Being back in any of their arms would help.
But I can’t go back there.
I won’t go back there.
The Isabel Marant boots are paired up neatly by the front doormat. Hung up on the back of the door is the matching jacket. Their money gave me many things—killer boots, a good fashion sense, wasted one-way tickets to New York. Their money meant I could quit my job and focus on Otis. I got financial freedom and peace of mind, but best of all, I got a broken heart.
And I’d trade all of the above in a heartbeat to mend it.
I balance sleepy Otis in one arm and grab my phone with the other. The missed messages and calls from Sadie make me tremble.
Sadie: How is New York?
Sadie: Girl, I’m still waiting for my piccies!
I bite my lip. Would all of this still have happened if I was living in New York?
Answer—yes. I’m sure Conrad O’Neill would’ve found a way to ruin my life. From the Empire State, from across the pond all the way over in Europe, the bastard would have kept going until he had me parading around stage at his next auction.
I call Sadie and hope she picks up. We have a lot to discuss.
“Please tell me it’s exactly like the movies. Have you caught a train to the city yet? Done the Serena Vanderwoodsen walk through Grand Central? Eeek! You don’t know how much I’m living vicariously through you right now!”
“It sounds like you should be the one in New York. Not me.”
“Ugh. A girl can dream.”
“Don’t be mad…but I didn’t catch the flight.”
“You’re still in Vegas?”
“Suprise…” I wince, waiting for her reaction.
“Okay. I’m coming over. Get your ass back home if it’s not already.”
I slump into the chair and wait to get the scolding of my life from Sadie. She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of me running from my problems before, until I mentioned I was flying over to New York and living out her Gossip Girl dream…in the middle of a forest as far away from the Upper East Side as you can get.
I put Otis into his cot since he’s now fast asleep, and this time make sure to keep an eye on him. If that means setting a two-minute timer and checking on him every time it goes off, so be it.
I wash out the mugs and throw new tea bags into them. I reach over for the kettle as soon as it boils and feel the ghost of Carter Trescott loom behind me. The version of him I hadn’t yet hurt.
The version of him who snaked his hands around my waist. The version who entertained my son.
The version who boldly stated that Otis was his.
Sadie waltzes in at the perfect time, preventing my mind from spiraling further to when he was in my bed, video-recording me?—
“You couldn’t do it, could you?” She plops down at the table, chin resting in her hand. She looks up at me with a smugI told you soface.
I might as well give her what she wants.
“The bikers went to war for me.”
She hitches an eyebrow. “Wow. Really?”
“Really.” I walk the mugs of tea over to the table and don’t bother with the place mats. “Things got messy, Sadie.” I lock eyes with her so she can see justhowmessy.
“Who did you punch?”
