“Tolearn,” I say to Fifi, who’s snoozing away beside me, warming my outer thigh. Her ears twitch at the noise but she doesn’t bother cracking an eye.
My fingers move across the keyboard, muscle memory taking over. I type a few key phrases and hit enter, slightly breathless as I skim the results.
Besides, if I don’t satisfy my compulsion cycle with this, I’ll be forced to relive earlier in the week when I explained to Noah that Lakeview needed to hire a professional company, only to discover he owned one. A little digging revealed Drayton Sustainable Landscaping and Design worked predominately on commercial properties, their focus on sustainability and, based on the photographs I saw, beauty.
Days later, and heat still flushes my face in residual embarrassment, and yep, definitely avoiding the subject of Noah Drayton.
What I should do is call Ezekial back and have the grown-up conversation we never had before I was unceremoniously fired. I should log off and seriously doanything elseto avoid giving in to temptation. But in these quiet hours when my brain runs away with me, I can’t stop searching and analyzing public reaction to King EZ’s infidelity. Then I rehash the ugly ending and beat myself up over what I could have done differently, only to sit frozen, blinking back tears and fighting self-doubt.
What if I mess this up and not even my grandma’ll be able to help me, because I’ll have failed herandall the residents?
I’m getting better at challenging my own thoughts before they’ve run away with my nervous system, which is a bit of a mindfuck—literally. There’s also the fact that Ezekial’s voicemail messed with my head, my emotions running the entire gambit since playing it.
“Fine, I’ll admit it,” he said, that cocky voice of his sounding slightly defeated. “Mia, you were better at this than anyone else.”
My throat grows tighter as I click, click, click. Going in the same order, whether apps on my phone, streaming services on my TV, or morning, noon, and nightly routines, soothes the raging sense of panic that’s been my constant companion since getting fired.
But it also turns my compulsion into a bigger beast—one that requires more and more time I can’t afford.
I’m all prepared to close out the internet and slam the lid to my laptop when I see a breaking story about Ezekial and Dahlia.
No, she actually left him this time!Not that the movie star hadn’t earned her combative, high-maintenance reputation, but good for her all the same. Nobody deserved to be cheated on, but I can’t help but hope Ezekiel is taking it okay and it’s not affecting his performance on the court too much.
If returning to Miami’s my goal, doesn’t thatrequireme to look?
Denial plays a supporting role, excuses much easier than forcing myself to stop. The other option is immersion therapy—to quit all your comforting tics, cold turkey, and just sit in the eye of the storm.
No thank you.
My gaze fuzzes and sharpens, choosing to land instead on the piano my grandma, mom, and I all learned on, and there’s the tiniest whisper of desire within me to sit down and play.
Muscle memory kicks in, my fingers pressing imaginary piano keys. Countless times through the years, I’d be practicing, only for Grandma to call from the other room, “That’s supposed to be a sharp” or, “B Flat, Mia Louise!”
Our middle name was another thing connecting my mother, grandmother, and me, passed down along with hazel eyes, guilt, and suppressing our emotions.
There was that stretch before Mom met and married Larry, though, when the three of us Goodwin women spent a lot of time around that piano, playing and singing and even doing some dancing in the living room.
Maybe I’ll find the pieces of music I actually picked out and try to play a little for fun before my time in Lakeview is up.
“You’re right, it’s late,” I say to Fifi as she bumps her cheek into my hand. I’m beat and in need of sleep before I wake up and do it all again. “Let’s go to bed.”
She’ll leave me for Grandma once I’ve settled, but as I climb beneath the covers after washing my face with my five-step regimen from Vonetta’s SoulEssence Elixir, Fifi curls up in a loaf on my chest. I haven’t cuddled with anyone in ages, and as her coziness spreads through me, I’m reminded of how nice it is—even when it comes alongside tuna-scented breath.
At the buzz coming from my nightstand, I just gape at my vibrating phone. Up until recently, I wouldn’t bat an eye at somebody ringing me after midnight, but a month in, it suddenly seems like a lifetime ago.
I stretch my arm as far as I can go without moving my body so I don’t disturb kitty. Then I lift my phone to my face and spend a couple of seconds just staring at Ezekial’s image onscreen.
There’s even a highly illogical thought that he’s calling because he somehow caught me Googling his name.
“This is Mia,” I say, my voice hoarse enough I have to clear my throat.
“Mia, thank Christ you finally answered,” he says, his voice so familiar it warms me for a blip of a blip before anger comes rushing in. All those times I had his back, and he didn’t have mine when it mattered most.
“You know I’m no longer your publicist, yeah? Why on earth are you calling me?”
It’s a nicer question than he deserves, but I’m a total wimp at calling people out on their shit. Being picked apart is so soul-crushing, and I guess I never wanted to do to others what my mom had done to me.
“Dahlia left me, Mia, and I’m a fucking mess without ’er.” His words are slurred, so there’s definitely some drunkenness on his end tonight. “You were there from the beginning, and I need to talk to someone who knew her—knew us, away from the ssspotlight.”
