I spit into the toilet, swipe the back of my hand over my mouth, and force myself upright. Grabbing my toothbrush, I squeeze toothpaste onto the bristles and turn the water on. I shove it into my mouth and stare at myself in the mirror.
Well, shit.
I look wrecked. Damp hair. Red, swollen eyes. Tear-streaked cheeks.
I can’t do this.
I spit, rinse, turn off the water, and flip off the bathroom light. Then I crawl back into bed and collapse, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some comfort.
When Matt and I were off and on in our twenties, I handled the gossip. I’d done the work, and Matt had too. We were rock solid. I was confident. The occasional jab didn’t even touch me.
But then my dad was released from prison, and it was like everyone who had forgotten suddenly remembered. They remembered I was his daughter. And that I was the girlfriend of Matthew Grayson.
The narrative shifted overnight.
I was targeted constantly. Told I’d tarnish his name. That if I really cared about him, I’d let him go.
And the one person who refused to let me forget what my dad had done, who refused to let me move on, was the person whose opinion I let matter more than anyone else’s.
His mother.
She said that if I really cared about him, I’d let him go.
And eventually, I did.
Chapter Twenty-One
MATT
Jordan
I don’t think I can do this.
I stareat the screen for a long second, my chest tightening.
Fuck.
This is what she does when she gets overwhelmed. She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t panic out loud. She disappears. She builds a fucking fortress and locks herself inside.
It’s pointless to text her back.
I pick up the phone and call her, because if there’s anyone she might talk to, it will be me.
If I’m lucky.
It rings once before I’m sent to voicemail.
“Goddammit, Jordan.”
I clench my jaw and type.
What happened and where are you?
It stays on delivered.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter.
I stand and start walking, pacing aimlesslyaround my office.
