I’m not her project, never wanted to be.
And after tonight, I doubt I’m anything to her at all other than a gigantic liability.
Tomorrow, I’ll go out there and do what I always do — tear up the ice.
And prove to everyone I don’t need to be fucking managed.
Not by anyone.
CHAPTER 33
TORI
After all these weeks away, I wake up in my own bed. My own apartment.
Milky-gray light filters through the windows, settling over the prewar buildings of Park Avenue. Cool stone, rigid symmetry, perfect alignment. Below, impatient taxi drivers lay on their horns despite the early hour, the bleating sound drifting up. A muted, familiar city symphony.
I should feel relieved to be home.
Instead, I’m empty. More alone than ever.
Last night was a disaster of epic proportions. Eleanor. Miles the whale.
Bennett.
The pain etched on his face when Eleanor mentioned his probation.
And how I didn’t do anything about it.
An ache stabs me in the chest, thinking about how I let him walk away. Hurt and betrayed.
Damn it.
That spot behind my right eye throbs, insistent, thudding with each beat of my heart. Pain radiates through my head and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to ease the ache.
But it’s still there.
I sit up and reach for my phone. Not daring to hope for a text from Bennett.
But hoping anyway.
Nothing.
No text, no missed call.
And the silence is deafening.
I stare at his contact info, the weeks’-long text chain. Evidence of what we’d become.
The GIFs.
Flirty messages between us.
Late-night admissions of feelings we didn’t dare say in daylight.
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink fast and don’t let them fall. I bite at my lip, debating.
I could text him, pretend I’m checking in. But we’re so far past our old roles now. Anything I say will come off wrong.
