Chapter 3
I locked myself in the bathroom. Didn't even sit on the toilet. Just turned on the faucet, braced my hands against the sink, and let it come.
Silent crying first. The kind where your shoulders shake but no sound escapes. Then I pressed my palms against my face and sobbed—still quiet, still controlled, because Amy was asleep in the next room and Chloe didn't need to hear me fall apart twice in one night.
Tears and snot streamed down. I grabbed tissue after tissue, dabbing at my face as quietly as I could.
From the way Adam looked at me tonight, he must hate me. And even if he doesn't—even if there's some small part of him that remembers what we had—it doesn't matter. He's Boston's top-tier old money. I'm nobody. I never stood a chance.
A knock on the door made me freeze.
"You gonna cry in there all night?" Chloe's voice was softer than usual. "Or are you hiding because you think I'm gonna make fun of you for being a mess?"
I wiped my eyes one more time and opened the door. My face felt swollen.
Chloe grinned. "Come on. I'm taking you somewhere good."
I frowned. "Where?"
"Throwing Axes."
I shook my head. "No. That doesn't solve anything. Emotional release is temporary."
Chloe slung an arm around my neck. "I'm kidding. The real place is way better. Trust me."
"But Amy—"
"We'll be back before she wakes up. I promise."
We checked the windows and locked the door behind us.
Twenty minutes later, Chloe stopped in front of a building I didn't recognize. I stared up at it. "Whose place is this?"
She dangled a key in front of my face. "Let's find out."
"Wait. Are you moving?"
Chloe unlocked the door and pushed it open without answering. "What do you think?"
I stepped inside. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small living room. The apartment had a fresh, airy feel—white walls, light wood floors, and large windows that would flood the space with natural light during the day. The furniture was all there: a gray fabric sofa, a coffee table, a small dining set, even a few potted plants on the windowsill. Everything was clean and ready to move into.
"It's nice," I said slowly. "How much?"
"One thousand a month."
My eyes widened. "That's really good for this area."
"Yeah." Chloe leaned against the doorframe, watching me. "I know you've been feeling guilty about crashing at my place. And you've been so busy with work, you haven't had time to apartment hunt. So Amy and I did it for you. This place is a five-minute walk from Sunny Days."
I didn't even realize I was moving until I'd thrown my arms around her. I kissed her cheek three times in rapid succession. "Chloe! I love you!"
She laughed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Okay, okay. You got lipstick on me. Now I have to wash my face again when we get back."
I grabbed her hands and shook them, grinning like an idiot. "I'll wash it for you. You don't even have to move."
The next morning, I woke up early and started packing.
Chloe and Amy were still asleep. I moved quietly through the apartment, folding clothes and stacking boxes. My life fit into three duffel bags and two cardboard boxes. Pathetic, maybe. But also freeing.
Halfway through, I heard little footsteps padding across the floor.
Amy stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes. When she saw me, her face lit up. She ran straight into my arms.
"Mommy! I missed you so much!"
I crouched down and pressed my cheek against hers. "How'd you sleep, baby?"
"Really good. I even dreamed you came back and kissed me goodnight."
I smiled. "Hungry?"
"Yes, please."
"Go brush your teeth and wash your face. I'll make breakfast."
"Okay!" She bounced toward the bathroom.
By the time Chloe dragged herself out of bed—hair sticking up in every direction—I'd finished packing and Amy had polished off a plate of scrambled eggs.
Chloe blinked at the pile of bags by the door. "Damn. You work fast."
"I made you breakfast. It's on the counter."
"Thanks." She grabbed a piece of toast and dangled her car keys. "How exactly were you planning to move all this stuff without my car?"
I just looked at her.
She shook her head, chewing. "Come on. Let's go."
Chloe helped me haul everything into the new apartment. Once the last box was inside, she drove me to the office and then took Amy to Sunny Days.
I spent the rest of the day buried in spreadsheets and conference calls, but my mind kept drifting.
New apartment. Fresh start. Maybe things are finally looking up.
By the time I left work, the sky had turned black. Rain poured down in thick sheets, drumming against the pavement and turning the streets into rivers.
I stood under the overhang outside Garrison Industries, holding my umbrella at an angle to block the wind-driven spray. Every passing car sent waves of water onto the sidewalk. My pants were already soaked to mid-calf.
I tried hailing a ride on my phone. Uber surge pricing: 3.2x. Lyft wasn't much better.
Fuck it. I started walking toward the bus stop a mile away.
A silver Audi A8 pulled up beside me.
The window rolled down. Julian's face appeared, all sharp cheekbones and effortless charm even in this weather.
"Get in."
I waved him off. "I'm fine, Julian. I'll take the bus."
"In this rain? During rush hour?" He raised an eyebrow. "By the time the bus shows up, you could grab dinner and come back."
I hesitated. I still needed to pick up Amy from Chloe's place. The clock was ticking.
"Fine." I climbed into the passenger seat, shaking water off my coat.
Julian pulled onto the main road. We'd barely merged into traffic when an Aston Martin came screaming past us, cutting so close that I flinched. The driver laid on the horn as they sped away, kicking up a wall of water that slammed into Julian's hood.
Julian hit the brakes. Hard.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, turning on the windshield wipers.
I glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the license plate before the car disappeared into the rain. In Boston, anyone driving an Aston Martin like that—reckless, entitled, untouchable—probably came from serious money.
Julian's jaw was tight, but he didn't say anything else. Just shook his head.
"Driving like that in the rain," he muttered under his breath. "These rich kids—do they think their lives are too good to lose? Fucking death wish."
