The more I think about it, the more likely it seems like she does have feelings for me. Some kind of feelings, at least. I’m not sure what they are, where they begin, where they stop, or how to define them, but it seems very likely that she couldn’t take working with me, thinking I wanted everything to be normal like that night at the hotel never happened. Like I didn’t care. A person doesn’t just leave unless something becomes unbearable. Sutton could take me and bear with me for all those years. Three. Years. She never once even threatened to quit. And now she suddenly just up and disappears?
Yes. She has to have some sort of feelings. I hurt her. I acted like I didn’t care. The truth is, I do. But I’m scared. I’m scared of putting myself out there. Of letting someone in. Someone to see the real me even though she already has. I’m scared because I did let her in. She saw me. That night meant something. No, it meant everything. But I thought it was better for both of us if we pretended it didn’t, because of our work relationship. I was too worried about becoming a massive cliché and hurting her in the process because of what people would say. I never thought about what it was like for her, or about the consequences. I never thought she’d walk out because she was hurt and needed to nurse those wounds and move on somewhere else.
I don’t know what I thought, actually, because I wasn’t thinking properly, but that’s over. For the first time in a very long time, maybe ever, I’m thinking clearly.
This isn’t about me. It’s not about me getting Sutton back because I need a good assistant or because I want her. This is about me making sure she’s okay. If I have to admit how I feel, I’ll gladly do it. Even if I put it all out there and she still tells me to take a hike, I guess I can live with it as long as I know she’s going to be okay. I can’t live with not knowing. The damage. The pain. The ache. The hurt. The grief. I can’t take knowing I put scars on her perfect, wonderful, and beautiful heart.
It occurs to me, as I’m driving over to Sutton’s house, that I’m doing the exact thing she asked me not to do. I know it’s rude, assumptive, and borderline egotistical to assume I can just knock on her door and…and do what?
I use the miles between the office and Sutton’s grandma’s house to figure it out.
What exactly can I say?
I didn’t give you any cause to hope I might feel the same because everyone knows I’m a massive dick.
About my massive dick…uh, I hope you don’t feel it was better that I never—uh—stuck it in you.
About all of it, I’m sorry I pretended like it never happened. I honestly didn’t think that, and I wasn’t trying to erase you. I’m just emotionally stunted.
It’s been so long since I felt anything that I basically went into full-on panic mode, not panic attack but panic mode—there is a difference—and had to block it all out and shut down completely.
I finally decide, when I’m within a couple of blocks from her grandma’s, that I’m sorry for everything. I don’t want you to quit, and I don’t want to lose you. I was scared. I was dumb. But I don’t want to be scared or dumb anymore. Or at least, if I am, I want to be them with you, might suffice.
I hope so. I’ve never been good with words. I know the second I pull up, all the words will probably slide right out of my mind, and I’ll be left standing at the door with nothing to say.
And of course, it’s exactly what happens. I completely freeze. The doorbell is right in front of me, but I can’t even bring myself to ring it. My tongue is so dry that I might as well have just walked this whole way with it dragging along the road.
The door creaks open before I can even ring the doorbell, and Sutton’s grandma eyes me like I might be there to sell her something she already has. I’m not peddling the good stuff. No chocolate bars or cookies.
I swallow so thickly that it makes a strange noise. Those grandma eyes of hers narrow.
“I—is—I was wondering if I could…uh…talk to…Sutton? If she’s here?”
“She’s sick. She said she called into work. Did you not believe her and had to come and see for yourself?” Sutton’s grandma is about five feet tall and slim enough that from the back, she could pass as a twelve-year-old girl, but when she scowls at me, that shit is fierce. A shiver crawls up my back, and I can literally feel my nuts tightening up as if in a second, this tiny old lady is going to pull a cleaver on me and turn my nuts into sushi.
Sick? She called in sick? Apparently, Sutton didn’t tell her grandma she actually quit. It’s not my business to bear the news, so I try and stammer out a response. “No—err—I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She never calls in sick. I was worried.” I think it’s a smooth recovery until two grey brows knit together. They’re the exact same shade as the fluffy, loosely permed grey curls on top of the little lady’s head.
“Do you check up on all your other employees when they call in sick after never calling in sick?”
So. She has me there. I practically shrink
