He just raises a brow.
I exhale, eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. “We met two summers ago. She was here for an internship,” I say finally. “She wasn’t someone I just stumbled into.”
His silence invites more, and before I can stop myself, my thoughts slip back.
Conversations that started decent and went sideways in the best way. The kind of honesty you don’t usually give someone you’ve never met in person. Photos. Videos. Words that got filthier the longer we went without seeing each other. The kind of connection that gets under your skin and doesn’t fade, even when life makes you pretend it did.
Then my old man got sick. I missed the flight. Didn’t text. Didn’t know it was something I should have fought for.
Out loud, I clear my throat. “We lost contact for a bit. Then… she was with Kyle.”
Paul nods slowly, absorbing it. “You didn’t fight for her.”
“No,” I say quietly. “Didn’t think I had the right to.”
After a long moment, he says, “Maybe you do now.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. I hit speaker.
“Mr. Moretti? ” My lawyer’s voice fills the car, smooth and clipped. “Just letting you know Ms. Holloway sent her paperwork over to Everett & Vale, Hugo Vale himself is taking it on.”
Claudia.
I try to keep my tone neutral. “He happen to mention if it’s going to be an issue?”
“Confidentiality. But if I were you, I’d offer to go with her to the meeting. He’s brutally honest and very cold; she may need a friend.”
For the first time, I wish this concussion weren’t an issue. Hell, I’m pretty sure Costello had something to do with making it seem bigger than it was just to have something to hang over Dingy’s fucking head.
“Nalani should go. She’s a law student,” Paul says, clearly noticing my conflict. He leans in, as if he might see Liza if he gets closer to the screen. “You know anything about leases?”
“Liza, this is Paul Bronski,” I explain. “He owns?—”
A sharp inhale. “Mr. Bronski?”
Paul smirks. “That’s me.”
“Oh my—sir, it’s not my specialty, but it would be anhonorto draw something up for you.”
Paul grins, tapping the dash again. “See that, kid? Still got it.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m glad he has perked up. “Thanks, Liza. I’ll handle it.”
“Of course,” she says. “And Deacon? Don’t overthink this.”
The call ends, leaving the low hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the tires.
Paul shakes his head, smiling faintly. “See, even your lawyer knows you can’t keep driving past what’s in front of you.”
I stare ahead at the taillights of the moving truck. “Just until I’m sure I won’t crash it.”
He lets out a soft laugh, the kind that says he understands more than he’ll admit.
EIGHTEEN
Moving Out
Claudia
