Page 232 of Love Unwritten
It is scary, giving someone that much control over my happiness. I know he is worth the risk, which is why him disappearing when I need him cuts into me like this, but that doesn’t stop me from questioning if this kind of behavior will happen every time we face a new challenge.
I pray for both our sakes it doesn’t, but after today, I’m not too sure, and that in itself terrifies me.
The next morning, I wake up with a renewed sense of hope. I could have given up and turned my back on the progress I’ve made, but I fought for myself instead. It wasn’t remotely easy, especially when the urge to cut returned, but my future is too bright to get lost in the darkness of my past again.
So instead of packing the mirror back into my luggage like I have done in the past, I toss it in the trash where it belongs, along with any hope of Ava and me making it through this court case civilly.
She might have caught me off guard this time with her hurtful messages, but I won’t make the same mistake again.
That much I promise.
I’ve tried to get in touch with Rafael multiple times since last night, but he hasn’t been answering my calls, although he did send me a text late last night apologizing for missing them.
The message was bland, which told me everything I needed to know.
My heart aches throughout the next day and inspires a new song that starts with a sad opening verse that had Cole questioning if I was okay and apologizing for the fifth time about the photo.
“If you say sorry again, I may punch you.”
He taps on the bump in his nose. “Anywhere but here, please. My nan already gives me enough grief about not getting it set properly.”
I roll my eyes.
He sighs. “I know I can’t control the photos, but I still feel guilty.”
“Guilty enough to help me finish this song?” I use his same logic against him, earning a glare and a huff from the big man who has slowly become a friend.
We continue working on our song, and I push all thoughts of Rafael and the stupid paparazzi photo aside.
By the time I return to my hotel room at the end of the day, I’m irritable and hell-bent on speaking to Rafael, whether he wants to or not.
Thankfully, he reaches out to me first, saving me from overthinking the idea to death. Relief hits me square in the chest when my phone screen lights up with his name and a photo of us that was taken in Hawaii.
Despite the immature urge to send his call directly to voicemail, I answer right away.
“Hey. Hold on a second.” I press the video call button and wait.
With a sigh, he accepts the request, giving me a view of his chiseled face and pouty lips pressed into a thin line.
I don’t bother beating around the bush with pleasantries. “I take it you saw the photo.”
He doesn’t speak.
My frown deepens. “Rafael.”
“Yeah, I did.” The muscle in his jaw jumps.
“So what? You plan on taking it out on me for the indefinite future?”
“No.”
“Well, it feels like it based on the way you pulled away.”
I needed you, I want to say. You were supposed to be someone I could count on, I mentally add.
I felt so damn lost last night, and you weren’t there to help me find my way out of the dark, I’m tempted to confess, even if it starts a confrontation with him.
He brushes a hand down his face and curses to himself in Spanish. “What do you want me to say?”