I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t process.
My father. The man whose mistakes I’ve spent my entire life trying to outrun. The gambling addict who ruined everything he touched.
I step back, the distance between us suddenly insurmountable.
My face must show something—betrayal, pain, devastation—because Chloe immediately looks horrified. Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Brody, I didn’t?—”
But she did. She said it. And she meant it.
I find my voice. It comes out quiet. Wrecked. “Yeah. You’re right.”
I turn and walk away.
I’m already out the doors when my phone buzzes.
Rick
Did you do it?
Yeah. I did it.
I destroyed the woman I love to fulfill a contract I should never have signed.
seventeen
chloe
The thingabout dog walking is that dogs don’t care if you’re heartbroken.
They care about squirrels and fire hydrants and whether that other dog across the street is friend or foe. They don’t care that you spent last night ugly-crying into a pint of ice cream while scrolling through Instagram posts that may or may not feature your ex-fake-boyfriend looking devastatingly sad.
Which is why I’m currently being dragged down Hennepin Avenue by three dogs who have very different opinions about which direction we should be walking.
Muffin—a corgi mix with Napoleon Syndrome—wants to investigate every mailbox. Bruni—a Bernedoodle who thinks she’s still a puppy despite being seventy pounds—wants to say hello to every human. And Princess—yes, you heard that right, Princess, a tiny Pomeranian with an attitude problem—wants to bark at literally everything that moves.
It’s seven in the morning. March in Minneapolis, which means winter is fighting with spring and currently winning. My nose is running, my fingers numb, but the dogs need walking. And I need the money.
Except, I don’t need the money anymore. Not technically.
The contract payment came through. All of it. Twenty thousand dollars, what’s left of it, burning a hole through my bank account. Bills paid. Rent current. Even my student loan’s looking better.
I should feel relieved.
Instead, I feel like I sold my heart for financial solvency.
Great trade.
Princess lunges at a pigeon. I yank her back before she can commit bird murder. “No. Birds are friends, not food, Princess.”
She glares at me.
We pass Brew & Rumor Coffee Co. I don’t look in the windows. I haven’t been back since the breakup. Can’t even step through the door without thinking about Brody sitting across from me, that stupid contract between us, back when I thought this was just a business arrangement and not the thing that would completely wreck me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. Probably another Instagram notification. My account went from 800 followers to 50,000 overnight after the wedding video went viral.
Twenty-nine days ago.
