But he couldn’t. Because he’d pushed her away. Out of fear, out of shame.
His chest tightened, breath catching. Warmth drained from his fingers, a cold rush sweeping through him like the start of a fall.
Judith’s voice broke through. “Darling, are you all right? You seem distracted.”
Lauren wasn’t the problem. Lauren had never been the problem. It was him.
New Year’s Eve was a fitting moment for this resolution. He was going to do better. He was going to be the man she deserved. A man worthy of his wife. Someone who didn’t make her feel small, not ever again.
Tom drained his champagne. “I’ve got a call to make.”
Tom stepped outsideinto the cold.
Snow fell in fat, lazy flakes, catching streetlight and turning the whole street soft-edged and quiet. The party noise muffled behind him—laughter, music.
He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking—from cold or nerves, he couldn't tell.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
She wasn't going to answer. Why would she? It was New Year's Eve and he'd destroyed Christmas and she was probably?—
"Tom?"
Her voice hit him like a physical thing. He closed his eyes.
"Hi," he said. His breath clouded white between them, even though she was miles away. "I'm sorry. I know it's late. I just—I needed to hear your voice."
Silence on her end.
The snow kept falling. Inside, voices rose in unison, counting down.
"I love you," he said. “And maybe I don’t deserve you, but I don’tcare. I’m going to fight for you.”
"Tom."
Through the door he heard the eruption of midnight. But out here it was just snow and silence and his wife's breathing on the other end of the line.
"Happy New Year, Lauren," he said softly. "I love you."
A long pause. Then, barely a whisper: "Happy New Year."
Tom stood in the snow long after she'd hung up, watching his breath cloud and fade in the cold air.
CHAPTER 25
Lauren
Lauren draggedherself into the office, running on less than three hours of sleep.
Her reflection in the elevator doors looked as wrecked as she felt. She hadn’t bothered with lipstick. Let the world meet her as she was: raw, tired, still half-haunted by the memory of Tom’s call.
The elevator chimed, and she braced herself for another ordinary workday.
But when the doors opened onto the Muse Magazine floor, she was greeted with excitement.
“Lauren!” Sage’s voice rang out before she’d even taken a step. “You’re a hit.”
Lauren blinked. “I’m what?”
