Colby's POV:
"Fucking pizza," I mutter, pushing the box to the side. Four fucking nights in a row of the stale shit. Who ever said you can't get sick of pizza is wrong. I'm all cheesed out. Three weeks living off hotel breakfast, soggy sandwiches, and pizza at night has left me more irritated than when I was told I had to come to London for some bullshit filming with Sam.
And what makes it even worse? I'm too fucking far away from Emma.
I had everything planned out on how to fix this shit between us, but my quick departure screwed everything up and the last thing I want to do is try to fix this over the phone. So instead, I've taken this time to journal.
I know . . . journal.
I've never picked up a pen and thought about writing down my feelings, but that's what I've been doing, every night. Writing it all out, bleeding my emotions through my pen and onto the paper. And do you know what I've come to realize since I've started journaling? The emotional attachment I have to Sadie has a lot to do with how she took care of me when I needed someone to love me, to watch over me, and not with the love we once shared. Funny how long it took me to realize that.
The baby, well, my need to travel down the opposite path my mother paved for me is overwhelming. The baby gave me an opportunity to love something other than myself, to show the world that despite my upbringing, I can be a man, a provider, a responsible and loving parent. But Sadie helped me. We weren't ready, and maybe this time I've spent building my career will help make me be an even better father when another opportunity presents itself.
The silence between Emma and me has also been for her benefit. I needed to get my head on straight. I want to be the man she deserves, the man that will provide for her, the man that gives her all of his heart without anything standing in the way. Because I know with one hundred percent certainty. That's what I want. Her.
My phone rings, pulling me away from the hockey game that's on the tv.
Brennen.
"What's up, man?"
"I missssssss you!" he cries like a dickhead in the phone. "I need an Oatmeal Creme Pie in my mouth."
"You know you can buy them yourself, right?"
"I would but I'm saving my money."
"You're such a cheap fuck."
He laughs on the other end of the phone. "I fucking know it and wear that title with pride."
"Please tell me you've at least stopped taking toilet paper from the Port-o-potties."
"Why the hell would I do that? If I have to go in there to take a piss, I'm at least going to get something out of it." He laughs as if he just thought of something. "Oh shit, Jake went into one of the shit boxes today and came out raging in red, pants unbuckled, yelling about there never being toilet paper. I fucking fell over laughing. Jacko got it on his Snapchat. Did you see it?"
"Is there a reason for this phone call, or did you call just to dick with me?" I put my phone on speaker and lay it against my chest as I put both my hands behind my head and watch the muted game play out.
"Didn't know I had to have a reason to talk to my best friend."
"Best friend, huh? Laying it on thick. What do you want, man?"
"I don't want anything, but there is something I need to talk to you about."
"I knew it." I chuckle into the phone. "What is it? Did you fuck up another fireplace? Slam your head through a wall? Slide down another fucking banister only to pop the railing off?"
