“He said he wanted to be worthy of someone like you,” Taylor adds with a grin. “Then he freaked out and tried to take it back, but it was too late.”
“He’s going to hate me.” My voice cracks for the first time, and I press my lips together until the fracture seals. “When he finds out about my dad, and the risk I’ve brought into his life… He has every right to look at me and see all the other people who’ve used him for his money and power.” I pull my hand from Sloane’s and fold both arms across my chest. “I didn’t tell him my secrets, which makes me no better than any of them.”
“That’s not who you are.” Sadie’s voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.
“It is,” I argue anyway, feeling a sharp sting build behind my eyes. The circuit breaker is about to flip back on, and I’m nowhere near ready to deal with the charge.
“I can talk to him,” Sloane says. “I’ll explain about your dad and?—”
“No.”
“Avah—”
“This is my mess.” I meet her eyes. “I need to clean it up myself.”
“Doing the hyper-independent thing is how you ended up engaged to a man who hit you.” Piper’s gentle admonishment cuts deeper because of the kindness in her voice.
Outside, a car passes on Main Street, its headlights sweeping briefly across the window before the diner settles back into its after-hours hush.
“What do you want, Avah?” Sadie asks. “Not what you think you should do or what makes sense for everyone else. What doyouwant? What would bring you joy?”
I want to fall asleep with Jeremy’s arm across my waist andwake up to make him coffee in his kitchen in a house where neither of us feels lonely anymore. Where my heart feels whole.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“It’s the only thing that matters,” Molly says.
I look around the booth at these women who have seen me at my worst, who’ve put up with my sharp tongue and my deflections and my refusal to let anyone past my high walls. They’re watching me with the kind of patience that says they’ll sit here all night if that’s what it takes.
But I know not every girl gets a happy ending. My mother told me that as she packed up the car the morning after my high school graduation and headed south without looking back. My father confirmed it from behind bars with a letter that was more veiled threat than long-overdue apology. And Jon drove the nail into my coffin every time he raised his hand, and I stayed instead of walking away.
I’ve been collecting evidence my whole life that women like me don’t get to keep the good things. The pile is stacked even higher than my walls.
“I need to go to Florida and talk to my mom face-to-face.” I keep my gaze focused on the rim of the water glass, knowing eye contact would undo me right now. “I want to deal with my father before he comes after the people I care about. Then I’m going to figure out if there’s an ending to this story that doesn’t involve me ruining Jeremy’s life by being in it.”
Molly’s hand settles over mine on the table. Sloane covers both of ours, and Piper reaches across to add hers. Sadie and Taylor and Iris squeeze in until I’m enveloped in the fierce, stubborn love of women who refuse to let me disappear.
It should help, and I smile like it does. But fear is still lodged in my heart like a splinter I can’t reach. Loving Jeremy Winslow is the best and most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, and I’m fairly certain it’s going to cost me everything.
28
JEREMY
My house in Atherton,California, the heart of Silicon Valley, has fourteen-foot ceilings, a floating staircase made of poured concrete, and enough Carrara marble to tile a small cathedral. I commissioned an architect responsible for designs on threeArchitectural Digestcovers. And when the magazine finally came calling, I wore a douchey (in retrospect) cashmere sweater and leaned against the massive kitchen island with a nonchalance that took forty-five minutes and a stylist to achieve.
That was four years ago. The issue sits framed in the lower-level hallway between the gym I use regularly and a screening room I’ve stepped foot in twice.
I’m standing in the living room, if you can call it that. Living implies someone actually occupies the space. But this isn’t my home. Not anymore. The windows stretch floor to ceiling, flooding the room with light that bounces off every polished surface and gives off upscale dental office vibes. It’s triple the square footage of my house in Skylark, and I couldn’t tell you the last time anyone was here, other than me and the people I pay for its upkeep.
I built this house to prove I was a top dog in one of thewealthiest zip codes in the country. The final word in an argument nobody else was having.
Turns out, the final word echoes when there’s no one around to hear it.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sloane. A selfie of her, Piper, and Avah at The Sugar Shack. Sloane and Piper grin wildly at the camera. Avah’s smile looks almost reluctant as she holds up a cupcake with a frosting star on top in one hand and flips the camera the bird with the other. One eyebrow is raised in that half challenge, half invitation way she has.
Sloane: good at cupcakes, bad at selfies. I know you miss her (and me).
I’m a grown man standing alone in a twelve-million-dollar monument to my own ego, so I don’t smile.
