She’s right. I know she’s right, but my freaking chest hurts every time I think of Miles. Every time I look at the pictures from our trip or scroll my own IG profile.
Because something else I learned this week? Emotional wounds hurt just as much as physical ones.
It’s a lesson I could’ve done without.
“I just don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”
I bite my lip because it’s not exactly true. It’s more that I’m not sure if Icando it anymore.
“Give it time, sugar. Time heals all wounds.”
El tiempo lo cura todo.
How many times have I heard my father say the same thing?
Too many to count, that’s for damn sure.
“Miles called me a hypocrite.” I don’t know why I say it, but once it’s out, it’s like the dam has broken and all the sharp accusations come rushing to the surface in a flood of emotion. “He accused me of playing it safe. Said I’m scared of taking risks and lacking anything resembling spontaneity.”
That last part might not be a direct quote, but it’s what my psyche heard.
Gran’s quiet for a long time, and I check my screen to confirm the call hasn’t disconnected.
When she finally speaks, her wizened voice cutting through the heavy silence, my nerves go taut.
“Sugar, I don’t know if you’re a hypocrite, but the rest of that stuff? Well, I think we can agree he was a little bit wrong because quitting your job and giving this travel influencer thing a go was a big risk.”Thank you, Gran. “But he’s also a little bit right, because you played this trip safe, didn’t you?”
My cheeks burn. Not because she’s called me out but because it’s true.
“It’s not your fault,” Gran continues. “Your parents raised you to be cautious. But you’re an adult now, and you have to decide for yourself what kind of life you want to have.”
She pauses, and I take another fortifying sip of my coffee, certain I’m going to need it for whatever comes next.
“Do you want a predictable life where you play by the rules or an adventurous one where you make your own?”
It’s the million-dollar question…and I don’t have an answer.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Miles
Email is the devil. Or the devil’s invention, at the very least.
How can any one person be expected to sort through five hundred messages a day and still get any work done? It’s impossible.
Not for Lucy.
Yeah, well, Lucy isn’t here, and she’s not coming back.
I have to figure this out on my own until I can hire a new assistant, something I neglected while travelling. Because, like a complete asshole, I was sure I’d win the bet and Lucy would return to Austin with me.
And how did that work out for you?
It didn’t. I’ve only been back at my desk for four days, and already my life is crumbling before my eyes.
Again.
My chest tightens, and I force out a breath.
