I can’t help it; I laugh—even as my head starts to throb. “Sorry, that really sucks.”
“Let me show you the spare bedroom.” He leads me down a short hallway, past a small bedroom that just has space for a neatly made bed, dresser, and nightstand, to an even smaller bedroom that only contains the first two. My suitcase occupies most of the available floor space. A narrow window only grudgingly admits the midafternoon light. Still, I wince at its brightness. I need to lie down. I need to count my pills to see how many I have. I don’t know how long it’ll take the Peaches to take me off Brayden’s insurance. I don’t think he’ll cut me off immediately, but you never really know with people.
I survey the room again. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s very clean, which only throws into relief how shabby it is. I haveenough money from Lexi for a month or two of rent here or a few days at a hotel. “This is great. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”
Forrest shrugs and studies the floor. “If you’re set, I gotta go to work.”
“I should be fine.”I have to be.
“You know,” he says, “after that first class, I thought you might drop the program.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“All the coursework is a grind. Plus, you had on that ring and that necklace, so clearly had, uh, other options.”
“Like a rich husband?” I ask jokingly, then my chin starts to wobble without my consent. I’m not going to cry about this. Or not in front of Forrest, who seems like he has actual problems and not my self-inflicted mess. “Well, not anymore, I guess.”
“Did he…” Forrest pauses as if searching for the right word, and I wonder if he’s going to ask if Brayden’s and my relationship wasequitable.“Do we need to burn down his house?” Forrest says it less like he’s opposed to the idea and more like he’s calculating the expense of gasoline.
I laugh, though it gets teary at the end. “No, this whole thing is…”My fault. My fault for getting married, my fault for falling in love. My fault for thinking that things with Brayden and Asher would somehow just work out on their own. “Brayden isn’t to blame for anything. We just—” The smudge in my vision expands. I blink a few times, hoping Forrest will think I’m just trying not to cry. “Sometimes things don’t work out, you know?”
“Okay, well, offer stands about the arson. Katia would probably make a good getaway driver.” He thinks for a second. “I’m really glad you decided not to quit the program.”
I reach down and pull Forrest into a one-armed hug. “Thank you, for everything. I’m really glad I didn’t quit too.” After Forrest leaves the room, I scramble through my stuff to find my meds and swallow them dry. This migraine isn’t some distantstorm on the horizon. No, it’s here and undeniable. I collapse backward onto the lumpy mattress and shut my eyes against the thin ambient light. Tell myself I’m strong enough to get through this. Which I will be—but I’m not right now.
Still, I wait until Forrest is up the hallway—shuffling through papers and grabbing his stuff to leave for work, from the sound of it—before I let the first tears start to fall.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Brayden
When I wake up,Baby is asleep on my chest. “I dreamed your mama came home,” I say.
Baby looks at me with her luminous kitten eyes, then blinks a few times as if she resents me for having disturbed her. Her toys are still in a scatter around the living room. Of course she liked the twist-tie attaching a little squeaky mouse to its cardboard holder more than the toy itself. I scoop some of the toys up, leaving the ones that Baby seemed the most intent on, and carry the rest to the drawer in the kitchen where I’ve been stashing most of the duds.
Something in the house feels…different. Sav left early this morning—for class, I think—but I dreamed she was here, a feeling I can’t shake like the smell of her rose perfume in the air. I climb the stairs up to her room. Our room, really since the door between our bedrooms has been open more often than not.
Sav’s dresser drawers are open. Her closet is half bare hangers, her bathroom stripped of makeup and hair supplies.Did we get robbed?Except instead of taking her jewelry, herpendant is hanging from a stand on her dresser, next to a few other necklaces.
I pluck it from the stand. The pendant sits heavy in my palm. Did I forget how much it weighs? Or did I just not care when I gave it to her? A strand of her hair is woven through one of the links on its chain, like she was in a hurry to take it off.What happened?“Sav, are you here?” I call. My voice echoes back, but no other responses come.
I put the pendant back on its stand carefully, like she could come back at any moment and wouldn’t want to have the chain tangled. Next to it is a folded piece of paper. I open it. Her debit card falls out. I read her note then read it again. The writing is dry, but the words are stained as if she dripped water on it.Or she was crying.
I pull my phone from my pocket, expecting a text or call from Savannah—an explanation—something that will close this widening chasm in my chest like when she packed away her things and left, she took my heart with her.
There’s a message from an hour ago all right, but not from Sav.
Asher: Call me as soon as you get this, B. We need to talk.
I FaceTime Asherfrom the kitchen, my hand already around a glass. “What’s that?” he asks as he watches me take a sip—possibly a gulp—of the whiskey from the single bottle remaining in the house.
“What do you think?” I take another slug. I missed the burn of it, the feel of it coating my tongue, the smoky aftertaste. But mostly I missed the way that it could make the world feel a little more distant—bearable, even. “What happened?” I spit.
“The team knows about us.” Asher’s mouth is a grim line on screen. “Coach called me into his office this morning. They know about me and Sav.”
“And you and me?”Is there a you and me?I don’t add.
Asher presses his lips together hard enough to go white. “I didn’t ask. They want a certain image.”
