One month later
“Becka, do you have that report for Marshall?”
I glance up from my computer where I’m looking over the latest reviews of our original series to see what I can pull for advertising quotes. Simone stands at my door.
“Yeah, they’re right here.” I grab the requested reports and hand them to her.
She briefly looks them over. “You’re a godsend. These look great. Thanks.” She turns to leave but then turns back. “Have you started any of the preliminary market research on the Rapturous Intent documentary? We’re hoping it’ll be as successful as the Taylor Swift or Jonas Brothers docs. Marshall’s getting nervous that maybe we’re losing our window.”
“Marshall worries too much.”
She smiles at that and lifts her eyebrows in agreement.
“I’ve got Riley on it while I wrap up a couple of other projects. He feels confident it’ll be one of our biggest premieres to date.”
Simone lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. I didn’t want to go to Marshall with bad news.”
I paste a smile on my face. “No bad news here. Rapturous Intent is hotter than ever.”
Simone gives me a thumbs-up and a wave and then leaves. At her departure, I sag in my chair and rub my chest, that nuisance called my heart aching relentlessly.
I can’t wait for this fucking documentary to be over so I never have to think about Rapturous Intent again. It’s like constantly rubbing salt in my open wound, and it’s a painful reminder of what I can’t have.
I rub my neck, hoping to ease the tension there, and then get back to work. I’ve been working overtime in an attempt to avoid thinking about Trent, even though work isn’t exactly the best way to forget about him when my boss asks me about his band every other second.
Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration.
Whatever.
I’m angry and maybe a little bitter.
Hours later, I blink from my computer and realize it’s gotten darker outside, and almost everyone else is gone. I head to the gym to get a workout in—my other attempt at keeping my mind off Trent.
Nighttime is the hardest time of day. When I’m home trying to relax and de-stress after a long day, that’s when thoughts of Trent sneak in. And even though I removed every trace that he’d ever been there, whenever I lie in bed, all I can think about is how his body felt on top of mine. How he moved inside of me. How he looked into my eyes and I let him see into my soul while he made me feel a bliss I’d never known before.
I decided I needed to be so mentally and physically exhausted every night that I pass out basically the second I fall into bed. So I work until my brain is mush and then I go to the gym and work out until my muscles are shaking. Then I go home, take a shower, and fall into bed.
It’s not a perfect plan, and I feel more drained than rejuvenated, but I’ve never been in better shape, and my boss is so impressed with my work ethic that she’s considering me for a promotion even without my work on the Rapturous Intent documentary.
So, there’s that at least.
When I get to the gym, my phone rings, and my mom’s name flashes on the screen. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
“Hey, hun. I wanted to check in with you. Lainey said you were working yourself to the bone.”
“Well, isn’t Lainey a giant tattletale.”
“Oh stop,” my mom lightheartedly chastises. “You know she has good intentions. Sometimes you just need your mom. It’s not a bad thing, Becks. Lord knows, I’ve needed you kids more times than I can count. So, you gonna tell me what’s going on? Or do I need to ask Will?”
“Ha! Joke’s on you. Will doesn’t know.”
“Ah, so there is something going on.”
Shit.
“You suck sometimes.”
She laughs, and I miss her so much right now, I can hardly breathe. I lean against the wall of the locker room and try to take a breath, tears burning the backs of my eyes. She’s right, sometimes a girl just needs her mom.
I nibble my lip and confess, “I might be a little heartbroken.”
“Tell me about him.”
And with those words, the dam breaks. I’ve been proudly holding myself together since that first morning where I cried after Trent left. I haven’t shed a tear since, but confessing everything to my mom tells me maybe I haven’t been dealing with everything after all—more like avoiding.
I’m incredibly thankful there’s no one else in the women’s locker room because I probably look like a fucking basket case. It takes a while to tell my mom all about running into Trent again after what happened with Brad—who now feels like a complete nobody compared to Trent. I leave out the details of our night together, for obvious reasons. When I’m done, I grab the box of Kleenex off the counter and blow my nose. I chance a peek in the mirror and nearly groan with how awful I look. My face is red and blotchy, and my eyes are already swelling from how hard I cried. My nose looks like I’m competing with Rudolph the reindeer and is still slightly runny.
I look like a hot mess.
But I feel a little better. Like finally talking about him allowed me to heal a little bit.
“Why didn’t you tell him you didn’t think it was a mistake?”
“Because he made it super clear he just wanted to be my friend and that was important to him.”
“But you said you haven’t talked to him since.”
“Correct.”
“So, now he doesn’t even have you as a friend.”
I never thought about it that way. I’ve been so wrapped up in my hurt, I never took the time to think about how Trent would be feeling. How ignoring him might’ve hurt him.
At the time, I had to ignore him for my sanity. I couldn’t be around him after our night together and not be hurt that he didn’t want more with me.
“I guess you’re right.”
“Now, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Trent, and I’m sure he’s changed a lot.”
“Not that much,” I tell her. “He’s surprisingly down-to-earth still.”
“Do you think it’s possible he was feeling more too, but didn’t want to lose you?”
“How would he lose me if we were more?” I exclaim. “We’d be a couple! He’d have me all the time, as friend and girlfriend. Wouldn’t that be the best of both worlds?”
“But what if things ended? I’m not saying they would, but no relationship comes with a guarantee. What if you risked your friendship for a relationship that turned sour down the road and then you had nothing?”
“We have nothing now!”
My mom remains calm, even as I start to get louder. “I understand that, but look at things from another perspective. I’m actually surprised you didn’t talk to Will about this. Men process issues differently than women, sweetie, even if we don’t want them to. Raising a son gave me better insight into that, but Doug has really made me realize how different men and women think, sometimes even about the simplest things. Maybe you should try talking to Trent. You said he still occasionally texts you.”
At least once a week, I get a text from him. Sometimes, he tells me a story from the road. Other times he just asks how I’m doing. But every week, without fail, he attempts to contact me. “Yeah.”
“Well, maybe next time text him back. You won’t get any answers by shutting down, Becka. You have to communicate with him.”
God, that’s so much easier said than done. It’s so much easier just to ignore him and run away from my problems.
“Becka?”
“Yeah, I heard you, Mom.” And I did. But I still don’t know if I’m strong enough to talk to him. What if talking makes things worse?
The truth is, I’m afraid of what I feel for him and how badly he could crush me. I need to get thicker skin before I talk to him again. I need to know that he won’t break me.
But as time goes on, I wonder if I’ll ever get to that point, or if I’ve fallen too far anyway.