SLOANE: See you Thursday.
I shove my phone in my pocket and keep walking, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach.
The next day I’m at the grocery store, grabbing wine for dinner, when I turn a corner and nearly slam into Chett.
Fuck my life.
“Sloane.” His face lights up. “Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I blocked you. On everything.” I try to move past him.
He steps in front of me. “We need to talk.”
“We don’t. We’re done. Move on.”
“I can’t move on!” His voice rises. People stare. “Nine years, Sloane. You’re throwing away nine years.”
“You threw it away when you fucked your assistant.”
A woman nearby gasps. I don’t care.
“It was a mistake …”
“You keep saying that. I’m done talking about it.” I push past him, my hands shaking.
“Is this because of that guy?” he calls after me. “The redneck mountain man? You’re choosing him over me?”
I don’t turn around. Don’t give him the satisfaction. But I can feel him watching as I grab a bottle of wine and head to checkout.
When I get to my car, I sit there trying to calm my racing heart.
My phone buzzes.
JAX: Random question. If you could only eat one Thanksgiving food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Despite everything, I smile.
SLOANE: Mashed potatoes.
JAX: Good choice. I’m a stuffing man myself.
SLOANE: Cool.
JAX: Are you okay?
How does he know?
SLOANE: Ran into Chett at the store. I’m a little shaken up. I’m fine though.
JAX: Fuck. Do you need me to come there? I can be in Denver in two hours.
The offer makes my eyes sting.
SLOANE: I’m okay. Really. He’s just being pathetic.
JAX: If he bothers you again, call the cops. That’s harassment.
SLOANE: I know.
