Since You Happened by Holly Hall
Chapter 29
I mull for a few days over how I want to approach Landon, before deciding that how I do it isn’t what matters. This is love we’re talking about. And love doesn’t give a shit how you admit to it, just that you do.
Once I come to that realization, I grab my wallet and keys off the table and head to my car, because I should be able to get there quicker in a vehicle than on my own two feet. It’s only when I’m walking through the parking garage that I hear the activity and intermittent honking outside on the streets and remember that it’s rush hour—or rush hours, as it’s a multi-hour affair when you live just east of downtown. I peer out a gap in the concrete and catch sight of the gridlock down below, quickly deciding that walking will have to be fast enough.
My sandals slap the sidewalk obnoxiously in response to my “I mean business” pace, but I don’t slow down. I walk the three blocks to Landon’s store in almost record time, only pausing right before I push through the door to check my reflection in the glass, straightening my topknot that’s decided to explode atop my head at some point during my walk. My outfit is something I also didn’t put any thought into: I’m wearing cut off shorts and a House Targaryen t-shirt. Whatever. I’m on a mission, and I have no shame in my game today.
I push through the door and almost stride right past Brayden at the front desk, then stop abruptly, thinking it might be wise to ask if Landon’s even here before I stomp all the way to the office like a madwoman.
“Is Landon here?” I ask, embarrassingly out of breath.
He finally looks up from his textbook, his eyes lingering on my shirt for a few seconds before a grin of approval crosses his face. “Nah. He left about twenty minutes ago to get his equipment. He has to go cover the hipster fest.”
“Hipster Fest?” I know I’m not the most happening person in all of Denver, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard of anything like that. And if I don’t find Landon at his apartment, it looks like I’ll have to attend this so-called Hipster Fest to find him.
“That annual food festival they started up a few years ago? It’s where all the douches go to talk about craft beer and beards and wingtip shoes, or whatever it is they talk about.”
“Got it. Thanks.” I’m halfway out the door when I hear him mumble something about Lannisters and debts.
Landon’s apartment is a couple miles away. Not so far that it would be impossible to walk, but I’m sure I’ll cover that distance quicker if I take a car. So I request an Uber, and it pulls up to the curb surprisingly fast. Just happened to be driving by, I surmise. I leap in and say hello to the driver, fidgeting nervously as he weaves through traffic.
During the drive, I can’t banish the fear from my mind that I waited too long. I did tell Landon not to wait for me, but I would still be disappointed if he didn’t. I know that’s unfair, but if he feels the way he said he felt about me, that should mean he wouldn’t be so quick to move on, right? It has been a month. A month can be a long amount of time or a short amount of time, if you think about it. What if he’s given up on me? A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, and I try to force my mind to think about something else. Anything else.
My hands can’t seem to stay still. I ball up the threads hanging off the hem of shorts between my fingers distractedly, I wipe the dampness of my palms off onto my shirt, I drum against my thighs to the beat of the music. My anxiety is increasing with every moment I’m stuck in this car. Inside, I know it’s ridiculous to be this anxious. If Landon’s not at his apartment, I’ll find him at this food fest, or whatever the hell it is. Or I’ll just call him. The melodramatic part of me just wants to show up all breathless at his apartment, but it won’t be the end of the world if I don’t find him there. I also know that it’s not finding him I’m nervous about.
When the cab pulls up to Landon’s apartment complex, I thank the driver and leap out, almost shutting my wallet in the door in the process. The drive-thru gate is closed, so I go over to the walk-thru gate and slam right into it. I had counted on opening it as I was walking, but the gate is locked, and all my forward momentum propelled me right into the unyielding iron.
“Ow,” I mumble, rubbing my knee. Not the most graceful moment of my life, I’ll admit. I jiggle the handle and halfheartedly press a few buttons on the keypad, but it’s a no-go.
I’ve just begun appraising the structure of the perimeter fence, wondering where I should plant my foot to boost myself over the top, when a car approaches and opens the gate with their remote. I trot after it just before the gate rattles closed.
Elation builds on the walk up the stairs to the third floor. This is really happening. Landon wants to be with me, and I want to be with him. There’s nothing we’re hiding from each other anymore; every ugly part of our pasts and all of our secrets and fears have been aired. It can only go up from here, really. There’s still so much to learn about each other, and I’ve never been more anxious and ready to start.
A girl with wavy, silver hair passes by me just as I reach the top of the stairs and gives me a friendly smile. I return the gesture, sure that every one of my emotions is written plainly on my face. She’s probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t have much time to worry about that thought, though, because she’s approaching Landon’s door.
It’s fine, she’s a neighbor, I think, up until she stops and knocks a few times in an upbeat tempo. Rap rap, rap rap, rap rap.
My feet propel me past her and down the hall. No, this is the wrong way, I try to tell myself, but my flight response is overpowering sense and taking me away from a scene that has the potential to be burned into my memory and hurt my heart forever. I duck into the next stairwell, out of sight of his door so he won’t see me lingering.
It’s nothing. I’ll just wait here for her to leave. But an imaginary weight seems to press down on my diaphragm, leaving me short of breath. I lean against the wall and rest my head against it, trying futilely to get myself to just go to his door instead of being a coward. She knocks again, and then I hear his door open.
“Looks like they should’ve called you Sloth instead of Ferrari,” she says in a teasing tone that grates in my ears. “You ready to do this or what?”
“Looks like someone’s got jokes today, Peewee.” He mocks her, with obvious familiarity. “You take this and we’ll get going, assistant.”
Ugh, first Peewee, and now assistant? I remember when he gave me that title. Despite the fact that it’s directed at this mystery woman, his voice flows like honey and makes my heart ache.
I hear some rustling, then the jingle of his keys as they slide into the lock. Then their footsteps pick up, headed in what sounds like the opposite direction, and I decide it’s safe to chance a look around the corner. I immediately regret it when I do.
I catch an eyeful of the broad expanse of Landon’s back, that characteristic curly hair . . . and his arm as he drapes it over the silver-haired girl’s shoulders and pulls her into his side. And just like that, my heart plummets through three floors and slams into the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
I clutch the place on my chest right over my heart. It hurts. Rarely have I been able to think about what happened in December without immediately feeling sick. But this? This is different. How long did it take me to earn Landon’s trust enough to where he could so casually slip his arm around my shoulders? This girl has somehow given him something I couldn’t, and the sight of it is agonizing. I bite my lip and try to blink away the tears that are burning the backs of my eyes, but it’s no use. This was too big of a letdown after the buildup to just brush it aside.
I allow only a few, pathetic tears to slip down my cheeks before sucking in a breath and taking the stairs down to the first floor, more dejected than I thought I would ever feel at this moment.