She rolls her eyes on a scoff.
“There’s plenty about my life that I haven’t told you, but we’ve all talked about our lives back home. At some point, you aren’t just concealing information.” She pauses, thinking. “You’re explicitly lying.”
“I didn’t lie,” I rush. “I work in a kitchen. I do. My family just… owns the kitchen.”
“Lies of omission are still lies, Alex.”
“Taylor, please.” My voice breaks. “I didn’t know we’d become… this. By the time we did, it felt too late.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she says, and it hurts more than anger ever could. “But I trusted you.”
Her trembling hands rise to her forehead and she begins to pace in front of me. “God, I’m going to look so stupid on TV.”
I’d give anything to go back and refuse the secrecy agreement withThe Harrington Group.
“I’d take it back if I could. All of it.”
She shakes her head and steps back. The distance is small, but devastating.
“Please,” I say, desperate now. “I know I should have told you. I’ll tell you everything. Anything. Just—don’t shut me out.”
“No.” Her voice is firm now. She shakes her head furiously, her hair whipping around her face with the motion.
“I need time to process this. I understand everything you’re saying, but I need to work through what this all means.”
She finally looks at me, and I see her trying to hold on to something. “I don’t know which parts were real,” she admits. “And which were just for show.”
My chest caves in, and she turns to walk away.
One hand rises to her face as she goes, and I know she’s wiping away the tears she so bravely fought back.
“It was all real.” My voice is just above a whisper, but there’s a slight pause in her retreat and I know she somehow hears me.
But she doesn’t stop, disappearing through the opening of the tent.
And I stand there, completely still. Alone.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 21: TAYLOR
When I park outside my apartment, Kara is already sitting on the top step, a bottle of wine dangling from one hand and a paper bag stamped with our favorite taco truck’s logo resting beside her. Even from the car, I can see the grease soaking through the bottom of the bag.
I sit there for a second, engine ticking as it cools, hands still gripping the steering wheel.
I will not cry again. I’ve done enough of that for one day.
I slam the car door harder than necessary and square my shoulders before turning toward the building. Kara looks up at the sound. The second her eyes find mine, her expression softens.
And that’s it. That’s all it takes.
“Kara,” I manage, my voice already breaking despite my best effort to hold it together.
She’s on her feet before I reach the steps, arms open. I make it exactly one second inside them before the tears I swore were finished start all over again.
“Oh, Sunshine,” she murmurs, rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades. “Okay—yeah—that bad, huh?”
I nod against her shoulder, mortified by how quickly I folded. Three and a half hours in the car, telling myself I was fine, wasn’t enough. Apparently, all it takes is one look at my best friend for me to unravel completely.
