"Come on…" Bryce mumbled to himself, his anxiety building in his throat, pressing against his windpipes. "Pick up the damn phone, Daphne."
The other end of the line continued to ring until he reached her voicemail again.
Hello! You've reached the number of Daphne Lichtenberg. Sorry I'm not able to take your call right now, but please leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Have a great day, bye!
Her voice, sweet as honey, grated on his nerves. That cheerful trill normally had a soft smile peeking from his lips toward the girl, but now it had him gripping his phone tighter until he swore that he heard a slight crack from the plastic casing around it.
The irony does not escape him, and if he ever gets to meet Trish in a friendly setting, he promises himself that he is going to apologise for all the times that he left her on read. He needs his girlfriend, but she does not answer and it absolutely fucking sucks. He is about to go set her workplace on fire if that is what it takes, and this time he means it.
Once the recorded message came to an end, Bryce hung up and tossed his phone into the passenger seat of his truck before lowering his head against the steering wheel. His forehead just barely escapes the horn, a positioning issue he learnt to resolve after the fourth time a loud noise took him off his reverie.
All his pent-up anger and frustration seeped through him like a sickness, some sort of evil miasma squeezing his throat and churning his stomach, until everything seemed to stop. His shoulders curved inwards and a heavy sigh escaped his lips.
"Where are you?" He whispered to no-one in particular, feeling pathetic about it.
Today had been just like any other day this summer: working with his father at Montgomery Asset Management, going over spreadsheets and contracts and discussing plans with potential clients and venture capitalists. It was meant to ease him into the work that was set out for him from birth, and, if he was honest about it, he knows that he has it easier than any other intern in the firm.
Just like any other day, however, Bryce had somehow managed to fuck something up. One morning, it had been accidentally knocking over his coffee onto important documents his father had entrusted him with keeping until a few of his clients were ready for signatures. A few weeks ago, it had been him forgetting to drive to the post office to pick up a shipment of whoeven knows what for the office.
Specifically, just this afternoon, what was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back, he had sent a letter of agreement for collaboration with a highly-esteemed company to the wrong email address. Little things here and there that continued to add up until Mr. Montgomery could not take any more screwups from his newest employee and only child. Today the older man had finally had enough.
His dad had fired him. His dad.
As if that was not bad enough, his hankering for another hit of cocaine just added insult to injury. His hands were shaking from withdrawal, most likely causing most of his mistakes anyway since he could not fucking think straight without the white powder coating his nostrils, and he wished he still had an extra stash hidden away in his glove box like usual.
However, he had promised Daphne that he would stop with the hard drugs, and he fully intended on keeping that promise. He had remained sober and completely clean for six weeks now, since the end of the school year, but it was not getting any easier. He had to erase Rafi's number from his phone so he would not be tempted to call, and he caught himself driving east to Toffee Springs out of habit only to groan in frustration before flipping his motorcycle around and going back home.
She had saved his ass more times than Bryce could count, and damn him if he did not somehow make it up to her. Besides, he can understand that she is not asking it of him for her benefit, that cutting down on coke is a gain to himself first and foremost, and, considering her money troubles, he admires how this is her only demand upon him.
Now, this is always easier when he has her active support. If only she would pick up, if only he could just hear her live voice instead of a recording, he knew he would be okay and this burning in his veins would go away. He took the hour drive to Bitterby just so he can reach her faster if she picks up the phone, but now he is alone in an empty parking lot, far away from home. It is starting to feel like a mistake.
Daphne…Oh, how naïve he was when they first met each other! He thought that he could play with her, that he could control her, make her his and go on in his merry way, completely scot-free. She was smarter than him, she knew how to put him in his place, and he found that he rather liked it.
This girl meant more to him than he could ever explain, that he could ever understand. He might as well have replaced one addiction with another, but he would much rather be dependent on her than a substance that would just end up killing him a few years down the road.
Bryce banged his head on the steering wheel of his truck, setting off the horn for the fifth time and startling himself. God, he was so on edge, it was driving him crazy.
Reaching over the console for his phone to try giving her another call, just one last time before going back home, he jerked back when the passenger door suddenly opened and the familiar scent of vanilla wafted inside the vehicle and tickled his nose.
"There you are!" A beaming voice called from the side. "I thought I saw your truck parked out here. Thank God I wasn't mistaken! Can you imagine? Do you want to go for a drive? I think I saw a sign out advertising a new ice cream shop that just opened down the street. I could totally go for some ice cream right now, it's so hot…"
That honey-sweet voice Bryce had been craving so badly reached his ears and he would be lying if he said his heart did not jump a bit at the sound. His blue eyes met hers as she rested back against the passenger seat, already buckled in and ready to go, sporting the biggest and brightest smile he had ever seen, but it faltered slightly at the look on his face.
"Bryce?" She asked, so softly, that he nearly wept at the gentleness communicated in her voice. "Are you okay? I just got your message, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here, I…"
Her words got muffled in the fabric of his shirt as he pulled her against him. He could practically feel every muscle in his body sigh in relief at the contact. Daphne, his Daphne was here. Finally.
"God…" He whispered, almost incredulous. "You're really here."
The girl frowned at the tone of his voice, so fragile and breakable, dissolving in the air between them like a wisp of smoke.
"Shh, it's okay." She said, rubbing her hand across his back in soothing round motions. "I'm here now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I took so long, my phone got busted and then work... I'm sorry."
She could have sworn that she felt the wetness of tears against her collarbone, but she did not dare say anything. He is upset enough, and if he needs the release, pointing it out might just shame into bottling it up all over again.
Bryce pulled back slightly, putting enough distance between them so that he could meet her gaze, and her heart cracked at seeing his blue eyes brightly contrasted against the red rimming them.
"Thank you." He said, conjuring up a smile just for her. It was small, but it was there nonetheless.
Daphne ran her thumb along the delicate skin beneath his eye, wiping away a stray tear, before gently bringing her finger over his brow bone, down the slope of his nose, and across the dusty pink hue of his bottom lip.
"You don't have to thank me for anything, honey." She pressed her lips to his cheek in a whisper of a kiss. "So, how about that ice cream, hm? I got paid today! It's my treat."
That brought a full grin to his lips and he pulled away from her to start up the truck again, wrapping his arm around the headrest of her seat before backing out of his parking spot.