“I don’t have time for… whatever you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything.” Her voice softened. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all. And I still have hope that someday I’ll get to be maid of honor at your wedding.”
I laughed. “Not with your brother, you won’t.”
“I didn’t say anything about my brother. Duh.”
I rolled my eyes at that. “I love you,” she said finally. “You know that, right?”
“I know.” My throat felt tight. “I love you too.”
“Call me if you need anything. Anything at all. I’m only thirty minutes away.”
“I will.”
We hung up, and I sat in the silence of my apartment, staring at the wall. The radiator clanked. Somewhere through the thin walls, I could hear Candy’s TV playing what soundedlike a dating show, complete with dramatic music and someone crying.
A relationship with Jack Specter was Mission Impossible anyway. He probably had enough supermodels to wallpaper a mansion. My presence in his city didn’t even register on his radar.
Saturday morning, I went shopping for necessities. Dish soap. Toilet paper. A new sponge, because my old one had developed what I could only describe as a personality. Time to let it go.
The thrilling lifestyle of a twenty-eight-year-old woman with a savings account that wept whenever I looked at it.
The grocery store was packed with weekend warriors—moms with coupons, dads who clearly had no idea what they’d been sent to find, college kids buying ramen in bulk like they were preparing for the apocalypse.
I navigated the aisles with my headphones in, letting a podcast about unsolved mysteries drown out the chaos.
Something about a woman who vanished from a cruise ship in 1998.
Very well-adjusted of me.
I grabbed what I needed. Paid. Loaded the bags into my trunk. Climbed back into my Honda—a 2014 Civic with a dent in the passenger door and an air freshener that had stopped freshening approximately six months ago but I kept it anyway because I was sentimental and also lazy.
The parking lot was chaos.
Cars circling like vultures. Pedestrians darting between vehicles with a death wish. Someone honking angrily at someoneelse for reasons that were either extremely valid or completely unhinged. No way to tell.
I put the car in reverse, easing backward.
That was when metal met metal.
That sound.
That specific, expensive crunch that meant my bank account was about to experience a traumatic event.
“Oh, fuck me.”
The words came out loud, and deeply heartfelt. I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel and allowed myself three full seconds of despair.
Then I threw the car into park and climbed out.
Okay. Okay. I could handle this. I had handled worse. I would be apologetic but firm. Acknowledge responsibility while noting contributing factors. The car behind me had been parked at a weird angle. I had checked my mirrors. This was at least partially not my fault.
Probably.
Maybe.
I turned around to assess the damage.
