Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 42Lawrence

Chapter Forty-Two

Lawrence

18 years old

I stand on Lauren's porch, my heart doing its best impression of a jackhammer. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the quaint houses of Greenwood Hollow, but I barely notice. My hand hovers over the door, shaking slightly. Breathe, Larry. You've waited years for this moment.

I knock, three sharp raps that seem to echo through the quiet street. My mind races, replaying that day under the old oak tree. Her lips on mine, soft and sweet.

The door swings open, and suddenly, there she is. Lauren. My breath catches in my throat. She's even more beautiful than I remember, all honey-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. But something's... off.

"Larry?" Her voice is hesitant, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

I force a grin, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach. "Surprise! I, uh, thought I'd drop by. You know, for old times' sake."

Lauren's eyebrows knit together, her expression a mix of confusion and... is that discomfort? "That's... nice. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

I nod, words failing me for a moment. This isn't going how I imagined. Where's the joyful reunion? The passionate embrace? I clear my throat, determined to salvage the situation.

"Yeah, it has." I wink, hoping my charm will break through whatever's causing this weird tension.

Lauren shifts her weight, glancing over her shoulder into the house. "Larry, I?—"

"Can I come in?" I blurt out, desperate to keep this moment from slipping away. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

She hesitates, and I feel my heart sinking. What's happening? This isn't how it was supposed to go. Not even close.

Lauren steps aside, reluctantly letting me in. I stride into her living room, my eyes darting around, taking in the cozy space. Photos of her with friends I don't recognize line the walls. It feels like I'm looking at a stranger's life.

"Lauren, it's me. Larry," I say, turning to face her. "Don't you remember?" The words tumble out, tinged with desperation. Maybe she's just forgotten what I look like. Yeah, that's gotta be it.

She gives me a brief, awkward hug that feels more like a formality than a reunion. "Of course I remember you, Larry. I'm just... surprised. What are you doing here?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This is it. The moment I've been waiting for. "I've come to get you, Lauren. We're adults now. We can be together, just like we always talked about."

Her eyes widen, and I fumble in my pocket, pulling out the letter. The paper is worn, creased from countless readings. I hold it out to her like a lifeline.

"Remember this? You wrote it to me right after I had to move away. You said when we grow up, we can be together. The adults can't tell us no anymore."

Lauren takes the letter, her fingers brushing mine. For a moment, I feel a spark of hope. But then she looks up at me, and my heart plummets.

"Oh, Larry," she says, her voice soft and sad. "That was so long ago. Things change. People change."

I shake my head, not wanting to hear it. This can't be happening. Not after everything. Not after all this time.

"I have a boyfriend now," she continues, each word a dagger. "I'm going to college in the fall. We... we can't be together."

The room starts to spin. There's too much emotion coursing through me – anger, disappointment, heartbreak. I can't process it all. I can't even speak. I just stand there, staring at her, wondering how my perfect reunion turned into this nightmare.

I turn and leave, my feet carrying me away before my brain can catch up. Lauren's voice calls after me, but I don't look back. I don't say anything. What's the point?

She obviously didn't wait for me, and I feel like the world's biggest idiot for waiting for her. As I climb into my beat-up Corolla, I make a vow to myself: I'll never do it again. Never give my heart to someone. It's not worth the pain.

The drive back to the apartment Roman and I rent together is a blur. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

I stumble into our empty apartment, grateful that Roman isn't home. My anger, which has been simmering the whole drive, finally explodes.

"Fuck this!" I yell, kicking off my shoes. They slam against the wall with a satisfying thud. "Nothing matters anymore. Not this shitty bed, not this ratty couch, not this fucking TV!"

I grab the remote and hurl it across the room. It's not enough. My fist connects with the wall, and pain shoots up my arm. But it feels good, cathartic. I stare at the hole I've made, my chest heaving.

"Real smooth, Larry," I mutter to myself. "Destroy the apartment. That'll show her."

My eyes land on the fridge, and suddenly, I have a new mission. I yank open the door and grab every beer I can find. One after another, I crack them open and chug them down. The bitter taste floods my mouth, but I don't care. I just want to forget.

As I down what must be my fifth or sixth beer, the room starts to spin. I sink to the floor, my back against the fridge.

"To Lauren," I slur, raising the can in a mock toast. "May she enjoy college and her perfect boyfriend while I rot here."

The ceiling above me blurs, and I close my eyes. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll wake up and this will all have been a bad dream. But I know better. This nightmare is my new reality.

I hear the door open and Roman's voice filters through my hazy consciousness.

"Whoa, did a tornado hit while I was out? Or did you decide to redecorate, Larry-style?"

His footsteps draw closer, and I can picture his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes as he surveys the damage.

"Oh shit," he mutters, his tone shifting from joking to concerned. "Larry? You okay, man?"

I try to respond, but my tongue feels like lead. Roman's face swims into view, his blue eyes wide with worry.

"Alright, buddy. Let's get you cleaned up."

As he helps me to my feet, the room tilts dangerously. I mumble something unintelligible, and then everything goes black.

When I come to, I'm on the couch, a blanket draped over me. My head is pounding, and my mouth tastes like something died in it. I groan and force my eyes open.

The room looks... normal. No broken TV, no scattered beer cans. My gaze falls on the wall where I distinctly remember punching a hole. There's a piece of paper taped over it with a crude smiley face drawn on it. Below, in Roman's messy scrawl, it says, "No hole here!"

I can't help but snort. Leave it to Roman to turn property damage into a joke.

"Look who's rejoined the land of the living," Roman says, appearing from the kitchen with a glass of water and some aspirin.

I take them gratefully, wincing as I sit up. "Thanks, man. And, uh, sorry about... you know."

Roman waves it off. "No worries. Though I gotta say, your redecorating skills need work." He plops down next to me on the couch. "So, you gonna tell me what happened? Or should I start guessing? Let's see... you found out they're discontinuing your favorite cereal?"

I shake my head, immediately regretting the movement. "Lauren," I manage to croak out. "She... she turned me down."

Roman's playful expression softens. "Ah, man. That's rough. I get why you're angry."

"She was the one, Ron," I say, my voice cracking. "I waited for her. I dreamed about her. And she couldn't care less."

Roman's quiet for a moment, which is rare for him. When he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically gentle. "I don't think she was the one, Larry. I think... she was just the first one."

I frown, confused. "The first one what?"

"The first one who showed you kindness and love," he explains. "But there will be others. Trust me on this."

I shake my head, feeling the darkness creeping back in. "I don't believe you."

Roman shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's okay. Whether or not you believe it, it's true."

I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. The emotional rollercoaster and alcohol binge have taken their toll.

"Get some sleep, man," Roman says, patting my shoulder as he stands up. "That temper of yours must really take it out of you."

As I drift off, I can't help but wonder if Roman might be right. But for now, sleep calls, and I'm too tired to argue.