Chapter 28
I’ve never seen him like that before. Cold, detached, angry. I can’t blame him, though.
I sit at my desk for a long time after Nash leaves, long enough that the light in the office shifts from flat gray to the hard gold of late afternoon.
The open file before me is a blur, the words refusing to arrange themselves into anything that makes sense to me. I try to focus on work, emails, deadlines, the low drone of the air conditioning, but every thought circles back to the look on his face when he left.
I try to imagine what I could have said that would have made it better, but I know there’s nothing.
Nash didn’t so much as peek in my direction the entire day.
When the clock crawls past five, I pack up and move through the office, keeping my head low and avoiding eye contact.
The elevator is mercifully empty, only my reflection in the metal doors staring back at me.
I make it to the parking lot in time to see Nash pulling out on his bike. I watch the red of his taillight until it’s gone, then walk to my car.
Once inside, I just sit for a while, letting my keys rest in my lap. There’s a dead space in my chest, a weightless sort of ache. I drive home on autopilot again, my thoughts a jumble of regret and sadness.
At home, I scroll past every notification and stare at the ceiling. Salem senses something is off and presses himself against my thigh, heavy and insistent.
I don’t cry. It’s not that kind of sadness. It’s a more precise misery, one that comes from knowing that the thing you broke is never going to fit back the way it did before.
I stay that way for hours, haunted by the afterimage of Nash’s eyes this morning. Every time I close mine, his voice runs on a loop again.
“We both know you’re not above fucking your coworkers.”
At midnight, I finally move. I pour myself a glass of water and trudge to my bedroom, knowing that I probably won’t be able to sleep. I think about calling Mina, but the idea of explaining any of this feels like it would be more exhausting than helpful.
So I put my phone on the charger, lay down in bed, and close my eyes in the hopes that the ruminating thoughts will subside long enough for me to sleep.
***
I don’t talk to Nash for three days.
The week is a train wreck. At work, Nash keeps to his side of the glass. I catch glimpses of him. He doesn’t look at me, not once, and for some reason the absence of his attention is worse than any hostile stare he could give me.
On Friday, I find myself in a meeting with James. Just the two of us in the conference room, glass walls reflecting the fluorescent light. He’s even more formal than usual, back straight, hands folded on the table. When I sit, he doesn’t look up from his notes.
For the first ten minutes, we talk strictly business. He reviews a motion I drafted, suggests some edits, and I simply nod in response. The air is weighted with everything unsaid, each pause hanging a little too long.
When he closes the last folder, he says, “Avery, I—“ but then the door opens and Vanessa sticks her head in to remind us about the firm-wide meeting at ten. James thanks her, waits for the door to close again, and then just…stares at the table. I watch the flex of his hands.
“You don’t have to say it,” I manage, voice raw.
James looks up, caught. “I should have handled it differently.”
I almost laugh, but it sticks in my throat. “We both should have. It’s done.”
He exhales, a long, silent drag of air. “Is it?”
I look at him. Really look, and understand what he’s asking. He’s asking if this is still salvageable.
“I need to focus on my work, James. That’s all I have right now.”
He nods, but there’s an ache behind it.
That night, I work late. I let the hum of the office after dark distract me, the eerie blue light of monitors playing across the cubicles, until my eyes blur.
