Tethered (A BirthRight Novel #1)

by Brandi Leigh Hall

My eyes pop open, remembering the disaster I made of last night. I wish more than anything I could fall into a bottomless hole and never come out.

  If I had Hunter’s number, I’d at least call him to explain why I acted like such an ass. But of course, I have no way to contact him.

  How have we never exchanged numbers?

  Maybe I should have gone to the hospital today. No, that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. I could certainly handle giving an apology over the phone, but seeing Hunter in person might prove to be the impossible. Besides, there’s no way he’ll forgive me anyway. And I can’t say I blame him. I can’t imagine how embarrassed he must have been.

  I roll over face-first into my down pillow, fighting back the tears threatening to escape. What have I done?

  Family is obligated to stick around when they’re angry at the stupid things you do. Strangers, on the other hand, can simply forget you ever existed.

  Did I chase away my only friend in New York? I’m such an idiot!

  I have to be the only girl in the world who would ever walk away from a guy like Hunter. What’s wrong with me?

  I kick my legs on top of the bed, muting the sound of my pathetic screams into the goose-down buffer. I must have been a heinous person in my past life—and karma has tracked me down for payment.

  Well my account is just about tapped-out, so it can give up anytime.

  Why must I always make the wrong choices?

  Perhaps the next time I’m at the hospital I should schedule a psych evaluation. Might be the only way to ever find answers for the things I do.

  Wait, what am I doing? Enough! Enough of this feeling sorry for myself crap.

  If I could hide in my room forever—I would. But life still goes on, even after the bad choices we make.

  I force myself into the shower, and thankfully, the hot water eases my throbbing head.

  I take my time putting on my make-up—even more time dragging the brush through my tangled, dripping hair.

  Like a robot, I walk downstairs expecting to hear some sort of chatter coming from the kitchen or living room.

  But there’s nothing.

  Complete silence fills air.

  I snag a bottle of Poland Spring from the fridge and make my way to the island, only to find a note with my name on it, laying smack dab in between the salt and peppershakers.

  Good morning, Dear.

  Since you decided not to join us this morning, we figured

  you could use the sleep. There’s plenty of food in the fridge

  if you’re hungry—so help yourself.

  We should be back around lunchtime.

  P.S. And stop beating yourself up. Everything will

  be okay.

  Love you,

  Gram