Ten more days, I thought.For ten more days, he's mine.
Once I heard the water running, I picked up my phone to find I’d missed a text from Wyatt. It was the third one this week.
Wyatt
My wedding is next week. You’re my best man.
Get your ass back to D.C., Sebastian.
Not for the first time, I wondered how it had taken me so long to notice that somewhere along the line, he'd stopped treating me like a friend—like his goddamn lover—and hadstarted speaking to me the way he did to his underlings, people who needed to be managed.
Me
Which part of “I’m done” was unclear?
Wyatt
I didn’t think you actually meant it.
Me
And therein lies the problem.
You don’t fucking listen to me.
You haven’t for years.
Wyatt
Not this again.
Me
Leave me alone.
I’m trying to enjoy my vacation.
Wyatt
You don’t take vacations.
I didn’t. Not typically. But I’d needed one. Desperately.
I’d been burning the candle at both ends for months, running myself into the ground, and Wyatt had never noticed or hadn’t cared enough to say anything.
The fact that someone I’d spent so many years with couldn’t be bothered to ask if I was okay should have stung more than it did, but all I felt was a dull, distant frustration at how long I’d accepted this as normal.
Wyatt
I know you’re in Maine.
If Michael Chen reaches out, take the meeting.
Me
How do you know about that?
Wyatt
