But then the calls started slacking and logically, I knew this was because Tenn was extremely busy. He was putting in eighteen-hour days right alongside Woolf, and it worried me because I thought… if both of them were that busy with trying to keep things running, how could Woolf ever manage it on his own?
If Woolf couldn’t manage it on his own, then would Tenn ever be able to come back to me?
And then the thing that weighed heaviest upon me was the fact that if Tenn ended up being stuck in Wyoming, would he ever want me to come back? Would he want to continue to try to build something together, or would the Jennings dynasty suck every bit of him up and leave nothing behind for me?
Four days ago, he called me really late at night and told me that he and Woolf were flying to Chicago to meet with some investment bankers at the urging of the attorneys. It was felt that perhaps the easiest thing would be to take the company public, which would alleviate some of the management responsibilities on the two brothers. I took this to mean that perhaps the attorneys weren’t confident in either Woolf or Tenn’s abilities to step into their father’s shoes, and it felt like a backhanded slap to me.
But Tenn sounded so resigned when I talked to him, so eager for some type of game plan that could set his course in life whatever it may be, and he told me quietly, “It’s a good idea, I think. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe.”
He was suffering under the same confusion and muddled thinking that I was, and frankly… it just plain fucking sucked.
I got a text the following morning that he had landed in Chicago… and that was the last time I’d heard from him.
And because I’m not one to sit around and wonder what the hell was going on, I called Tenn twice for an update. I left him two voice mails and asked him to tell me what was going on.
I was met by utter silence and every day that has passed since, my anger started building until I reached the point that no matter what he said when he called, I knew he’d be on the receiving end of my ire first.
“He’s got a lot going on,” Brody says guardedly. “He’ll call when he gets a moment.”
I snort and level him with a sarcastic glare. “I’m sure he has time to take a piss… probably get a bite to eat. Even a few hours’ sleep. He sure as hell could spare a few of those minutes to give me a fucking call.”
“Ouch,” Alyssa quips as she walks back into the kitchen. “I’m thinking Tenn is going to get a major ass chewing when he finally calls.”
Almost as if on cue, my phone actually dings in my pocket and despite how mad I am at him and my bratty side demanding that I ignore him so he sees how it feels, I frantically reach into my pocket for my phone.
It’s indeed a text from Tenn, and my heart feels like it’s going to leap from my chest.
Back in WY. Have been slammed with meetings. Sorry haven’t called. Will call soon.
I stare at the text and my anger rages even hotter. I can’t believe he texts me a lame-ass apology with a vague promise to talk to me at some vague point in the future.
Don’t bother, I hastily text back as Brody stares at my phone over my shoulder.
Shaking his head, Brody gives me a reprimand. “Seriously, Casey? Kind of juvenile.”
“No more juvenile than when I tell you to ‘bite me’,” I sneer back at him, and my eyes stay glued to my screen.
The first contact in three days and it’s a brief text to me? I’m apparently not important enough to warrant a quick phone call?
Asshole.
Another ding has me tensed and prepared for battle as I read Tenn’s reply. You really don’t want me to call you?
Well, shit. Of course I want him to call me. I want him to grovel in apology for making me worry and hurting my feelings, but something that I call a little bit of the Markham stubborn pride rears its very ugly head.
While I’m not willing to cut off my nose to spite my face, I take a middle of the road approach when I write back. I haven’t heard from you in three days. It’s really kind of moot if I hear from you soon or not.
I study the message carefully. It’s cryptic enough he’ll scratch his head, but it’s by no means cutting ties with him. It’s merely my way of voicing my feminine displeasure.
I hit send.
“You are such a brat,” Brody mutters as he continues to read our interplay over my shoulder. I turn away from him to shield my phone and patiently wait for Tenn’s reply. I expect it will actually be a phone call so he can give me a piece of his mind, so it’s no surprise my stomach drops just a bit when a text comes back quickly.
It’s only one word.
Brat.
Same fucking word Brody just used.
“Aaaghhh,” I scream out and throw my phone across the kitchen, watching as it shatters against the wall.
Brody stares at me as if I’ve gone crazy, and Alyssa’s mouth drops open in astonishment. Both my parents come running inside, looking around with wild eyes over the disturbance.
I look around at each of them, their gazes all soaked with sympathy that Casey Markham is hurting and quite possibly going insane.
Brody is the one that acts though. He merely opens his arms up to me, and I burst into tears as I step into my brother’s embrace.
“Feeling better?” Gabby asks as she burrows under my covers beside me in bed. We’re watching our favorite movie, Talladega Nights, and although Gabby snorts and wheezes in laughter every ten minutes or so, I’m staring blankly at the screen.
I look down into my empty wine glass, the fourth of the evening since Brody and Alyssa brought me home. “I’m feeling drunk, not better,” I mutter.
After my meltdown at my parents’ house, Operation Casey went into full effect. Brody comforted me with his strong arms while my mom stroked my hair and cooed words of encouragement to me. My dad made a big production of cursing Tenn as a means of showing visible support of my position, even though I know he didn’t mean it. He really, really likes Tenn. Alyssa jumped on the hotline and called Gabby, who was waiting at my house with three bottles of wine.
I climbed out of Brody and Alyssa’s truck, feeling like a wet noodle after I cried for half an hour straight. I immediately felt terrible for being—well, a brat. Tenn didn’t deserve it, but I was operating on pure emotion and BHS… Battered Heart Syndrome.
My immediate regret turned into despair when I realized that my phone was broken beyond repair and I couldn’t amend my words to Tenn. I couldn’t do this even when Brody offered his phone to me, because I had no clue what Tenn’s number was. It was programmed into my phone so I never had the need to memorize it.
My immediate thought was to go home and hover over my landline phone, hoping and praying Tenn would call, but then I remembered I disconnected that line over two months prior in an effort to cut down on expenses.
Now all I could do was drink wine, get drunk, and let Gabby and Will Ferrell try to make me feel better.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Logically, I knew Tenn loved me and that he would not let our last interchange rule the future of our relationship. He’d find a way to get up with me despite my broken phone. However, as a panicked and irrational woman feeling like she had just lost the love of her life, I was convinced I’d never talk to Tenn again. Oh, he would assuredly text me back, and hell, he’d probably try to call. But the texts and voice mails would all go unanswered because I BROKE MY FUCKING PHONE.
Letting my head fall back, it thumps against the headboard and I give what may have been the longest, most pitiful sigh of the evening yet.