by V.K. Sykes
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Holly barely made it into the house before the dam burst. The tears she’d been struggling for hours to hold back started to flow freely down her face. She dropped her suitcase in the hall, swiping her face as she made her way to the kitchen. They’d only been gone four days, but so much had happened and she barely knew how to feel, how to think. Her entire world had just fallen into a tailspin.
One thing was clear, though. Nate wasn’t prepared to make a commitment. All she’d wanted him to do was say he wouldn’t keep jumping into the sack with other women while he was involved in a relationship with her. To give them a chance and see where things were headed. How hard was that?
Too hard for him, obviously.
She gasped and tried to catch her breath, tried to stop her useless crying. The fight with Nate had left her right where she was before they went to Florida—stressed out, exhausted, and teetering on the verge of depression.
She found an unopened bottle of California white in the fridge. Pouring out a full glass, she kicked off her sandals and headed for the sofa, bottle in hand. It felt like a good night for lots of wine and a total sob-fest. Tomorrow, she would pull it together and start acting like an adult again. Tonight, she gave herself permission to be a complete mess.
Leaving the kitchen, she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t checked the telephone for messages. Her stomach gave a funny little flutter as she turned around and glanced back at the counter. She thought of Lance Arnold, and suddenly his growling voice and menacing image were in her head again. This time she shuddered, and had to tighten her grip on the wine glass to keep from dropping it.
But there was no flashing red light. She drew a long, relieved breath. Pressure from the detectives must have worked.
Still, she checked all the locks before stretching out on the sofa with her back propped up against a brace of pillows. The room was growing very dark in the evening twilight. She didn`t bother to turn on a lamp. Ugly images raced through her mind, pulling her down even further. Finally, she grabbed the TV remote and switched on a mindless reality show, something about building houses. Anything was better than the awful silence.
Holly finished her glass and refilled it, already starting to feel a buzz. She would totally regret this self-indulgence in the morning, but tonight she didn’t care. Her motto in life had always been to keep moving forward, to never feel sorry for herself. And for good reason. She was blessed in so many ways, and she’d always been the first to admit it.
But tonight she’d never felt less like fortune’s favored child. Tonight she felt only melancholy and an aching sense of loss.
Chapter Twenty-Three