‘I’m going to sort it out and clear it—’
‘Don’t you fucking dare go in there again,’ I hissed, internally begging for the cab to arrive, desperate to get away from him, from the fucking horror inside the place I’d loved. ‘I will deal with this, and when I’m done, I’m going to buy you out of the business and never see you again. If you try anything, anything at all to stop me, I swear to fucking God that I will make your miserable life even more of a living hell.’ I paused, seeing the Uber approach. ‘We are done, Cal.’
‘What do you want me to do? I can prove it, I can prove I was in hospital,’ he said, a new desperation in his eyes, pulling out his phone. ‘I’ll get someone to send me my notes or something.’
The driver opened the boot of the car, jumping out to help me lift my case in.
‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ I said, opening the back door, gripping it like a shield between us. ‘I didn’t come back for you. I don’t care –’ I stopped myself, making a sudden, new pact with myself. I did care about him, deep down, but not in the way he might want. ‘I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Cal. But I didn’t come back for that.’
‘So what, then?’ he replied, throwing his hands up.
I shook my head as I sat down, quietly giving the driver the name of the first hotel that came to mind as he climbed back into his seat.
‘For our business. For everything we put into that,’ I replied softly. ‘And because I didn’t deserve to stay.’
He swore as I closed the door. The driver waited for a gap in the passing traffic to pull out.
‘I’m sorry, Hestia,’ Cal shouted, his voice muffled through the glass. ‘I can’t do it without you.’
I looked back at him – at five years of my life.
As the cab pulled away, I faced forward, determined to keep it that way.
CHAPTER19
HESTIA
Almost a week back in London, and I was still a stranger in my home city.
Staying at a small budget hotel on the other side of Shoreditch, working from a nearby café run by a friend, I was more aware than ever that my situation was precarious at best. Thanks to my aggressive saving habits, built in early on in a bid to build any sense of security in my life post-uni, I had a sizeable lump sum put aside to work with.
But – if I was going to buy Cal out of our business, find myself a place and get some kind of new life together . . . shit was about to get expensive.
I’d resisted calling Diane, not quite able to bear the thought of upsetting her in the way I knew it would. Away from the shock and anger of my first day back, the whole thing had actually felt incredibly . . . sad. Seeing Cal locked in a toxic spiral; realizing I’d passively allowed myself to spiral with him for years, figuring that’s all there was for me.
Until . . . Wyoming.Jesse.
I slid my headphones on and nestled into the dim back corner of the café, blocking out the aggressively emo tunes. Sienna, the manager and a longtime client of mine, winced apologetically from behind the bar. I smiled, shrugging, knowing it was what her regulars wanted, knowing what I would do to counteract it.
So, against a backdrop of country music, I continued to unpick Cal’s trail of destruction. Industrial cleaners were now booked to deep clean the studio in a couple of days. I spent the next couple of hours reaching out to our crew of artists and existing clients – chatting briefly to some, emailing others, spinning the studio closure as a refurb.
As I paused after ordering some lunch, Jesse’s song started to play. I hesitated over the playlist, about to skip, but . . . couldn’t.
Every emotion from those last moments at the rodeo flooded back over me, replaying his tortured expression, the way he’d told me he loved me. It haunted me every night as I tried to get to sleep, sometimes lying there for hours, wondering if he regretted it, regretted me.
Holding my arm around myself, I opened my messages, reading the last few between us. Our proximity at the ranch had meant there weren’t many, but the few that were there . . . I could picture his easy, confident smile, the way it changed when he drew close to me. How he felt on me, in me . . .
I closed my eyes, digging my nails into my side.
I wanted to message him so badly. I wanted to speak to him, tell him everything, beg for forgiveness. But without any solution, without seeing any way of going back to Wyoming . . . wouldn’t we just be in the same place as before? Wouldn’t it be selfish to message him now, rather than let him just forget and move on?
As my lunch arrived, my phone lit up, startling me out of my reverie.
Dee.
Staring at it in disbelief, I picked up.
‘Dee?’
