Straight to voice mail. Dialing it again and hoping for a different response, I almost felt hopeful when it took a second longer for his voice mail to kick on than it had before.
Next I opened the text message screen, and was shocked by the number of messages I had sent him. I winced when I scrolled through them, because with no response from him, the text window looked embarrassingly like a stalker’s. I knew I was acting like a crazy person, but all logic and restraint had flown the coop the second he didn’t show up for our date. Resisting the urge to send Dalton another text, I closed the text window.
After my shower, I dressed comfortably in a pair of yoga pants and a loose-fitting shirt. I grabbed a few extra blankets from my linen closet and headed toward the couch, where I tossed them for me and Kristy to use during the movies.
My mind wouldn’t stop racing, running the gamut of emotions from fear to anger and back again. I was thankful for the distraction when Kristy finally came back, her arms filled with groceries and a giant pizza box.
“Are we feeding the whole complex?” I teased.
“I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying. So I got lots of stuff just in case, you ungrateful little—” She stopped herself. “Did you pick a movie?”
“I picked four.”
“Awesome.” She set the pizza on the counter and pulled three bottles of wine from one of the bags. I grabbed plates and wineglasses while Kristy continued to unpack and stock my fridge and cupboards with Lord only knew what.
She glanced at me. “I got garlic knots too. Because, well, I think this weekend calls for carbs and butter.”
I knew better than to argue with Kristy, and to be honest, I didn’t want to. Eventually I needed to eat, even if I didn’t feel hungry.
• • •
We spent the day lost in movies that made us feel good about love. I tried to believe in the stories the way they intended for the audience to believe, but it was hard. Certain scenes triggered my worry, bringing me right back into the present, and I had to excuse myself more than once to escape to the bathroom in some attempt to pull myself together.
Happily-ever-after seemed to be something that eluded me, and I wondered if it always would. I knew I was feeling overly cynical, my guts knotted with apprehension and concern for Dalton. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t coming unraveled with each hour that passed with no word from him, but that was all I was doing—pretending. Kristy and I both knew it, but we avoided talking about it, knowing that addressing it wouldn’t change the situation.
It was so frustrating, knowing that no matter what I said or did, I couldn’t change things. I was helpless, stuck in the dark, waiting for answers. Answers that might never come. Answers that I might not want to hear. Having absolutely no control was a horribly discouraging feeling.
After the fourth movie ended, I yawned and stretched my hands above my head.
“Do you think you can sleep?” Kristy asked, and I nodded as I wiped at my tired eyes. “Good. You go and I’ll clean up.”
I looked around at our mess from the day. Dirty dishes, empty wine bottles, and balled-up napkins littered the coffee table. “Are you sure?” I asked, feeling guilty.
“It’s no big deal. Go. I got this.” She waved me off as I trudged down the hall to my bedroom.
A knock on my door a little while later startled me awake. I glanced at the red numbers on my clock that told me it was 12:11 a.m., and wondered who could be at my door this late. Flashbacks of two police officers waiting for me to pull open the door popped into my head as I slipped out of bed quietly. Kristy lay curled next to me, her body lost in a sea of bedcovers.
Another swift knock rattled the door, ratcheting up my nerves. Peeking through the peephole, I recognized Dalton’s silhouette, and I threw the door open to reveal one seriously stressed-out man. Thanking God he was safe, I felt my heart simultaneously leap into my throat and drop to the floor.
“You’re alive,” I said softly, my emotions a mixture of shock, happiness, and confusion as I took in his face, covered with scruff from days of not shaving.
“I’m so sorry, Cammie—” he started to say, but I cut him off.
“I’m so glad you’re not dead!” I launched myself into his arms and buried my face in his chest as the stress of the past thirty hours ravaged me, and tears fell.
Not How It’s Going to End
Dalton
Cammie’s body shook in my arms, her back hitching with each sob. Her tears soaked through my plain white T-shirt, and I couldn’t have cared less. “I thought something terrible happened to you,” she tried to say between sobs, and the words stabbed me straight in the heart.