The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (color ebook reader TXT) 📗

The last thing she needed was another person making her feel bad. There was no possible way that he was sincerely being nicer than she deserved. Not with their family history. This was just another ding in her fantastically shitty trip back to the hellhole that was her hometown.

“I got in over my head, in every possible way,” Dylan snapped. “I had to let something drop. Actually, I let everything drop. You were just the by-product of my own personal hurricane.”

“I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Did he have to apologize? Dylan seethed, her thoughts moving through her unfiltered. Ignoring the roiling in her stomach, she plowed on, her voice rising half an octave.

“I hold it together and follow the rules and be reliable. All those rules and all that order—what did it get me? A cyclone client and a bitch-ass boss.” Dylan slapped her hand against the steering wheel. “Worse, I break a few small rules, and I get a one-night stand who is too nice for his own good but can’t accept an apology without some long-winded explanation, which I don’t have, by the way. Oh yeah! And a floodlight in my decrepit ruin of a childhood bedroom window.”

The silence on the other end of the line felt like Mike was working on a mental Rubik’s Cube. He exhaled heavily. “Okay, let’s deal with those one at a time.” His tone was like that of a man talking to a child having a meltdown in the grocery store. Extreme frustration wrapped in a soothing balm. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to be honest with me. Where is this coming from?”

“It isn’t coming from anywhere. It is me. I’m a disaster. Just as destructive and dysfunctional as the rest of my family.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re an optimistic fool.” She laughed, the sound hollow. Clenching her jaw, she said, “I can’t with you.”

“I’m trying here, but I’ve got a mess on my hands at work.” Mike’s tone was clipped. Taking a deep breath, she prepared a retort, but this was his breaking point, and he did not leave her the room to continue. “I’m expending massive amounts of energy trying to reason with you right now, and I don’t think it’s getting anywhere. It sounds like you have some things you need to work out.” Mike paused, and Dylan could hear him pacing his office, attempting to regain composure. “Independently.”

“Fine.” She felt her eyes sting and rubbed them with her free hand. She just needed to get through this conversation; then she could go home and crawl into bed for a year and forget everything.

“At least we are on the same page here,” Mike muttered under his breath. “Look, I’m not interested in being a scapegoat or a punching bag or whatever it is you are doing.” It sounded as though he had stopped pacing, and his tone softened again. “I care about you. So how about you call me if you work things out or if you want real help working things out. Okay?”

Her heart squeezed, but she had little to say in response. Luckily, her mind was still storming, and she let that carry her through the conversation. “I don’t need help.”

“All right. Talk to you later,” Mike said, his tone heavy. He waited a beat for her response before hanging up the phone, further irritating her. Even his brush-offs were reasonable.

Worse, Mike had sounded sorry too. Glancing at herself in the rearview mirror again, she scowled. She was still an ashy shade of I-just-got-fired green, and any blood left in her face had made its way to her cheeks, reminding her of sinister clowns in movies. The whole look added to her growing sense of horror. What had she done?

In the mirror, Dylan almost didn’t recognize herself. What kind of person tore into someone for asking reasonable questions? Her heart plummeted as soon as the words optimistic and fool circled back to her. Mike didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Hadn’t Jared just shouted at her for pointing out that he was overreacting? Yet here she was, unreasonably angry at Mike for . . . what? Being kind.

“Holy shit, that was mean,” she whispered to herself, nausea washing over her as other parts of the conversation came back. One-night stand who is too nice? Those words had come out of her mouth, and she hadn’t even meant them. Those words were so hurtful. They were cruel. She was a lot of things, but cruel? Even at her rock bottom, she never wanted to be that kind of person.

Taking a sip of her cold coffee, Dylan choked back the stone lodged in her throat. Dropping the phone into her lap, she looked out the foggy windshield at the fuzzy gray of the Technocore office and shivered, a sheen of her own body heat coating the windows. After blowing on her hands, she jammed her index finger into the start button and waited for the windshield to clear.

“Damn it!” she growled at the hazy walls. She couldn’t even get out of her soon-to-be ex-client’s parking lot without more failure. Dylan swallowed tears down. Crying was for people who hadn’t pulled themselves together after feral childhoods. Women who drove over flower beds to escape ex-boyfriends didn’t cry when they threatened them. They didn’t cry over disappointing new friends, shitty bosses, bad jobs, or nice-guy neighbors.

Taking another deep breath, she checked her rear windshield and tried to smile at the microscopic patch of visibility opening up. Soon she would be able to safely exit the parking lot and this hellhole of a town. She reached down for her coffee as her phone dinged again. The familiar tone of a text message asking her why she hadn’t turned the thing off already. Reminding herself that she couldn’t go anywhere, she picked up the phone.

Hey! Did you turn in the recommendation letter?

Dylan froze, the icy temperature outside finally reaching her veins. She stared at the little